Murders in the Blitz (3 page)
At the bottom of the creaking stairs Eve found that the basement was quite ordinary. The steamy room ran from the back to the front of the house. Two rooms had obviously become one, as twin pillars and a beam held up the ceiling halfway. Double, glazed doors at the back gave onto a concrete patio and the garden beyond. The room’s stone flagged floor and kitchen cupboards sparkled with cleanliness.
A woman with a headscarf tying up her fair hair, which was escaping in damp wisps from the sides, turned away from a stove of the sort normally seen in restaurant kitchens, with six gas rings and two enormous ovens. She addressed Borys in what Eve supposed was Polish.
‘She have lunch,’ he replied. ‘She wish to speak with us all.’
Eve assumed this must be Katya and she extended her hand. ‘Hallo, I’m Eve, I have a few questions for you all. It would save a lot of time if I could talk to you all together. I hope you don’t mind me joining you for lunch.’
Katya smiled and shook Eve’s hand, managing to look less harassed. ‘You are welcome. It is only potato soup, but there is plenty for all.’
Eve saw a vast pot bubbling on the stove and smelt the rich combination of onions and potatoes laced with nutmeg and pepper. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t noticed how late it was and felt guilty because Charlie was stuck up on the street and wouldn’t be getting lunch. Still, he was old enough to fend for himself.
‘It smells wonderful. I can’t wait,’ she said.
‘Please to sit,’ said Borys, indicating a chair at the scrubbed pine table that stretched from the kitchen area to the doors at the rear leading into the tangled garden. There were about twelve other mismatched chairs around the table.
Soon Eve heard voices and feet hurrying down the basement stairs and then the kitchen appeared to be full of garrulous people. There were five more women and two men, both of whom wore the blue uniform of the Polish Wing of the RAF. One of the young flyers, a gaunt, haunted young man, had a patch over one eye and an arm in a sling, the other, a strapping chap, seemed unhurt. Probably on leave, thought Eve.
Katya started to dole out the soup and one of the girls helped to bring it to the table. Another cut loaves into huge chunks and everyone helped themselves. Within a few moments Simon Parkes limped down the stairs followed by a woman slightly older than the others. She sat beside Eve and turned to introduce herself.
‘Hello, I’m Ruth Archer, Major Parkes’s secretary, general factotum, admin assistant, whatever you want to call it.’
Eve introduced herself and asked Miss Archer, ‘You’re English aren’t you?’
‘Yes, seconded from the War Department to help out here.’ Resentment coloured her tones as Miss Archer lowered her voice and glanced at the young people with spiteful eyes. ‘There’s masses of work to do, organising them. And there’s a new lot arriving any minute. It wouldn’t hurt if I had a bit of help; at least with some filing or typing. But they prefer to stay in their rooms and do their nails, or explore the shops in Oxford Street and the like. Lazy lot of kids.’
Eve thought that the girls might be unhappy or lonely, having left their families behind in German-occupied Poland and not knowing their fate. She didn’t think she’d feel like doing clerical work herself in the circumstances.
Some of the girls looked at Miss Archer suspiciously, perhaps aware that she was talking about them. Speculative glances were cast at Eve. She was about to tell them her mission when Major Parkes spoke for her.
‘You may be wondering why Miss Duncan is here. She has been sent by the police to ask a few questions. It’s nothing to be alarmed about, but she needs to know if you have any information that may help.’ He turned to Eve as the Polish all started to gabble at once. ‘Shall we eat first and you can talk to everyone when we’ve finished?’
‘Yes thank you, sir, that would be perfect.’
Eve couldn’t wait to tuck in to the delicious-smelling soup; the scent of the steam alone was making her feel famished.
‘This is wonderful, Katya. Thank you very much.’
