Birds of a Feather (34 page)

“That’s very kind of you, Miss Dobbs.” Mrs. Willis walked Maisie to the door, which she opened for her. “Will we be seeing Miss Waite home soon?”

“Yes you will. Probably in the next week.”

“That’s very good news, very good. The sooner she’s back home, the better. Let me show you the way.”

Maisie allowed Mrs. Willis to escort her to the front door. It would not have been correct for a guest to be left to find her own way out, especially in the mansion of Joseph Waite. At the door, she bade farewell to Mrs. Willis again. Then, as she reached the bottom of the front steps and heard the door closed behind her, Maisie set a course for the corner of the house where the front garden looped around. She heard Billy rushing to catch up.

“Don’t run, Billy! For goodness’ sake, spare your leg and your lungs!”

Billy came alongside. “What was all that about, Miss? The little chat with Mrs. Willis?”

“Initially just doing a favor. But now I don’t know.”

“Not followin’ ya, Miss.”

“I’ll explain later.” Maisie reached the corner of the house and looked first toward the outer windowsill of Mrs. Willis rooms, then up to the windows above.

“Aw, them bleedin’ birds!”

“Don’t worry, Billy, they’re not interested in you,” said Maisie, her attention on the window as she watched a hand reach out to sprinkle more crumbs for the hungry doves. It was a broad hand, a hand that Maisie could easily recognize from the ground, helped by the sun which broke through the clouds at just the right moment to catch the light reflected by a gold ring encrusted with diamonds.

“See anything interestin’, Miss?”

“Oh yes, Billy. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

Billy seemed relieved to be inside the car again and on his way back into London.

“Shall we talk about Charlotte Waite’s possible whereabouts?”

“No. Wait until we get back to the office. We need to get our heads really clear. First, tell me why you don’t like doves or pigeons. Does your dislike extend to all birds?” Maisie pulled out into the middle of the road to pass a rag-and-bone man, his horse clip-clopping along as if it knew instinctively that it had been a bad day for business.

“Aw, Miss, it don’t make sense, not really. I mean, it ain’t the bird’s fault, is it?”

“What isn’t the bird’s fault?”

“Nah, Miss. Can’t tell y’. It’ll make you think I’m a few coals shy of a load, it will. S’ all a bit silly, all a bit in me ’ead, as you would say.”

“I don’t think I’d say anything of the sort.” Maisie pulled over to the side of the road and stopped, allowing the engine to idle as she turned to him. “Spill the beans, Billy. Why do you hate birds?” She had a distinct feeling that, with his “silly” feelings, Billy might have something for her to consider.

He sighed. “S’pose I’m gonna ’ave to tell you, ain’t I?”

“I suppose you are.”

“And you ain’t gonna move this jam jar till I do, are you?”

“Absolutely right.”

He sighed again. “Well, it in’t all that stupid, now I know a bit more about what goes on up ’ere, from working wiv you.” Billy tapped the side of his head. “But . . . I don’t like ’em because of the war, and even thinkin’ about it makes me leg get bad again.” Billy rubbed his leg.

“What’s your leg got to go with it?”

“Well, y’ see, I didn’t enlist straightaway. There was only me and me brother, both workin’ for me dad. Not like we came from one of them big families, not like there was ten of us and if one went there was always a few left. Anyway, I was going to join up, but me mum didn’t like it, though I thought I should do my bit. But you know what it’s like when you keep meanin’ t’ do something. . . .”

Maisie nodded.
You’re rambling, Billy
.

“Then one day, I decided that there was no time like the present, so I went down and got meself enlisted. Me mum, when I told ’er, aw you should’ve ’eard ’er go on, and on, and on. At least me brother was too young to go, so she’d still ’ave ’im at ’ome. Anyway, I ’ad a few days at ’ome before I ’ad to report for duty, so me and me little brother, fifteen at the time, ’e was, went out for a bit of a laugh one afternoon. I didn’t ’ave a uniform yet, in fact, let me tell you, even after I was at the barracks in Colchester, I never ’ad a uniform for three weeks. They were enlistin’ so many at once, they’d run out of uniforms. Run out of uniforms? I tell you, it’s no wonder we ’ad trouble over there. No wonder.”

