Princes Gate (16 page)

“In the residence you mean?”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t think you might have seen him in a pub on Tuesday night?”

She dropped her handkerchief and bent quickly with a shaking hand to pick it up before Bridges had a chance to do it for her. “What do you mean? No… I…” She darted an anxious look at Bridges.

“Mr Merlin and I thought you might have had a friendly drink with Mr Morgan on Tuesday. Now think hard, Miss. Perhaps you’re confusing dates in your mind.”

She took a moment to compose herself.

“Yes, I remember now, I did have a drink with Johnny on Tuesday night. I must have been thinking of the night before.”

“And when was it on Tuesday that you met up?”

She closed her eyes. Merlin fidgeted impatiently with his tie.

“Come on now. Best to tell us everything.”

Her green eyes reappeared, watery but still beautiful. “I remember now that we went for a drink together after work.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the pub around the corner. It’s called The Prince of Wales, I think.”

“How long were you there?”

“We spent quite a while there. I was upset about Joan’s death and all the questioning.”

“Did you have a lot to drink?”

“I suppose we both did. Drowning our sorrows, so to speak.”

“Did Johnny say anything in particular about Joan?”

A teardrop slowly trickled down Kathleen’s cheek and briefly sparkled as it was caught by a beam of winter sunshine which had found its way into the room. “He was worried whether I’d told you that he’d been out with Joan.”

“And had he?”

“One of the other chauffeurs thought he’d seen him out on the Thursday before she disappeared, but he denied it.”

“Had he been out with Joan on other occasions?”

“He said that he had met up with her out of the office. Apparently she’d asked him advice on occasions. Something about getting new lodgings, although she never mentioned that to me.”

“An attractive man, Johnny Morgan, wasn’t he? And Miss Harris was a pretty girl. It’s quite easy to imagine them having a fling, isn’t it?”

“He said there was no fling, so – ”

“Did you find Johnny attractive?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t see that that’s got anything to do with things.”

“Where did you go after your drink? Home to your lodgings?”

“No.” Her voice rose. “If you must know I went back with Johnny to his place. I’m not really that sort of girl, you know, but Johnny had got me drunk. I don’t know how many drinks I had, but I’ve never had that many before.”

“You say you went back to his place. When you got there, what happened?”

Kathleen flushed. Bridges wondered whether Merlin was not being a little too hard on her but bit his tongue.

“Did you have any more to drink?”

“No. He offered me a whisky but I don’t like whisky and anyway I’d had enough.”

“Then what – did he, did he take advantage of you?”

She rubbed her forehead slowly before glaring at Merlin. “How do you know all of this? Have you had spies on me or something?”

Bridges rose abruptly from his chair, looked earnestly over at his boss and pointed towards the door. Merlin hesitated a moment before getting to his feet and following the sergeant out of the room.

“Don’t you think we’re being a bit heavy-handed, sir? Perhaps we should speak to her later, when she’s a bit calmer.”

Merlin dabbed some perspiration away from above his right eye and drew in his breath. “You think so, Sergeant? I don’t know.” He drew in his breath again. “No, we need to get on with it. In the light of what happened to Morgan, the events of Tuesday night now loom large. And what about the visitor who arrived just before I left? Who the hell was he? We’ve got to get her story out in full. If you think I’m doing it too roughly, why don’t you have a go?”

They went back in. Kathleen had curled up, her legs tucked beneath her, at the end of the sofa.

Merlin went over to the window and stared out at the traffic and the park. A bus covered in a colourful advertisement for Ovaltine passed by. It had snowed again during the night and a large and impressive snowman had been constructed directly opposite.

“Now, Miss, we know you went back with Johnny to his room – I’m sorry but there’s no delicate way of saying this – you went to bed with Johnny?” Bridges himself blushed as he put his question.

She buried her head in her hands.

“Did you sleep with Morgan?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“With consent or did Morgan force you?”

