The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (love books to read txt) 📕

doesn’t mind Amy going out there. It’s been weeks now, though. Every night. And there’s no sign of the air raids easing off, is there? If they did, I might get a chance of a bit of sleep myself, but as it is I seem to be on duty morning, noon and night. I don’t mind, though. I’m happy to take my chance with everyone else, and I can do my bit with the AFS. Plenty of work for us now, isn’t there?’

‘How long have you been a fireman, Mr Evans?’ asked Jago.

‘Since March of last year, when the council started recruiting people to join the AFS. I think we must’ve been one of the last places to start – the council here wasn’t very keen to get ready for a war, it seems. Only part-time at first, of course, but then a couple of days before war was declared we were mobilised, and from then on I’ve been full-time.’

‘And what did you do before that?’

‘Not a lot. It’s funny, really – the last proper job I had was stoking a furnace at Beckton gasworks, slaving away eight hours a day to keep the fires going, and now I’m seeing more fires than I ever wanted to see again and doing my hardest to put them out. Apart from that it was just bits and pieces, here and there. The last time I had good regular work was during the Great War. I got a job in a munitions factory. That was in 1915, when the government got caught short because the artillery at the front were running out of ammunition, and they built new factories everywhere. You remember that?’

‘I remember hearing about it.’

‘That packed up when the war ended, of course. There was no work, and I didn’t have any real skills, so I had to leave Wales. Most of us did, you know. I had no desire to live in England – the English have never done anything for Wales except send us underground so they can make money. It’s the same with Ireland, isn’t it? Just exploited people, although at least the Irish have got rid of the English, or most of them anyway. I can’t see the Welsh ever fighting the English, though, except on the rugby field. If you ask me, there’s only one thing about living in England that’s better than Wales, and that’s that the pubs don’t shut on Sundays here. Mind you, we’ve found plenty of ways round that in Wales, but I probably shouldn’t be saying that to a policeman, should I?’

‘We’re not here to enquire into your drinking habits, Mr Evans. I’d like to know if you can tell us anything more about what happened last night.’

‘Last night? Well, it was a big fire, I can tell you that for nothing. It had got a good hold on those old buildings before we got there. Incendiaries mainly, I expect. It’s not so bad if there are fire-watchers on duty, but some of those places in Carpenters Road still don’t have any. And even when they do, some of them skive, you know. It’s too easy for them to slope off for a rest or a sleep, or anything else that might take their fancy, for that matter – you’d be shocked at what some of them get up to.’

‘Perhaps we would, Mr Evans. Now, there’s just a few questions I’d like to ask you about last night. First of all, just to confirm – you said it was you and Mrs Parks, the ARP warden, who found the body, yes?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And I understand she’d asked you to help her get into the building.’

‘Yes, although I wouldn’t say asked – told, more like it. She was a bossy sort of woman – ordered me about like a flunkey. I think I heard her say “please” once, if that. I’ve seen her type before, mind – English, you know.’

‘You went in through the back door?’

‘Yes, she told me to break it open. It was a pretty flimsy affair, though. She probably could have kicked it open herself.’

‘So why did she need you to do it?’

‘Something to do with regulations. It used to be that firemen were allowed to break into a place but wardens weren’t, but the government changed the regulations last week, so she could’ve done. She said she didn’t know, but I can’t see how she wouldn’t. I reckon she just wanted to get someone else to do the dirty work for her.’

‘Dirty work?’

‘Well, you know, if someone complained about having their door broken down, or if something else happened, she could say she wasn’t the one who did it, like.’

‘I see. As you were leaving us this morning, I had the impression that perhaps there was something else you were going to say. Was there?’

Evans looked as though he were trying to recall the moment, and his face took on an expression of puzzlement.

‘Something else? No, I don’t think so.’

‘I wondered whether perhaps you’d seen something. Did you notice anything suspicious or unusual last night?’

Evans shook his head.

‘Did you know the dead woman?’ Jago continued.

‘No. Never seen her before. She was a good-looking girl, though. Not your usual run-of-the-mill spinster wasting away in a lonely little flat.’

‘What makes you say she was a spinster?’

‘I don’t know. I just assume she was, I suppose. She wasn’t wearing any rings.’

‘You noticed that, then.’

‘Yes, but that wasn’t suspicious or unusual, was it? There are women living alone in every street.’

‘So you didn’t see anything else that might shed some light on what happened in that flat?’

‘No, I was too busy fighting those fires to notice anything else.’

‘You know that area, though?’

‘No better than any other.’

‘Where are you stationed?’

‘I’m at West Ham No. 4 station, in Abbey Road – just down the road from here.’

‘Not far from Carpenters Road, then.’

‘Yes, but we go wherever we’re needed – some of these fires we’ve had recently have needed thirty pumps, and more, so they have