Billy shook his head, while Maisie waited for his story to unfold.

“Gawd, seems I was like an old man already, but I was only eighteen. Anyway, there we were, walking down the street, when this young lady comes up to us, all smiles. Then she ’ands me and ’im a feather each, and tells us we should be in uniform, and—”

“Oh my God!” Maisie gasped. “It was there all the time, only I couldn’t see it!”

Maisie pushed the car into gear, looked over her shoulder, and pulled out onto the road.

“See what, Miss?”

“I’ll tell you later, Billy. Keep on with your story.”

Billy was silent.

“It’s all right, Billy, I’m still listening.” Maisie pressed down on the accelerator to gain speed.

“Well, it’s them feathers. Sign of cowardice, ain’t they? I mean, I was signed on anyway, so it didn’t bother me, did it? Water off a duck’s back. But not Bobby, oh no, ’e was only a youngster. Couldn’t wait to be a man. And o’ course, nice young woman comes along, calls ’im a coward, what does ’e do, eh? Goes an’ enlists on the sly, just after I left.”

Maisie blushed, remembering the lies she told about her age in order to enlist for nursing service, and her father’s furious frustration at her actions.

“Me mum does ’er pieces, me father went mad, and all the time, I’m runnin’ around takin’ orders from ’igher-ups who didn’t know much more than I did.”

Suddenly, Maisie slowed the car, her speed checked by the cold chill of realization. “What happened to your brother, Billy?” She looked sideways at him, her hands clutching the steering wheel.

Billy looked out of the passenger window.

“Copped it, didn’t ’e. Silly little bugger. Sixteen years of age, and pushin’ up daisies in a place where ’e couldn’t even talk the lingo. All because of a bleedin’ feather.”

“Why ever didn’t you tell me all this?”

“S’long time ago, ain’t it, Miss? Mind you, it seems that every time I see a bird, you know,
look
at a bird, well, the stupid animal seems to drop a feather or two, just as they’re flappin’ their wings t’ get away, and every time I see a feather, I see our Bobby with the feather between ’is fingers, runnin’ after me, sayin, ‘She called me a coward. Did you ’ear that? Eh, Billy? She called me a
coward
! Now everyone’ll think I’m not up to it!’ But ’e weren’t no coward. Sixteen, and gave ’is life.”

Billy rubbed at his legs again. Maisie let the silence linger
. I must get him to Chelstone as soon as I can
.

“Billy, Billy, I am so very sorry.”

“Named my boy after ’im, I did. Just ’ope there won’t be any more wars, in case I lose ’im. My biggest fear, that is, Miss. That there’ll be another war, when ’e’s enlistin’ age.”

Maisie nodded, fearfully.

“So what’s all this about, then? Y’know, what you couldn’t see when it was there all the time.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

M
aisie picked up the telephone to place a call to Scotland Yard as soon as she and Billy returned to the office.

“My old mum always used to say that the best place to ’ide a thing was in plain view. She’d say that when I gave up me wage packet of a Friday night. She’d take the money, stick it in a pot on the table, and then give me a couple o’ bob back for meself. P’raps Miss Waite is ’id-ing somewhere in plain view?”

Maisie held up her hand for silence as her call was answered.

“Inspector, I wonder if we might meet to discuss the Sedgewick-Fisher case? I have some information that might be of interest to you.”

Maisie heard an audible sigh.

“Is it regarding Mr. Fisher?”

“Well . . . no, no, not directly.”

“Miss Dobbs, we are convinced we have the right man.”

Maisie closed her eyes. She must tread carefully. “I’ve made some observations that may be useful to you.”

Another sigh, augmented by the sound of voices in the background. Would this telephone call to Stratton be fodder for mirth among the men of Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad? It was a risk she would have to take. She could not withhold evidence from them once she was convinced of its importance. If the police refused to listen, that was quite another matter.

