McQueen's Agency (16 page)

Mary was suspicious. ‘Promise me that you’ll not contact that man, Rita.’

Rita looked outraged. ‘Of course. I just want to get home.’

Reluctantly Mary took the handbag and made her way to the police station, but at the top of Reform Street she saw a policeman on the beat. She walked up to him and explained about finding the bag. The policeman took note of her name and address and said he would hand it in at the lost property department.

When Mary was out of sight, Rita sauntered up to the edge of the wharf and gazed at the boat and the young man in it.

‘Are you admiring my boat?’ he asked.

Rita tossed her dark hair out of her eyes and said, ‘I might be.’

‘Well then, hop on board.’ He placed a wooden walkway over the side that reached the a small set of steps. ‘You’ll have to come down the steps to get on.’

Rita stepped daintily on the boat’s deck and admired all the expensive fittings, before placing her towel and handbag on the deck.

‘I wanted my friend to come with me but she went home.’ Rita knew this was a lie but she wanted to portray herself as an intrepid traveller. ‘You met us at the Palais a few weeks ago and you were asking her loads of questions about where she worked.’

Rita was gazing at the cabin and didn’t see his eyes narrow. ‘Oh yes, I remember you both.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want a sail round the dock?’

Rita tried to look nonchalant, as if she was a passenger on a boat like this every day of the week. ‘That would be great. My name is Rita. What’s yours?’

‘No names, no pack drill. Right?’

Rita was taken aback by his attitude but was determined to make the most of being aboard this lovely boat.

He guided the boat expertly around the dock then out into the river. Rita was slightly shocked but tried hard not to show it. Then just as she was about to tell him to take her back, another man appeared from the cabin. He was older, with a stocky build, and was wearing a navy blue jumper and waterproof trousers.

‘What the blazes are you doing, Mike?’ he sounded angry.

‘I’m taking a young lady for a trip, Joe, but I hope she doesn’t drown. You know how easy it is to do that.’

The river was choppy with a cool wind and grey waves slapped against the sides of the boat, rocking it as it moved into the deeper water. Rita was frightened now and she sat on one of the seats on deck with tears rolling down her cheeks. How stupid she had been. Mary was right. This was a dangerous man and she had stepped into his zone.

The older man, the one called Joe, went back into the cabin while the other one leered at her.

‘Where are we going? I should be home by now,’ she cried.

‘Well you shouldn’t have come on board, should you? I thought we could stop somewhere and have a wee party.’

Rita stood up and looked all around her. The boat was now in the middle of the river and the waves were really big out here. The boat rose with a wave then dropped into the trough and Rita was thrown off balance and almost fell on the deck.

‘I want to go home,’ she cried. The man ignored her.

She could see a house on the headland with a jetty jutting out into the water. It looked as if they were going to land there but Rita had no idea where she was.

She made her way into the cabin. The man was sitting, reading a newspaper and drinking a beer. ‘I want to go home, please.’

By now she was in tears and the mascara she had so carefully applied after her swim was running down her cheeks in long black streaks.

He glanced at her and got to his feet. They both moved out of the cabin and he said, ‘The lassie wants to go home.’

Mike narrowed his eyes and Rita wondered how she had ever thought he was good looking.

‘Well she’s been for a swim. That’s her swimsuit and towel there, so let her swim home.’

Rita was so distraught that she stepped back and almost slipped on the wet deck. Joe went up to the wheel and pushed Mike out of the way, ‘Get in the cabin and stay there,’ he told him.

Turning the boat around, he headed back to Dundee and within ten minutes Rita was getting off at the same place she had got on. Her legs felt like jelly and she knew she looked a right mess but she didn’t care. She was back on dry land.

As she stepped off the boat, Joe came over and said, ‘Keep away from that guy. He’s not the person for a young lassie like you.’ He handed her the towel and her handbag. ‘Have you got your bus fare?’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out a shilling. ‘Here, take this and get yourself home.’

She tried to thank him but the boat was already making it’s way back out onto the river with a surly looking Mike glaring at her through the window.

