Season Of Darkness (23 page)

If he said that often enough, he might start believing it, thought Tyler. But it irked him that rumours about Rose had rushed through the town. It seemed a bad omen.

“I hope you never let our Janet join the Land Army,” continued Lambeth. “Some of those gals are no better than they should be … Speaking of the devil.” Two girls in Land Army uniform, riding bicycles, were heading toward them.

“Oi, hello! Inspector!” It was Molly and Freckles.

They pulled up in front of the shop.

“What good luck we ran into you,” said Molly. “We need to talk to you.”

“I’ll leave to your business then,” said Lambeth. A woman had just rounded the corner with her shopping basket dangling from her arm. A customer.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Walker,” said Lambeth. “I’ve got in a nice bit of pork, not too dear all things considering.”

Tyler tipped his hat. “Hello, Barbara. How’s Bobby?”

“Hello, Tom. No change.”

She looked as if she wanted to stay and talk, but the two girls were waiting for him. She followed Walter into the shop. Tyler felt a pang of sadness. She was the same age as he was,
but she seemed stooped and careworn. He’d known Barbara since they were children and he’d always liked her. A quiet, rather shy girl; as a woman, she was the kind who could easily vanish into the woodwork. Decent, hardworking, uncomplaining, he’d been sweet on her once. The situation with Bobby had to be very hard for her.

He turned his attention back to Molly and Freckles.

“What’s up, ladies?”

“It’s nothing we can talk about on the street,” said Molly. “Can we meet at De Berg’s?”

“Fine with me. Go ahead and get a table. Order some cakes as well.”

They remounted and biked off. He followed, walking briskly. These young women tended to make him feel as if he had to suck in his stomach, stick out his chest, and move with vigour.

The girls had nabbed a quiet spot at the back and he joined them.

“We ordered a pot of tea,” said Molly. “Neither one of us is hungry.”

“I am,” he said and when the waitress arrived, he ordered a plate of cakes. Both girls were decidedly subdued but they were young and worked hard. He had a feeling the cakes would be welcome.

“No word on Rose yet, is there?” Molly asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

The waitress returned with their order. He was right. The girls were happy with the cream buns.

He gave them a chance to tuck in. “So what is this important information that you’ve got for me?”

Molly as always spoke first. “We talked a long time among ourselves – Freckles, Titch, Sylvia, and me. We don’t want to snitch on anybody, but we’re honestly dead scared. You said
that we should report anything at all that might be relevant –” She stopped. “Oh you tell him, Freck. I feel like a rat.”

Freckles swallowed down a piece of bun. “It’s to do with Florence Hancocks. We don’t think she was telling the exact truth yesterday. We don’t think she was at home looking after her mum. She was having a, er, what do you call it, Moll?”

“A liaison. She was having a secret liaison.”

Freckles continued. “She told Miss Stillwell her mother was ill, but just before she was getting ready to leave, I happened to be in her room. Muriel was lending me some socks and I had come to get them. Florence was packing her suitcase and she held up a pair of cami-knickers, lovely item in pink silk with black lace trim. ‘My, you’re dressing very swank for your mother, aren’t you?’ I said. She got all flustered. ‘They belong to my sister. I’m returning them to her.’ I just couldn’t believe her. They were really nobby camis. The kind of thing Collette’s sells.”

Freckles paused and fidgeted with her teaspoon.

“That’s it?” Tyler asked.

“We thought you should check on her … er, on her alibi.”

“I am in the process of doing just that,” he answered.

Freckles pointed her finger at the other girl. “That’s only half of it. You tell him the rest, Moll.”

Molly bit her lip. “We told you that little things appeared to be going missing. Well, last week Florence and Elsie had a big barney. Flo accused Elsie of stealing. She said she had some silk stockings in her chest of drawers and they had disappeared. She said Elsie had taken them. Elsie denied it and they started to call each other all sorts of bad names. It was very nasty …”

“We were afraid they would attack each other,” interrupted Freckles. “I’ve never seen Florence like that. Nor Elsie either for that matter. She could be shirty sometimes, but not like
this, not all-out screaming. Florence seemed to have got her goat good and proper.”