Katya acknowledged her gratitude with a faint smile. If she does all the cooking round here, she must be worn out, Eve thought. Shouldn’t some of the others help her? After all, this isn’t a hotel. The hostel inmates chattered throughout the meal and ignored the three English people sitting amongst them. Only Borys ate in sullen silence, spooning the soup into his mouth in great gulps and tearing off lumps of bread with his massive hands. Ruth Archer sipped with neat efficiency and finished quickly. Major Parkes ate in a more leisurely style, properly drinking the soup from the side of his spoon and eating only small nuggets of bread. He engaged Eve in casual conversation between spoonfuls. Eve could see he was making an effort to be charming, but he needn’t have bothered; she was already smitten.
Every drop of soup was devoured and not a crumb of bread remained. Eve thought it was time to stand up and make her speech. Inspector Reed would wonder what had happened to her. So would Charlie for that matter, as she had disappeared into this house over an hour ago. When she had emptied her soup bowl she stood and spoke.
‘I’m helping the police with their enquiries because a young girl was found dead in the alleyway off Shepherds Bush Road yesterday evening.’
There were gasps and a noisy rumble of alarm, which the major quelled with a lifted hand and nodded at Eve to continue.
‘I don’t want to upset you all. But I’m here to find out if you know anything about it; if you were out yesterday evening and if you heard any screams or saw anyone running away. Perhaps I could go round the table. I’ll note your names for the police to come and visit you later. If you know something, they will have further questions.’
With an anxious frown, Katya piped up first, ‘Who was this girl? You know? Was she an English girl?’
‘We don’t know yet, I’m afraid,’ said Eve. ‘The police are trying to identify her.’
Glances were exchanged around the table; a name was uttered and one of the girls began to cry.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Eve. ‘Do you think you may know the victim?’
One of the younger girls, a curly haired blonde, spoke, ‘Zoya,’ she said, ‘she no come back last night.’
The babble started again, louder than ever, the sound reverberating off the kitchen’s tiled walls. Eve stared at the blonde, shocked.
‘So you think you may know her? She might be one of your friends?’
‘Speak up, Anna. No need to be frightened, Miss Duncan is here to help,’ said Simon Parkes. ‘Why didn’t you say that Zoya didn’t come in last night?’
The girls glanced at each other as a secret passed between them.
‘Zoya, she sometimes does not come in. She has boyfriend,’ one of them admitted softly.
‘Oh, it’s not unusual then,’ said Eve. ‘Perhaps she’ll turn up later.’
‘No, Miss Duncan, she would always be back by morning, early, to change clothes. She have work to go to.’
‘Zoya is one of the few who has a job, Miss Duncan,’ said Ruth Archer. ‘She works at Drummond’s bakery in Thorpebank Road, near Gregory’s, the butchers. I believe she’s supposed to be in the shop by 7.30.’
‘Give me the details please, Miss Archer, and I’ll go and check later. Meanwhile, I’ll tell the police. I’m sure they’ll arrange for one or two of you to look at the body, to see if it is Zoya. I’m so sorry to upset you all, it may not be her. She could have gone straight to work from wherever she was.’
Several of the girls were crying and Borys appeared terrified. Eve examined him closely and noticed a tremor in his hands and his face, as pale as death. It looked strange in such a big man who would normally seem invincible. What’s the matter with you, mate? Got something on your conscience? She’d have to tell the police about him; he looked upset and guilty.
It seemed obvious to Eve that no-one around the table knew anything about the death before she mentioned it. If they did, they weren’t letting on.
‘If you could write down your names I’d be most grateful,’ said Eve. ‘I’ve taken up too much of your time. They’ll be wondering what’s happened to me. Please let me know if you think of anything that may be helpful to the police. Don’t be afraid to come to the Police station, they’ll be kind, I promise.’ Eve turned to Katya. ‘Thank you so much for your hospitality; it was delicious.’
‘You must come again,’ the woman said politely as she gathered the bowls from the table, ‘you are always welcome.’
The notebook was passed around the table before the residents dispersed. Eve noticed that none of them offered to help Katya with the clearing or washing up, but they scuttled up the stairs to their rooms, chattering with suppressed excitement and fear. The taciturn airmen followed them.
