Authors: Laura Wilson

Stratton's War (65 page)

BOOK: Stratton's War

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He didn’t know. He wished he’d had a chance to speak to Diana, but there’d been no question of asking her what she thought. He remembered how he’d last seen her, glimpsed through a half-opened door on the way to the bathroom, lying in bed in Forbes-James’s guest room, clad only in a slip, face pale and hair spread across the pillow. Poor Diana. What was going to happen to her?

‘Good news about West End Central.’ Jones dropped a pile of papers on Stratton’s half of the desk, curtailing his reverie. ‘Looks as if you’ll be back in your own little office come Christmas.’

‘Just when we were getting along so well, too.’ Stratton pointed at the new addition to the muddle. ‘What’s this?’

‘More witness statements from that shooting last week. The soldier who came home on leave and found his missus in bed with the lodger. I must say, I shall miss our cosy chats . . . Speaking of which, how did you get on at Scotland Yard yesterday?’

‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t describe SDI Roper as cosy. It was a lot more palaver about the national interest and public morale - in other words, keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.’

‘So it’s all done with?’

Stratton nodded. ‘The best thing was that DCI Lamb, who has just returned from his convalescence, actually had to congratulate me, because of Colonel Forbes-James’s report. I thought for a second he was going to have a heart attack from the strain, but he just managed to force the words out.’

‘Bad, is he?’

‘Horrible. I thought being bashed on the head might improve him, but it hasn’t. You wait - he makes Machin look like a ray of sunshine.’

‘Crikey. By the way, have you noticed that love is in the air? PC Ballard and our Miss Gaines.’

‘I told them to keep it under wraps.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I shan’t say anything. But it’s a bit much you lot coming in here and pinching our girls.’

‘Had your eye on her yourself, did you?’

‘Certainly not, I’m a married man. Mind you, I’d rather sleep with her with no clothes on than you in your best suit, any day. She’s the only decent looking bit of spare we’ve got.’

‘You’ve obviously never had the pleasure of seeing Arliss do his Carmen Miranda impression.’

‘No, thank God.’

‘It was in a revue for the Widows and Orphans. The memory still haunts me. And then he got all fed up because he left the hat lying about and someone pinched his bananas.’

‘Did you know they’re going to stop importing them?’ asked Jones.

‘Hats?’

‘No, bananas. Apparently they take up too much room in the ships.’

The telephone rang, and Jones stopped talking to pick it up. Stratton, who’d been about to busy himself tidying his desk, looked up when he heard Jones say, sharply, ‘When?’ and then, ‘Yes. Right away.’

Jones banged down the receiver and stared at Stratton without speaking for a moment. ‘This is not good,’ he said.

‘What isn’t?’

‘Abie Marks,’ said Jones. ‘Killed last night. And Wallace. They’ve gone and got themselves murdered.’

Stratton felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He remembered Forbes-James’s words the previous week about doubting that Marks or Wallace would complain of their treatment, and thought, I should have expected this. ‘How?’ he asked.

‘Single shot to the head, both of them. Blindfolded. Hands bound behind their backs. Sounds like an execution, doesn’t it?’

Stratton, unable to meet Jones’s eye, merely nodded.

‘They found them at the billiard hall, so it’s on your patch, not mine. And,’ Jones added, meaningfully, ‘you’re welcome to it.’

‘Jesus.’ Stratton ran his hands over his face.

‘Yes, well . . .’ Jones reached for his coat. ‘Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, and I don’t want to know. But this isn’t a gang thing, is it?’ Seeing Stratton hesitate, he added, ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, old son. Like I say, I don’t know what’s been going on, but I don’t believe in coincidence.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Stratton dourly.

Jones turned in the doorway. ‘They’ll all be trying to muscle in on Marks’s territory, now,’ he said. ‘As if we didn’t have enough trouble.’

Left alone, Stratton slumped in his chair, feeling utterly defeated. Now he, poor fool, would have to go through the motions of trying to solve the case . . . Fuck it! Furious, he swiped a hand across his desk, knocking the telephone and a slew of papers onto the floor. God knows, he thought, I’ve got few enough illusions left about the job, but this takes the biscuit. He jumped up, kicked the debris out of the way, grabbed his coat and hat, and strode out of the station.

SEVENTY-SIX

Three days later, Stratton was just about to leave the office for another round of entirely pointless interviews about the deaths of Marks and Wallace, when the telephone rang, and Cudlipp’s voice said, ‘A Mrs Calthrop on the line for you, Sir.’

‘Thank you.’ He sat down abruptly, feeling slightly breathless. ‘Hello? Are you there?’

‘Edward.’ Diana spoke so quickly that he lost the first part of what she said.

‘. . . and I know I shouldn’t, but I just . . . I wanted . . . Look, do you think we could meet?’

‘Meet? Well, I don’t know if that’s really . . .’

‘It’s just,’ Diana hesitated for a moment, before the rest of the sentence poured out in a desperate gabble. ‘You’re the only person I can talk to about this. I know we’re not supposed to, but I’d really like to . . . Please, Edward. After all, nobody’s actually said we shouldn’t, have they?’

‘Not in so many words, no, but I’m sure they would have done if it had occurred to them.’

‘But they haven’t
actually
. . . I know I shouldn’t have telephoned you. I’ve been trying to get up the courage for days, and now it’s no use.’ She sounded close to tears. ‘I knew you’d be too—’

‘Diana, wait. Where are you?’

‘In a telephone box in Piccadilly.’

‘Are you on your way somewhere?’

‘I have to be back at Dolphin Square by four, but . . .’