“What were the bad names?”

“Florence said that Elsie was a cockney guttersnipe and that she was a hoor and everybody knew it.”

Tyler whistled through his teeth.

“I left out all the
bleedings
and
soddings,”
said Freckles.

Molly picked up the narrative. “It was being called a whore that seemed to send Elsie off the deep end. She said, ‘That’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black as you know only too well.’ ” Molly put her head in her hands. “It was horrible to hear two of our girls screaming at each other like that. I remember thinking, ‘This will never be fixed. This is irrevocable.’ ”

“We didn’t know what to do,” added Freckles. “Then Florence just turned and ran out of the room. Elsie was livid. She said, ‘Bloody cow’ – excuse the language, but those are her words, ‘I’m going to my digs.’ And she left too.”

Molly reached into her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes. “Wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?” she asked Tyler. She put a cigarette in her mouth and waited for him to snap his lighter. As he did so, she held his hand lightly and looked into his eyes. She took a draw, then grinned at him. “Elsie, God rest her soul, she taught me that.”

“How to smoke you mean?”

“No, how to flirt,” interjected Freckles. “She gave us all a lesson one day. Molly did it just right. You lean forward, put your delicate little paw on his hand, and look into his eyes like he’s the best thing you’ve seen since last night’s dinner.”

They both laughed, then Molly abruptly looked at her watch and pushed back her chair.

“We’ve got to go. We decided to work today. Couldn’t stay in, to tell the truth. Too fidgety. We hope we haven’t been out
of line, telling you all this, Inspector. Florrie is a good sort really. It’s just that given the circumstances we thought you should know what happened.”

“You haven’t been out of line at all. I’m sure it will all be sorted out. Is she out working today?”

“No, she wasn’t feeling well, so she stayed at the hostel.”

Tyler waved the waitress over. “This is my treat, ladies. And why don’t you take those last couple of cakes.”

“Thanks. Thanks for everything.” Molly took out her handkerchief and wrapped the cakes carefully. “I do hope Rose is all right. You will let us know when you hear anything won’t you?”

They left, and to his eyes, in spite of the sheen of youth, they both looked vulnerable.

Given the brutality of the attack on Elsie, he doubted a young girl had committed the crime, but Florence Hancocks did own a car, not to mention a Luger. Now, according to the girls, she may have hated Elsie Bates.

T
YLER LEFT THE TEA SHOP AND WALKED ALONG
M
AIN
Street. Near the corner was a ladies’ wear shop called Madame Collette’s. About three years ago, a London woman had bought out old Mrs. Kilpatrick, who had been there ever since he could remember. The new owner had introduced fancy, high-priced frocks and imported lingerie. Today, the window displayed a single mannequin in a long nightgown of shimmering scarlet with thin straps; not particularly practical for the English unheated bedroom, but definitely provocative. All the other shops crammed as much of their merchandise as they could into their windows, but Madame Collette’s message was clear: “We don’t need to do anything as vulgar as display everything we have. We cater to the discriminating customer of taste, not to mention money.”

As he entered the shop, the bell on the door tinkled softly. The place was empty of customers and looked more like somebody’s front room than a shop. The carpet was light blue and thick, the walls papered in a delicate green and fuchsia. By the window was a grouping of chintz-covered chairs around a low table. Shelves stacked behind a counter at the far end of the room were the only concession to commerce that he could see.

A woman stepped out from the back room. She was wearing an elegant, simple black frock. She might have been forty, she might have been sixty; it was hard to tell with her immaculately made-up face and stiffly coiffed hair. She gave him a smile, perfectly balanced between warm (must look welcoming) and cool (mustn’t look too eager).

“May I help you?” She had a French accent but he couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.

“Good day, ma’am. I’m Inspector Tyler. I’m conducting a police investigation right now and I wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions.”

“But of course. I have heard of the tragedy that has occurred.”

“Did you know the young woman in question? Her name was Elsie Bates.”

Madame Collette, if that was indeed who she was, thought for a moment. “No, that name is not familiar to me.”

“As part of my investigation I’m interested in tracking down, er, a pair of pink silk cami-knickers with a black lace trim that you may have sold recently.”

