The Reckoning (36 page)

‘The one she hit Poole with?'

Chubb had been fuming when he heard what had happened in the lobby.

‘I told her
not
to tackle that woman. It was a direct order. She could have been shot.'

‘Yes, but you've got to see it from her point of view, guv.' Surprisingly, to Billy at least, it had been Joe Grace who had sprung to Lily's defence. ‘She knew the woman had twigged what was going on. It was that manageress's fault – that Mrs Holly. According to Poole, she was staring at Oakes as if she'd seen a ghost. When she took off – Oakes, that is – Poole went after her. I'd have done the same.'

‘You would, would you?'

Billy saw that what Chubb was actually feeling was relief that none of his people had been seriously hurt; or, God forbid, shot dead. Shocked to hear from Billy on his return to the Yard what he and Madden had just learned, the chief super had rung the hotel at once, in order to warn Grace that the woman they were lying in wait for was also their shooter. Equally anxious, Billy had headed straight for the Regal in a police car with the bell ringing and, on his arrival, had learned from the sergeant's own lips how the trap set for Mary Oakes had turned into what he was pleased to call ‘a complete bloody shambles'.

Hearing the shots in the room where he had been waiting, Joe had raced downstairs to find Lily lying on the pavement ‘out cold', as he'd put it. As for the pair of coppers he'd posted at the end of the street, they still seemed confused as to what had happened. Both had heard running footsteps on the pavement coming towards them, and the detective had stepped out of the doorway where he was posted to intercept whoever it was. He had seen a woman approaching out of the fog, coming fast, but as he shouted to her to stop, she had fired a shot at him that struck the windscreen of a car a foot away, and then a second, which ricocheted off the pavement close to his feet.

‘At which point the bugger did what seemed to him the sensible thing and hit the dirt while the woman went past him.'

While all that was happening, the second police officer posted there – but on the other side of the road – a uniformed constable, had tried to cross over, but instead had run in front of a car coming down the road that he hadn't seen, causing the driver to swerve violently and crash into a parked vehicle. The constable had managed to blow his whistle, but having taken his eye off the road, he had tripped on the kerb and ended up sprawled on the pavement alongside his colleague.

‘I'm telling you, guv, the Keystone Kops had nothing on it.'

The woman, in the meantime, had disappeared in the fog. But Grace had rung the Yard at once and the alarm had been broadcast within minutes of the shots being fired.

‘We got enough of a description: coat, hat, glasses and that case she whacked Poole with. There'll be coppers looking for her all over London.'

When Billy had briefed him on what they now knew about Alma Ballard, Joe had whistled in amazement.

‘Crikey! If I'd known it was Annie Oakley we were after, I'd have paid a visit to the armoury first.'

Billy had asked to see Lily and was taken to the office behind the reception desk, where he found her lying on her back on a couch with a bloodstained handkerchief pressed to her head.

‘I'm sorry, guv, I should have had her.' The young woman was mortified. ‘I just never saw it coming.'

‘Well, don't let it worry you.' Billy had tried to comfort her. ‘You weren't the first to be caught napping by that lady. I'll tell you about her some other time. Just consider yourself lucky.'

Soon afterwards an ambulance, summoned by Grace, had arrived and in spite of Lily's protests she had been ordered aboard by Billy.

‘It's just a precaution. I want to have you looked at.'

But her torments weren't over yet. Escorted out of the hotel
by a woman police constable sent from Earls Court station, Lily had been ambushed by a press photographer. Tipped off about the goings-on at the hotel, he'd been lurking in the vicinity, mingling with the small crowd that had gathered outside. Lily's head had stopped bleeding, but a purplish bruise was already starting to spread over her eye and as she had walked on shaky legs to the back of the ambulance, the chap had darted forward out of the fog and got his shot.

‘Well, what do you think? Do we put her name out?' The chief super glared at Billy. ‘Should we give it to the press?'

‘Alma Ballard's, you mean?' Billy weighed the question.

‘I take it we can get a photograph of her from that woman you interviewed, what was her name, Miss Dauncey?'