Stratton glanced at his wrist watch: quarter past two. ‘There’s a café in Denman Street, Dorleac’s, first on your left off Shaftesbury Avenue. It’s the only one in the street. I’ll meet you there.’

Stratton hurried down Regent Street. He’d wanted to see Diana, hadn’t he? He’d been worried about her. He was certain that this was a bad idea, but all the same . . . His elation at the thought of meeting her again was tempered with guilt that he should feel quite so pleased about it. And she wanted to tell him something. About Apse, perhaps, or Marks? Not that he could do anything about either, so there wasn’t a lot of point, but still . . .

His first thought, as he glimpsed her through the criss-cross of tape on the plate glass of the café door, was how utterly out of place she looked, seated at a battered plywood table in a grubby room filled with the greasy fug of mingled cigarette smoke, steam, fried kipper and rancid sausages. At least, he thought, as he hung up his hat and coat on the row of pegs by the door, none of her smart friends would be likely to drop in for a cuppa.

Even in the short time he took to get from the door to her table, his awareness of her was intense. In an effort not to stare he fixed his eyes on a printed notice on the wall behind her:
There is NO depression in this house, and we are not interested in the possibilities of defeat. THEY DO NOT EXIST
. Jesus, he thought. As if being constantly exhorted to Dig For Victory, Register, Save Money, Spend Money, Be Cheerful, Enrol, Volunteer, and Not Talk Carelessly wasn’t enough, now they’re trying to tell us what to
think
.

The breathless feeling - she was, if possible, even more beautiful and elegant than he’d remembered - was back in spades by the time he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. ‘I’m sorry about the place. It was the only one I could think of that was close.’

‘It’s fine. I can’t honestly recommend the tea, but it doesn’t matter, I’m just glad . . .’ Diana ducked her head, and continued in a voice so quiet that Stratton had to lean forward to catch what she was saying, ‘It’s been vile. F-J insisted on packing me off to my mother-in-law’s for a week, but I couldn’t bear it, so I came back.’

‘But you’re back at work now, are you?’

‘Yes, from Monday. No-one’s mentioned it, of course. Lally - she’s another of F-J’s girls - has been very kind. I think F-J must have told her to keep an eye on me. She says it’s best to try and forget the whole thing as quickly as possible. I daresay she’s right, but . . .’

‘But what?’ Stratton, realising this sounded rather brutal, attempted to soften it with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

‘Not you as well,’ said Diana, sadly. ‘I hoped that you, at least, would . . .’ She tailed off and stared miserably down at her cup and saucer. ‘I feel as if I’m in gaol.’

‘Would you like to tell me what happened?’ asked Stratton. ‘If you think it might help, that is.’

‘Yes, I would. You see, I went to Apse’s flat, and I found him - well, you know about all that - and then I ran out into the garden . . . Dr Pyke was there. I don’t know if you know, but he’s a neighbour of F-J’s, and I think he works for us, although I’ve never been told that officially. He took me up to F-J’s flat, and then they gave me something to make me sleep. They already
knew
, Edward. They knew Apse was dead. The next thing I remember is waking up in F-J’s flat, in bed,’ here she turned slightly pink, ‘in my underclothes, so I suppose Dr Pyke must have . . . F-J came in to see me, and when I asked about what happened - about Apse - he said it was all being taken care of. I had to make a statement about it. A policeman came to the flat to talk to me - I wanted to get up, but F-J wouldn’t let me, and he stayed there all the time. He kept saying “I’m sure that will do”, and that I needed to rest, which was nonsense because I felt fine by then, and when the policeman tried to ask me a question, he wouldn’t let him.’ At this point, she was interrupted by the waitress taking Stratton’s order. When the woman had gone, she said, ‘I tried to ask F-J about it again, after the policeman had gone, but he just patted my hand and said that it was probably all for the best.’

‘It was certainly convenient,’ said Stratton wryly.

‘There’s something else, too. About Claude. That morning, I got to the office early and I overheard F-J talking to him.’

‘To Ventriss?’

‘Yes.’ Diana leant forward and whispered, ‘I think F-J’s in love with him, Edward.’

‘What?’

‘They were talking about Apse - what he’d done - I’d told Claude about it, which I shouldn’t have, but now I think he must have known anyway. Some of it, at least. He was taunting F-J, saying he and his friends thought they could get away with . . . you know . . . what they do . . . I thought F-J would be furious, but he wasn’t. He just seemed to accept it. And,’ she continued in a rush, ‘I think Dr Pyke may be one of them as well, because once I came into F-J’s office when he wasn’t expecting me and F-J’s shirt buttons were undone. F-J said it was a medical check but afterwards, when I pointed out about the buttons, he looked down at his trousers, as if . . . I thought perhaps it was more than just blood pressure, because you wouldn’t have to . . . would you? Not for that. This happened before I found out about Apse, and it didn’t occur to me until much later that perhaps . . .’

‘Do you remember that afternoon in Colonel Forbes-James’s office when you pointed out the painting of the naked boy? I wondered then if you were trying to tell me something.’

‘I . . . I don’t really know what was going through my mind. I suppose I just wanted to see if you thought it was strange. I mean, I know there are lots of nudes in art galleries, but they’re older, aren’t they? When I asked F-J about it and he said that Apse had given it to him, I thought . . . Well, I don’t know what I thought exactly, just that it would be silly to have a picture like that hanging on your wall if you were that way inclined, I suppose . . .’

‘The picture certainly surprised me,’ said Stratton.

‘I couldn’t believe, I didn’t
want
to believe that . . . that, you know . . . about F-J, until I heard him talking to Claude, and then . . .’

BOOK: Stratton's War

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