She knew her face was a mess and she couldn’t go on the bus looking like this. When she got home her mother would ask all kinds of awkward questions not to mention the curious stares from the passengers

She suddenly remembered the wet swimsuit. Thankfully it was black and she wiped her face with the wet fabric. Taking care not to smear mascara onto the white spotted insert. The chlorine from the pool made her eyes sting but once she was sure her face was clean, she made for the bus stance and got on board a bus just as it was leaving.

Luckily she had the man’s shilling because when she looked in her bag for her purse, it was gone. That horrible Mike must have stolen it, which meant she would have had to walk home. The conductor took her fare and she sank back in her seat.

She started thinking how silly she had been to have acted so dramatically. There was no way he would have put her overboard and made her swim. Then she remembered his look and she wasn’t so sure.

Meanwhile, Mary had returned to the Victoria Arch and seen the cabin cruiser making its way across the river.

She waited for the next bus with a feeling of relief.

After she had her tea, she decided to go and see Rita and tell her about meeting the policeman. Rita’s mum opened the door.

‘I’m sorry, Mary, you can’t see Rita. She said she didn’t feel very well after her swim and she’s gone to bed. She didn’t even want her tea.’

Mary was puzzled by this sudden illness. When she returned home she mentioned this to her mother, who said,

‘I hope she’s not coming down with a summer cold.’

Charlie Johns had been busy. He had managed to get the relevant documents from Australia House and the shipping company, regarding the emigrants who had travelled out to Australia during Harry Hawkins’ year long employment on the liner.

Thankfully, there weren’t too many people from Dundee and the surrounding areas to check up on. He had managed to trace most of the names and was now left with the last two. He was now on his way to see the parents of a young couple who had left Dundee in the autumn of 1952.

They lived in Cochrane Street; a dark, dismal street lined with tenement houses which was part of the Crescent area of the city. Their flat was three floors up a narrow spiral staircase and a neat brass nameplate was screwed to the brown painted door. P. MacDuff.

A tall woman came to the door and it was obvious that she wasn’t long back from her work. She wore a colourful overall and her hair was covered with a floral turban. She gave him a wary look.

‘I’m sorry to bother you but can I come in and ask you some questions?’ he said, after showing her his warrant card.

By now the woman looked apprehensive and she called out. ‘Pat, it’s the police.’

Pat was a large man who was quickly going to fat. He wore a pair of blue dungarees over a checked shirt and his hands were covered in a grey film.

‘Sorry, I haven’t washed my hands yet. I’m a bricklayer.’ He looked at his wife and said, ‘What’s this all about, Ella?’

She shook her head.

Charlie said, ‘I’m making inquiries about people who emigrated to Australia last year and your son and his wife are on the list.’

Ella jumped up from her hair. ‘Has something happened to Pat and Jane?

Charlie calmed her down. ‘No, it’s just that I’m working on an accident case concerning a steward who worked on the liner that took your family out to their new life, and I wondered if they had come back home again so I could speak to them.’

Pat, who had moved to the sink and was washing his hands, laughed. ‘Come back? To this?’ He swept a large hand around the tiny room with the small window which hardly let in any sunlight. ‘Of course they haven’t come back. They’ve both got good jobs in Melbourne and are hoping to buy their own house soon. Their letters are full of the great lifestyle over there, not to mention the warmth and the sunshine.’

Ella brought out some snaps. ‘These were taken a few months ago.’ There was pride in her voice. The small black and white photos showed a young couple standing on a beach, wearing big smiles and shorts and short-sleeved tops.

Charlie made a few correct noises about how well they looked and thanked them for their help.

He wasn’t getting anywhere and the last name on his list was his only hope. He glanced at it. Molly McQueen, Strathmartine Road.

He decided to have a quick meal then go to see this woman. She hadn’t travelled out with the liner but had returned to Scotland during the relevant time.

The house turned out to be a neat bungalow with a garden full of flowers. The path was made up of crazy paving stones and there were floral boxes on the windowsills. A very pretty house Charlie thought.

The doorbell made a pleasant chiming sound and the door was opened by a young woman.

‘Miss McQueen?’ Charlie held out his warrant card.