Eve now had all the names. She had established that the girls shared two of the larger bedrooms on the first floor, three to a room, and the young airmen were together in another room at the back. Borys, it seemed, had his own room on the top floor where there were empty rooms waiting for the next influx of homeless refugees. Major Parkes bunked in a room on the ground floor beside his office so that he didn’t have too many stairs to climb on his injured leg. Miss Archer was the only member of staff who lived off the premises.
Eve climbed the basement steps to the hallway, concerned about Charlie. Major Parkes shook her hand at the front door after painfully following her. The poor man looks as if he’s suffering, Eve thought. Should he be working so soon after being wounded?
‘Thank you for your tact,’ he said on the doorstep. ‘I do hope it wasn’t Zoya who was strangled. We could do without that upset in our community. These people have suffered enough. Maybe it’s just one of those street tarts that we see so much of around the Green. However, I would be very happy to see you again. Do come and visit us - any time,’ he smiled cheekily and his face lit up with an interest that had nothing to do with Eve’s investigation.
Crikey, thought Eve, does the lovely Major like me? Is he inviting me to visit him personally? What a turn-up!
‘That’d be lovely,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to arrange this identification, so I’ll be back before long. I’ll see you then. Tata for now.’
Eve stepped onto the pavement and, glancing around, she saw Charlie pacing on the other side of the road. She could almost see the steam rising off him, furious at her disappearance.
‘Coo-ee!’ she called, frantically waving her hand. Charlie spotted her and strode across the street, almost into the path of an angrily hooting taxi.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ He raged. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere.’
‘I had lunch at the Polish Refugee Centre,’ Eve gestured towards the building behind her. ‘Very nice it was too. Sorry to disappear like that, but I found out something.’
She explained everything she had seen and heard at the PRC as they walked towards the police station.
‘Blimey!’ He said. ‘So that corpse may be a Polish girl. We’d better go and fill the Inspector in.’
Eve and Charlie arrived at the station and were soon ushered into Inspector Reed’s office.
‘I understand you’ve got information for me,’ he said.
Eve wearily repeated everything that had happened at the refugee centre.
‘They seemed very worried, sir. But it may not be her, because apparently she often stays out at night; she’s got a boyfriend. I’m going to the baker’s to see if she turned up for work this morning.’
‘Thank you, Miss Duncan. Do that and report back. We should have the results of the PM later this afternoon, and when the body’s respectable I’ll arrange for you to take someone from the PRC to see her.’
Eve prepared to leave the Inspector’s office.
‘Anything you’d like me to do, sir?’ asked Charlie.
‘No thank you, Spalding, but I appreciate your help. You may accompany Miss Duncan if you wish.’
They left the station and made their way to the bakery in Thorpebank Road. At almost three the shelves were nearly bare. All the fresh bread and cakes had sold out and only a few tired sausage rolls and scones remained. Mr Drummond, the baker, was collecting the empty trays that had been laden with loaves earlier and was stacking them in the bakery kitchen at the rear. Clearly there was no-one in the shop helping.
‘Excuse me, Mr Drummond,’ said Charlie, ‘Sorry to disturb you...’
‘What is it? I’ve got a lot to do,’ the man paused, balancing a pair of bread trays on the counter. ‘I haven’t got time for anything now. Do you want to buy something? Bread’s all gone I’m afraid, though I think there’s a few crumpets somewhere.’
‘No, sorry, we’ve just come to ask you a question – sir,’ Charlie added as an afterthought.
‘Yeah? What’s that then?’
‘I believe you employ an assistant, Zoya ... Pienkowski...’ Eve stumbled over the Polish surname. ‘Did she come to work today?’
Drummond wearily pushed sparse hair from his forehead. ‘Does it bloody look as if she did? Why d’ya think I’m working like this? I thought she was a reliable one too; not like half the girls that’ve worked here. Never been late once and always lets me know if she can’t make it. Damned good worker too. Polish, you know.’
Eve and Charlie exchanged a look. So Zoya hadn’t turned up for work. This didn’t look good for the poor girl.