Billy nodded. ‘She'd want to know why, though. It might be better if we approached the WAAF first. They're bound to have a snapshot of Alma in their records.'

In search of privacy they had retired to the office, empty now that Mrs Holly had taken refuge in her private sitting room on the floor above, leaving her secretary to man the reception counter and explain to the guests as best she could why the lobby was milling with men, some of them uniformed police officers.

‘Well?' The chief super pressed him.

‘I've got a feeling that any photograph we publish won't look anything like those two sketches we have of her. If she's dyed her hair and changed her looks, it may only confuse people. But all the same we should put one out. There are people who knew her before the war – when she was a schoolgirl, and later when she came to London – who would recognize her. And as far as her name's concerned, I can't see any point in keeping it to ourselves. She'll know we tried to set a trap for her here, and she'll probably assume that we know about the connection to the court martial.'

The chief super grunted. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘It won't make her life any easier, either. Those two names she's been using are dead letters now, and if we put out her name as well, she'll have difficulty finding a place to stay, even for a few nights. She'll still have to produce an ID card.'

Chubb saw the dubious look on Billy's face.

‘What?'

‘I was thinking of something that bloke Finch told us this morning. He said she was behaving like she used to in France, taking the same kind of precautions, and that most likely she'd have a bolthole, some place where she knows she'll be safe. He used a French word; it means a hiding place. Apparently they all had one, those agents.'

They sat brooding. Joe Grace stuck his head round the door.

‘The press are getting restless.' He addressed Chubb. ‘There's a fair crowd of them out in the street now. They want to know what's going on. Is there anything I can tell them?'

‘Say I'll be making a statement shortly.'

Joe vanished. The chief super stretched, easing a muscle in his neck.

‘It's a pity John isn't here,' he muttered. ‘I wouldn't mind having his opinion on all this.'

‘I'll ring him when we get back to the Yard,' Billy said. They had gone their separate ways following their meeting with Finch – Madden to return to St John's Wood. ‘I promised to keep him informed.'

‘Well, that's it then.' Chubb prepared to rise. ‘Unless there's anything else you have to tell me before I meet the slavering pack.'

Billy hesitated.

‘I've been wondering about the letter that came for her. I don't understand it. I mean, here she is moving about from place to place every few days, but she takes the trouble to give somebody one of the names she's been using and an address where she'll only be staying for a week.'

‘You mean it could be important?'

‘It might be. As far as we know, she still has unfinished business.'

‘I take it you're referring to the fellow who ran that court martial?'

Billy nodded.

‘I keep hoping we'll get a name from the Royal Artillery that Mr Madden will recognize. It might turn out that the bloke copped it later in the war, so we don't have to worry. But if so, why is Alma Ballard still hanging about? Why hasn't she gone back to Canada, or wherever? I won't feel easy until I know the answer.'

‘And I won't feel easy as long as I know she's out there with a gun and ready to use it.' The chief super hauled himself to his feet. ‘Which reminds me: the next time we get her in our sights, I want both you and Grace to be armed. If she thinks she can treat us like ducks in a shooting gallery, she's got a surprise coming.'

28

L
ENNY OPENED THE DESK
drawer and took out the envelope. He weighed it in his hand.

It was as light as a feather. There couldn't be much inside.

He looked at the wax seal. There was some sort of impression on it, the kind that might be left by a signet ring. The envelope was also fastened with a thin red cord wound into a figure-of-eight around two metal attachments. It would be easy enough to undo. The wax he could scrape off with a knife. It wasn't as though anyone would complain. Least of all Lord Ackroyd.

‘No, I'm afraid there's been some mistake,' his secretary had told Lenny in a hoity-toity voice when he'd rung her on Monday morning. His cockney accent had seemed to grate on her tender ears. ‘If His Lordship had sent anything over to Sir Percival, I would have known about it.'

Which was just what Lenny had thought.

He was still ruminating on this interesting bit of information when the phone rang and he had Raikes in his ear.