‘No, I’m Mrs Whyte.’ She looked slightly alarmed by the sight of a policeman on her doorstep and gave a quick look up and down the street to make sure none of the neighbours saw him but apart from a few people in their gardens, no one took any notice of him. After all he wasn’t in uniform so he could just be a visitor to the house.

After a minute the woman said, ‘You had better come in.’

She ushered him into a neat lounge. The three-piece suite looked as if it had never been sat on and the sideboard was well polished. There were a few photographs in wooden frames on the mantelpiece and a lovely handmade rag rug in front of the unlit fire.

She sat on the edge of the chair and asked what it was all about.

‘I’m looking for a Molly McQueen who used to live at this address. Do you know where she went?’

Mrs Whyte shook her head. ‘We bought this house from a Mr and Mrs McQueen over a year ago. They went to live in Newport-on-Tay, but I don’t remember a daughter living here. It was just the two of them. He was retiring, he said. They had always fancied living near the river and that was why they were selling the house.’

‘Do you have their address?’

She shook her head. ‘They never said where they were moving to, just that it was in Newport.’

Charlie thanked her and stood up.

‘Is it something criminal?’ Her voice had a breathless, trembling sound.

‘No, it’s just a question of identifying someone.’

As he was leaving, he noticed the phone in the hall. ‘I don’t suppose they gave you their phone number by any chance?’

She shook her head again. ‘We didn’t really have much to do with them. We bought this house through an agent as we were coming back from Hong Kong where my husband worked. He did most of the dealings with the McQueens. I’m sorry I can’t help you, there wasn’t a phone in the house when we bought it.’

Charlie smiled. ‘It was just an off chance that I would find Miss McQueen but thank you for your time.’

She saw him to the door and watched as he walked away.

Charlie had come to the end of his inquiries here. He would have to search for the McQueens in Newport but until then he decided to pay a visit to Tam.

Tam had just finished his tea. Mrs Kidd was washing the dishes and she called out when she opened the door. ‘It’s Detective Johns to see you, Tam.’

Charlie got a shock when he saw the old man. He seemed frailer than ever and even Rover wasn’t so bouncy. If Charlie could have got his hands on the person responsible for this change in the man and his dog he would have gladly locked him up and thrown away the key.

Instead he said, ‘How are you today, Tam?’

Tam cheered up at the sight of his friend and Rover wagged his tail. ‘Oh, I’m keeping fine but my shoulder is still a bit sore. Rover’s back has healed up and he isn’t limping as much. Jock was saying he can walk a bit faster now.’

Mrs Kidd bustled across to the table with the teapot, two cups and saucers and a plate holding two cakes which she placed on the table. She took off her apron. ‘Now that you’ve got company, I’ll be off. Jock will be in later to take Rover for his wee dander.’

Tam sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without the Kidds. They’re so good to me.’

‘Have you any more news about Harry?’

‘Well there’s another lead I’m following up, Tam, so we’ll see how it goes.’

He stood up and Rover hobbled to the door with him.

Tam called him. ‘No, Rover, you’ll get your walk later.’

Charlie was amused by the expression on the dog’s face as it hobbled back to the fireplace.

As he walked down the stairs, he wondered why he was spending his own time on this case. His intuition said there was something more than an accident and hopefully when he managed to track down this Molly McQueen, everything would maybe be a bit clearer.

Edna was on her last week at Albert’s Stores. Nancy was seemingly feeling much better and was due back the following Monday. She was going to miss this cheery shop, she thought.

Mrs Pirie was a customer who normally came into the shop every day and she usually came in with her friend and neighbour, Sally. Although she didn’t know it, Sally’s nickname in the shop was ‘Snappy Sal’, because she was always complaining in a loud voice about everything she bought.

Albert had warned Edna to always address her as Mrs Little. She hadn’t married until she was almost fifty and she was so grateful to be a married woman she insisted on being called missus. ‘Poor Mr Little never lasted the year after getting married. I think he gave up the ghost and died just to spite her.’

Today, Sally was complaining about her groceries from the day before. ‘Now listen to me, Albert. My Rich Tea biscuits were broken, I had two chipped eggs and my half loaf was all squashed.’