One pencilled eyebrow rose slightly. “Yes, I remember very well the article you describe. They were an original design from Paris. Quite lovely appliqué in lace. Most feminine.”

“Do you recall who bought the, er, article?”

“Certainly. It was a young man. He said he was purchasing them for his fiancée.”

So much for Florence’s story about the cami-knickers being on loan from her sister.

Madame eyed Tyler shrewdly. “A most generous present I would say. They were not cheap.”

“Will you describe this young man to me?”

She pursed her lips. “I regret to say I am not good at paying attention to such detail. He seemed quite an ordinary young man, a soldier.”

“You mean he was in uniform?”

“Yes. But then they all are these days, aren’t they?”

“How tall was he? Fair or dark?”

“As I said I don’t particularly pay attention to such things. He was quite undistinguished. Darkish hair, about your height. I’m afraid that is all I can say.”

She was acting like the madam of a brothel and Tyler wondered where the hell she came from. This was only a bloody lingerie store surely.

“Did this young man buy anything else?”

“A pair of silk stockings. He did consider my best imported scarves but he did not buy one. Allow me, monsieur.” She went to the counter and took out a long, narrow scarf that was the colour of a robin’s egg. She draped it across his hands.

“Feel how soft and silky it is. It would make a wonderful gift for a special woman.” She waited while he let the fringes run through his fingers like water. “I can see there is indeed such a woman in your life, Inspector. These scarves are made in France and it will be impossible to get any more. Why don’t you surprise her with this gift?”

“How much?”

She shrugged delicately. “They are quite dear normally but I am a patriotic woman. For you I will charge three guineas.”

“For a scarf!”

She wasn’t in the least perturbed by his reaction. “It is unique. In these days of such pervasive uniformity, that makes it special, don’t you think?”

It was extortion. He put it back on the counter. “I’m afraid I’m not a customer today, ma’am.”

She refolded the scarf. “I quite understand.”

“Do you know a young woman by the name of Florence Hancocks?”

“No. But not everybody gives their name when they purchase lingerie here.”

“Tall, pretty, with light brown hair. She is with the Land Army.”

“I have no such recollection. My prices are generally beyond the means of those particular young women.” She smiled a
rather tight smile. “I wish I could be more helpful, Inspector.”

“Thank you, madam, you have been helpful.”

As he turned to go, she held up the silk scarf. “For you, I can offer a special price. And this is my last. Two guineas.”

She slipped the scarf around her neck, the gesture elegant and so French. The blue looked beautiful against her black dress.

He was mad, he knew he was, but he succumbed. “All right, I’ll take it.”

She whisked the scarf off and started to wrap it in tissue paper.

“Can I interest you in anything else? A nightdress for instance? I have a rather exquisite one in black taffeta. Also from Paris.”

“No, thank you. The scarf is quite enough.”

“I do have a small box with my monogram on it, but whereas ladies like to display the place of purchase, I find many gentlemen prefer anonymity.” She gave him a sly look. “All the better to surprise the lady who is the lucky recipient.”

He handed over the money, stuffed the tissue parcel in his jacket pocket, and practically ran from the shop. Mad. He was quite, quite mad.

I
T WAS RIDICULOUS TO THINK THAT A FLIMSY PIECE
of silk could generate heat, but Tyler’s pocket felt hot. He walked quickly through the station to his office and stashed the package in the top drawer of his desk with the two paintings. He was getting a nice little guilt collection. He was tempted to take out the paintings and have a look at them, but managed to resist. Instead, he called Gough in.

“I’ve got some news about Rose Watkins.” He filled the sergeant in on his conversation with Father Glatz. “If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow, I’m going to designate her a missing person.”

“How was your chat with the esteemed head scratcher?”

Tyler laughed. “Not bad considering. He presented me with this article.” He tossed it to Gough. “You can read it if you like, then give me the gist.”

The sergeant looked dubious. “I’ve got rather a lot to deal with at the moment, sir. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to it.”

“Coward. Never mind. I’ll look at it later. I don’t suppose we’ve heard from Eager or Collis, have we?”