‘That young lady who was here on Friday evening – do you mind telling me what you did with her?'

‘
Did
with her?'

‘Only I'm responsible for people coming in and out of here,
and I never saw hide nor hair of her again, after she went upstairs with that envelope. Did she stay up there with you?'

‘What are you implying?'

‘Was it something the pair of you had arranged in advance, with that story about her having to put the letter in your hands? Cos if you think just because Sir Percival's away you can pull the wool over my eyes—'

‘Stop blathering, Raikes.' Lenny lost his rag. ‘She left here just before half-past five. She took the stairs. I don't know what happened to her after that, but at a guess I'd say she went out with the typists as they were leaving, and you missed her.'

‘I didn't miss her. She didn't go past me. I'm warning you, Loomis . . .'

Not caring to learn what fate might have in store for him, Lenny hung up. But Raikes had got him thinking. There had certainly been something strange about the woman – and her behaviour – and even though he didn't believe for a moment that she had stayed in the building all night after the staff went home (there'd be no point, there was nothing to steal), maybe she hadn't left by the lobby. Maybe she had gone out by the tradesmen's entrance. Kept locked most of the time, it was only opened for deliveries by the porter on duty there, another old sweat named Alf Simpson, who had lost a leg at the Battle of the Somme and spent his days sitting in a glassed-in cubicle. Lenny popped downstairs to have a word with him.

‘Friday evening?' Alf had hobbled out of his den to greet him. ‘Oh yes, I remember the lass. She knocked on my window and asked to be let out.'

Nothing like the obnoxious Raikes, Alf was a friendly soul, who made light of his disability and fun of the scowling presence in the lobby, with his ramrod-stiff back and his puffed-out chest of medals.

‘Don't ask me where he got them,' he'd told Lenny once. ‘But I doubt it was anywhere near the front. Raikes was Sir
Percival's batman in the war, and I know for a fact that His Nibs was a staff officer, so he must have been living soft in some chateau behind the lines, well out of harm's way.'

‘Why did you let her out, Alf?' Lenny wondered. ‘Why didn't you tell her to leave by the lobby, like everyone else?'

‘She asked me nicely, that's why.' The old boy grinned. ‘Said there was some bloke waiting for her in the street that she wanted to avoid. He'd been pestering her, she said.'

‘And you believed her?'

‘Why not?' He had shrugged. ‘Anyway, what harm did it do? She slipped out, and that was that. Thanked me prettily, too.'

Lenny cocked an eye at him.

‘I take it you thought she worked here?'

‘You mean she doesn't?' Alf's jaw dropped, along with the penny. ‘Blimey! I didn't know that. You won't mention it to anyone, will you?'

Lenny was quick to reassure him.

‘Let's keep it our secret,' he said. ‘And there's no need to tell Raikes, either, if he comes asking. Just play dumb.'

Then he had another thought.

‘Let me out for a moment, would you, Alf? I want to have a look around. She was up to something, that young lady, but I don't know what.'

Saying he'd be back in a minute, he slipped out into the dank courtyard onto which the Apollo building backed and stood for a second, wondering what had prompted the woman to exit that way. Not far from Southwark Bridge, the office was in a part of the City threaded by narrow lanes and heavily bombed during the war. The only way out of the courtyard was an alleyway and Lenny strolled down it, hoping to find some inspiration – some hint as to why the woman had taken this route. The alley led to Friar's Lane, a narrow street running downhill towards the river. Though he could see no reason why the woman should have taken this route rather than leave by the
front, Lenny walked down the cramped pavement, passing by the small shops and boarded-up bomb sites until he reached Thames Street, where he came to a halt.

There was no point going any further. Beyond there lay only a wasteland of damaged wharves and wrecked warehouses. Cloaked in fog at present, it was largely deserted, a part of the river between London Bridge and Southwark that had taken a particular pounding during the war and was said to harbour rats bigger than cats – not to mention other vermin of the two-legged variety. Lenny himself had always steered clear of it and he could think of no reason why his impromptu visitor should have felt any different.