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

not to buy a new hat he would have taken it lightly, but as soon as she’d said it his thoughts had flown to Dorothy. It was annoying. He knew it was standard fare with that kind of person – as he’d told Cradock, they just came out with some general statement like that knowing it would produce an echo in most people’s minds. But in his case the echo had been Dorothy – and for that he was more annoyed with himself than with Madame so-called Zara. He tried to push the thought away: he wasn’t going to have his actions dictated by some self-appointed mind-reader.

‘So those seances,’ said Cradock. ‘That’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?’

Jago felt his body twitch. Surely the boy wasn’t starting to read his thoughts too? He turned to Cradock to check his expression, but found nothing disturbing in it.

‘All that stuff with mediums and fortune-telling, I mean,’ Cradock continued. ‘Strictly speaking, it’s not legal, is it? We could nick her under the Vagrancy Act 1824, couldn’t we?’

‘Strictly speaking, you’re right, although I must say I don’t recall hearing of anyone being convicted in my time, so I’m not proposing to take any action unless we uncover some kind of racket. It’s just a shame that people get exploited. It was the same after the last war. All those people grieving, and someone says there’s an afterlife like a paradise where all the lads who’ve been shot or blown to pieces will live on, physically whole. I suppose people who’d lost loved ones didn’t want to accept that death was the end, so they turned to people like her to try to contact them. She as good as said it herself.’

Jago turned the car into the eastern end of Windmill Lane and stopped.

‘But right now I’m more interested in our sailor friend Ernie,’ he said. ‘I want to know whether his memory about Sunday night’s improved. Let’s just pop into the Cart and Horses, in case Ernie’s in there having a lunchtime pint. His dad said he was living it up.’

The pub was busy when they went in, the air heavy with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke, but there was no sign of the sailor. They came out again and Jago looked down towards the other end of the street, where the Railway Tavern stood on the corner of Angel Lane.

‘He must think he’s in clover living here, with a pub at each end of the street,’ said Cradock, following Jago’s gaze.

‘Yes, we’ll take a look down there if there’s no one at home,’ said Jago. ‘But we’ll see if there’s anyone in first.’

They walked down Windmill Lane, where the lingering smell of beer in their nostrils gave way to the more pungent odours from the London and North Eastern Railway’s cattle depot. A little farther on they came to the flat they had visited the previous day. Jago knocked on the door.

They heard the sound of feet clattering down stairs, and the door opened. The man before them, however, was neither Ernie nor his father.

‘Is Mr Sullivan in?’ Jago enquired.

‘Depends which one you want.’

‘We’re looking for Ernie.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, you’ve missed him. He’s gone up west. He said he was going to the theatre, so I reckon he must’ve gone to the Windmill – it’s probably the only theatre still open in London. Cheeky lad. I bet it’s where all the sailors go when they’ve got a bit of leave – so they can remember what girls look like, eh? Maybe if he tells them he lives in Windmill Lane they’ll give him a discount. Either way he’ll come home with empty pockets. He likes to have a good time, does my brother.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘And who are you?’

‘We’re police officers. Perhaps you could tell me who you are.’

‘Don’t see why not. I’m Martin Sullivan.’

‘And you’re Ernie’s brother.’

‘Like I said, yes.’ The young man stood on the doorstep, affecting a cocky expression as if challenging him to ask another question.

‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’ asked Jago.

‘No, I don’t, but I’ll be sure to tell him you called. He’ll be so sorry he missed you. Now, as it happens, I’m just on my way out myself, so if that’s all, I’ll bid you good day – I’m a busy man.’

‘That will be all, Mr Sullivan. We may see you again.’

‘Bye, then,’ said Sullivan. He edged past them on the doorstep and closed the door behind him, then hurried away down the street.

‘Charming fellow,’ said Jago to Cradock as they turned away.

‘Yes, a bit full of himself,’ said Cradock. ‘He’ll come a cropper one day with that sort of attitude – and it might not be long, if I’m right.’

‘Right about what?’

‘Well, I’ve just remembered – I’ve seen him before. It was at the Regal, when I was there with Emily on Sunday night. The film ended, and we all stood up for the national anthem, and then they played “Spread a Little Happiness”’. Just right for a war, eh?’

‘Get to the point, please.’

‘Sorry. Emily needed to powder her nose, so she went off to the Ladies, and I went to the Gents. It was very busy, of course, and as I was going through the door, he barged in ahead of me, then had the cheek to turn round and say something very rude to me. Quite foul, it was. Anyway, he went straight off into one of the cubicles, so I was out before him. When I got out, there was this long line of women queuing for the Ladies, including Emily, so I signalled to her that I’d wait for her there. I thought I’d keep an eye out for him too, and have a word with him about his language.’

‘Very commendable. And what did he say?’

‘Well, that’s the funny thing. In all the time I was waiting for Emily, I never saw him come out of the Gents.’

‘Perhaps you were too busy thinking about Emily and didn’t notice.’

Cradock