“I can’t really remember much of what happened. I was very drunk. I remember Johnny soaking me with whisky when he dropped the glasses he was holding, then I remember suddenly finding myself in bed. Then I remember pain. Then sleep and I remember waking up with a terrible headache. When I woke up it was light but I was alone.”

“And, sorry Miss, the pain was?”

Her voice hardened. “What do you think it was? He had his way with me didn’t he? Got me drunk and had his fun. I was a – I’d never done it before.”

Merlin moved over from the window, sat down by her side and patted her hand. “I’m sorry to put you through this, dear. Is there anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I was wondering whether Johnny had any visitors while you were there?”

“The whole night after we got to Johnny’s room is like a dream – no a nightmare – to me. I can’t remember any details. I had a lot to drink and I think Johnny might have given me some pills as well.” She shuddered at the memory.

“When did he give you pills?”

“No idea. I just seem to remember taking some pills or medicine at some point.”

“What type of pills?”

“I don’t know. I just remember being in pain and Johnny telling me that he had something which would make me feel better.”

“And you can’t remember anything else? A man coming to give something or take something from Johnny, perhaps?”

“No. I can’t remember, I can’t remember. Please stop asking your questions!” She shook her head rapidly back and forth before becoming calm again.

“Just one more, dear. You said that you went back with Morgan to his place. Was it your impression that the room he took you to was his own?”

“When he asked me back first, I said I didn’t want to go back to the Ambassador’s residence. I didn’t want anyone gossiping you know. But he said he had another place nearby. I remember saying how nice it was when we got there and asking about it but he just shrugged.”

“Alright. That’s it, Miss Donovan. I know it’s been difficult. Thank you.”

She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

“I’ll be getting on then.”

Merlin found Johnson hovering outside his door.

“Ten minutes please, Peter. I’ve got a couple of things to do then you can come and tell me all about it.”

Johnson nodded and withdrew reluctantly.

Merlin sat down heavily at his desk and in the process knocked his Eiffel Tower paperweight to the floor. He knelt down under the desk to retrieve it, grateful to find it all in one piece. As he surfaced, he was confronted by a familiar pair of pinstripe trousers.

“Not trying to hide from me are you, Chief Inspector?”

“Heaven forfend, sir. Just saving a Parisian landmark.”

The A.C. smiled bleakly before sitting down. “This is getting very worrying indeed, Frank. Two Embassy murders now. I know they’re not very important people but I’m going to have to put the Foreign Office in the picture. I filled in the Home Secretary this morning. He looked like he was chewing a particularly sharp lemon when I told him. Didn’t say much though. Just said to be careful not to tread on any important toes, as I’ve already told you, and said that Halifax wouldn’t be very happy.” The A.C. gave his own impression of someone chewing a particularly sharp lemon. “Any ideas on this second murder?”

“The fellow whose throat was shredded, Morgan, was the chauffeur I was telling you about. It seems a distinct possibility that he was involved with Miss Harris in some way. We spent the morning interviewing another Embassy girl who Morgan went after.”

The A.C. drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Do you think the murders were committed by the same person?”

“Too early to say. I am inclined to think that the victims were both mixed up together in something unsavoury – something unsavoury which might explain their deaths.”

“Perhaps this chauffeur killed Joan Harris and someone has taken his revenge?”

“A possibility. I’m trying to keep an open mind about all possibilities.”

The A.C.’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“It seems to me that you’d better begin narrowing the possibilities down pretty quickly. This could become a bloody mess if you don’t get to the bottom of it soon. Who knows where this might lead with our American friends, eh?”

He jerked to his feet and stalked to the door, behind which he found a waiting Johnson.

“Come in, come in.” The A.C. paused and stood back briefly. “Good God man, in this light you look like Adolf Hitler. Shave that thing off, will you?”

The door banged and Johnson sat down in a mild state of shock.

“Was he being serious, sir?”

“I rather think he was.”

“My girl really likes this moustache. She was the one who asked me to grow it. Thinks it makes me look like Ronald Coleman.”