“Look, Miss Dobbs, I am grateful for any and all information. Obviously in my position I can hardly say otherwise, and if your information concerns Fisher, I would be more than delighted to have it. But the point is that we find that investigating many so-called leads wastes valuable time when we already have the killer.”

“You’ve taken an innocent man into custody, and you should hear me out!”

“I say, Miss Dobbs, now just you wait a minute!”

“But Inspector, another perspective might—”

“All right, Miss Dobbs.” Stratton sounded exasperated, but Maisie knew she had appealed to his sense of duty. “Meet me at the caffy on the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road in—let me see— half-an-hour. ”

“Thank you, Inspector Stratton. I know exactly where you mean— diagonally opposite Waite’s International Stores.”

“That’s it. See you in half-an-hour.”

“Until then.”

Maisie replaced the receiver and blew a gust of breath between lips rounded into an O.

“Bit frosty, was ’e, eh, Miss?”

“More than a bit. And I’ve got to be careful too. In providing Stratton with information, I risk undermining him or antagonizing him further. After all, if he chooses to listen, he’s the one who has to return to The Yard and retract the accusations against Magnus Fisher. I need to keep him as an ally.”

“What’s wrong wiv ’im, then?”

Maisie took the folded linen handkerchief from her case and walked to the table where the case map had already been unfurled and pinned ready for work. She motioned for Billy to join her.

“He’s let two things get in the way, I think: His personal history and his standing in the department. Of course, he has to be careful, because if I were to take a bet on it—”

“And we know you’re not the bettin’ type.” Billy smiled at her.

“No, but if I were, I’d wager that Caldwell is after the Detective Inspector’s job, and is making Stratton’s life a misery while he’s nipping at his heels. So Stratton has to be careful in terms of who he is seen taking information from.”

“What’s ’is personal history, then?”

Maisie leaned over the map, and unfolded the handkerchief. “Well, he’s a widower. His wife died in childbirth about five years ago, leaving him to bring up his son alone.”

Billy scrunched up his face, “Aw, blimey, Miss. Tha’s terrible. Wish you ’adn’t’ve told me that. Now I’m gonna think about it every time I see the man.” He leaned forward. “What’ve you got there?”

“Feathers. Tiny white feathers. The ones I collected during my investigation. I found one feather for each woman. Two were close to where the victims had been sitting just prior to meeting the murderer. In Rosamund Thorpe’s case, the feather was in the pocket of the dress she was wearing when she died.”

“Ugh.” Billy shuddered.

“They can’t hurt you. The women who gave them out in the war are the ones who did the harm.”

Billy watched as Maisie placed the feathers on the case map, using a smudge of paste to secure each one to the paper.

“Do you know who the killer is, Miss?”

“No, Billy, I don’t”

Billy looked sideways at Maisie and refleced for a moment. “But you’ve got an idea. I can see it there.”

“Yes, yes, I have, Billy. I do have an idea. But it’s just an idea. Right now we’ve got our work cut out for us. We must find Charlotte Waite. Here’s what I want you to do—”

Billy flipped open his notebook ready to list his instructions as Maisie closed her eyes and ran though a catalog of possibilities: “An animal will make for its lair if in fear or wounded. Mind you, Charlotte may have no reason to fear, she may just want to get away, to escape from being Joseph Waite’s daughter. We have to consider that she may have fled to Europe, after all, she’s familiar with Lucerne and Paris. See if you can check the passenger list for the boat-train. Charlotte might have traveled from Appledore station on the branch line to Ashford, or she may have come to London first. There are one hundred ways she could have traveled. Check with Croydon Aerodrome and Imperial Airways—oh, and there’s an aerodrome in Kent, at Lympne. Check as many hotels in London as you can—but don’t start with the big ones. Contact the hotels that are neither too posh nor too shabby. Telephone Gerald Bartrup. No,
visit
Bartrup. I want you to look at him when you ask him if he’s seen Charlotte in the past twenty-four hours. Pay attention, Billy, with your body as well as your eyes. You’ll know if he’s lying.”

The list was long and Billy would be hard at work until late. Maisie wondered if Charlotte had funds that were known only to her, squirreled away into a private account. Where had she gone?
Where was she now?