“We all have to make sacrifices in this war, Inspector. The loss of your moustache will have to be one of hers. Let’s hope it’s the biggest sacrifice she has to make, eh?”

Johnson managed a weak smile.

“So what’s the story, Peter? Who’s your suspect for the hit and run?”

“Have you read my report yet, sir?”

Merlin shuffled his papers and eventually found Johnson’s note.

“Sorry, what with everything that’s been happening, I still haven’t had a chance. You’d better tell me everything.”

Johnson rummaged in his jacket for his Woodbines.

“May I?”

Merlin nodded and declined the offered cigarette.

“I’d better start off by saying that although I think I’ve made some progress, the case is far from open and shut.”

“Why then, is the man upstairs under the impression that we can pretty much close the file?”

“Well, sir, he cornered me in the corridor yesterday morning first thing. He asked me rather aggressively how I was getting on in this case and I told him that I had just identified a suspect. I attempted to give him some of the detail but he didn’t listen to me, slapped my back and asked when I was going to pick the suspect up. I told him I was hoping to do that yesterday afternoon.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to speak to you first. There is some delicacy in the situation.”

“How so?”

Johnson smoothed his slick hair and sighed. “The suspect is a diplomat at the Foreign Office. Also, as I think you know, the victim was some sort of weaponry expert at the Ministry of Defence. In the circumstances, I was a little nervous about how to approach the suspect. I wanted your advice as to how to handle it.”

“I see…” Merlin swivelled in his chair. Across the river he could see tiny figures scurrying around on the roof of the LCC building. Probably strengthening the gunnery up there, he thought.

“Does the A.C. know who your suspect is?”

“No. As I said, I attempted to give him some more detail but he wasn’t listening. I suppose he was just very keen to latch on to some good news so he…”

“Jumped the gun.”

“Sir.”

The haze of cigarette smoke rising above Johnson’s head made odd swirling shapes in the weak sunshine filtering into the office.

“Let’s forget about the A.C. for now. Just tell me who your man is, how you identified him and what you propose to do.”

Bridges appeared at the door and Merlin waved him in.

“As so often, it’s routine stuff with a bit of luck thrown in. I contacted all the garages in Westminster and Central London to enquire as to whether any cars had been put in for a repair which might match the details of the accident as we estimate them. As you will recall, the victim, a Mr Emmanuel Goldberg, was found in the gutter on the park side of Birdcage Walk. Our one witness, an office cleaner called Mrs Bancroft, who was strolling further up Birdcage Walk near the barracks, thinks the car must have collided with Mr Goldberg on the front left side from the way she saw him fall from her viewpoint. This would seem the likely conclusion also from where we found Mr Goldberg. I put out a general enquiry for any cars coming in with damage to any part of the front of the vehicle but have kept a particular lookout for cars with damage to the left of the grille or the left headlamp.”

“Couldn’t this Mrs Bancroft help with a description of the vehicle?”

“Not really, sir. The accident happened at about 7pm so it was pitch dark. To be frank, in the circumstances, I was surprised she had anything useful at all to tell me. She does say that after the collision she thinks she heard a car door open and shut, though she couldn’t see whether anyone got out, and then the car drove off at speed, towards Parliament Square.”

“I see. Carry on.”

The inspector toyed briefly with his doomed moustache. “Over the two weeks or so since the accident I kept in close touch with the various garages. Strangely enough, given the increased accident rate since the blackout, nothing close to a match was reported for almost two weeks. There were some cars damaged in the front but all very minor compared with the damage likely from hitting a person at high speed. I followed up all instances of damage, even if minor, but none appeared to fit. Then I got a call two days ago from a garage in Pimlico. They had an Austin car with a lot of damage to the front left headlight and the front bonnet. The funny thing was that they said they normally wouldn’t get this repair to do. They were doing a favour for a friend working at the Foreign Office motor pool, who passed on several cars for repair because there was some security work going on which was taking up their own garage space.”