‘Time I went, Mum, Dad. Thanks for the supper. I’ll bring you some of my rations next time, so you’re not short. And don’t worry about me – nothing bad is going to happen.’
When she was ready and stood on the doorstep, Jack gave her a hug.
‘Look after yourself, kid. I know you’re the most sensible of my three girls. You won’t take any risks. Come and see us when you can. Tata, love.’
Mrs Duncan stood behind him as Eve walked to the gate, a screwed up handkerchief between her fingers and an anguished expression on her face. Eve was aware that her mother would never say anything, but she knew that she was loved.
Because she had arrived home early from Wembley yesterday, and after walking Jake, she was in bed by 10.30, Eve woke on Tuesday morning full of energy.
Having dressed and seen to Jake she walked directly to the police station. The place still buzzed with the fire at the factory and officers bustled backwards and forwards in what appeared chaos to Eve’s eyes. Pete would be home sleeping, as he had been on the night shift. She sat quietly by the front desk waiting until someone noticed her and observed the comings and goings with interest. Wartime and danger hadn’t decreased the numbers of timewasters and nuisances that bothered the desk sergeant of a busy station. Eve couldn’t help admiring his forbearance.
After she had lingered for nearly an hour someone came in whom Eve recognised. The officer walked straight up to the desk with a swagger born of authority. If he noticed Eve’s presence he didn’t acknowledge it.
‘Excuse me,’ Simon Parkes addressed the Sergeant. ‘I need to speak to someone about the murder.’
‘Murder, sir? Has there been a murder? Wait a minute and I’ll write down the details.’
‘Not a new murder.’ A note of impatience entered Simon’s upper class voice. ‘The one on Sunday night. I think they’re waiting for the result of a post mortem.’
The desk sergeant looked baffled, as if no-one had told him about a murder on Sunday. Eve stood and approached the desk. Major Parkes turned and stared as if he’d been unaware of her presence.
‘Why, Miss Duncan! What a pleasant surprise.’
‘Good morning, Major Parkes. Don’t worry, George,’ she said to the Sergeant, ‘I’ll explain to the Major.’
Eve drew Parkes to the bench against the wall. He sat down carefully, easing his stiff leg and leaning his walking stick beside the seat.
‘I’m waiting to see Inspector Reed now,’ said Eve. ‘There was an incident at the factory yesterday and the pathologist was too busy to do the PM on the murdered girl. I’ve been waiting for ages to see what’s happening today and no-one’s even noticed me yet.’
‘I need to know what’s going on,’ said the major. ‘It’s causing disruption at the Centre. The girls are in hysterics half the time and the men aren’t much better. There’s still no sign of Zoya, so I suppose we must presume that the body is hers. But we need to get it confirmed before morale goes completely to pieces.’
Eve could see that Major Parkes had become seriously perturbed and she had sympathy with him. His relaxed demeanour had been replaced by urgency and dismay. Perhaps this was finally some-one who cared as much about the murdered girl as she did.
She tried to reassure him. ‘We’ll know what’s happening soon. Someone is bound to come and talk to us.’
They sat together and waited. It was another half an hour before a constable came to speak to them.
‘Inspector sends his apologies, Miss. He says the pathologist will be doing the post mortem some time before lunch. And can you take someone to identify the body this afternoon,’ the man consulted his notebook, ‘around two thirty.’
‘Thank you, Constable. I’ll arrange that.’ Eve prepared to leave the police station with Major Parkes limping in her wake.
When they were on the pavement the major consulted his watch.
‘It’s nearly eleven; they’ll be open soon. Let’s get a quick drink and try to think about something other than this bloody murder.’
Eve agreed and they were soon in the cosy snug of a pub that she was unfamiliar with. A good sight posher than the Bush, this bar had padded chairs and polished tables, and a relatively clean carpet.
‘Thank you, Major,’ Eve said as he deposited her half of shandy on the table.
‘For goodness sake, call me Simon. It looks as if we may be spending a fair amount of time together. I don’t do that formal stuff.’
He settled into his seat and sipped; it looked like a pink gin. A bit strong for a morning tipple, thought Eve. But he probably needs a boost. A houseful of hysterical foreign women must put a strain on the poor man.
Simon drew a silver cigarette case from his pocket and offered it to Eve. She accepted one gratefully. She wasn’t much of a smoker, unlike Charlie and Pete, a couple of chimneys, but she did enjoy one with a drink.
‘Thanks,’ she said, inhaling the soothing fumes, and relaxed. Simon had put the cigarette case on the table. She took it and idly turned it over. Engraved on the rear was an emblem she had not seen before. A majestic eagle with upswept wings flew with an elaborately decorated staff held in its talons above the initials - P.J.
‘P.J.? Those aren’t your initials. You naughty man, you haven’t pinched it have you?’
Simon snatched the case from her and, with a frown, put it back in his pocket. Instantly the urbane smile returned to his handsome features. ‘No, it’s to do with a club I belong to.’
‘Oh, what’s that?’
‘Nothing interesting. A sort of sporting club.’
He clearly didn’t want Eve to pursue the subject so she left it. But curiosity was bubbling in her head. What was the lovely major hiding and what was this club that he belonged to? She was determined to find out.
Simon had to return to work and Eve accompanied him to arrange for someone to come and view the body after lunch. Simon disappeared into his office and Eve was left with Rachel.
‘Please could you ask a couple of them to come and identify the body, Miss Archer? There should be two, for moral support, I expect they’ll be upset afterwards.’
‘Oh, you really think it might be Zoya then?’
‘Almost certainly. She hasn’t turned up for work for two days and you haven’t seen her here, have you?’
‘No. I’ve been surprised at her absence. Zoya is the last of them I would expect to go AWOL. She at least seemed to be sensible and reliable. It’s all most unfortunate.’
That’s a bit of an understatement, thought Eve. ‘Well, if you could arrange for them to be at the morgue at two thirty, I’d be most grateful.’
She gave Miss Archer the directions and left to find Charlie. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon and needed to bring him up to speed; he’d want to know what was up.
She found him on a china stall in Shepherd’s Bush market.
‘Come on, ladies,’ he was yelling with his most beguiling costermonger’s sales patter, balancing fans of cheap crockery in his hands like packs of cards. ‘Just today; special offer! A complete tea set - half price. Can’t say fairer than that, ladies. Just four quid. Buy now and I can let you have the teapot free. Thank you, madam. Take your box from the pile over there. Now, sir, what can I do for you...?’
Eve watched his skilled performance for a while and then wandered off to peruse the other stalls. She bought some fruit and vegetables and was returning to find Charlie when a hand fell on her shoulder.
‘Hello, hello. And what are you up to, young lady?’
‘Shut up, Charlie. Come on. Let’s go and get a pie in the caff. I’m starving and I’ve stuff to tell you.’
They skirted the market stalls and entered the steamy interior of Gladys’s Cafe. Many of the stallholders were already eating their lunch, but a table at the back had room for two. Eve pushed her shopping under the seat and Charlie sat opposite. He leaned across the table, eager to for news.
His face fell, disappointed, when she had divulged the information she had.
‘What? Is that all? I’d have thought you’d have some idea of who’d done it by now. They haven’t even identified the body. You don’t know the result of the PM. What’s the good of that? You’re not much of a sleuth. Haven’t you got any idea who might ‘ave done it?’
‘Not yet, Charlie. We haven’t got enough information, have we? But by the end of today we may know a lot more.’
‘I bet you that baker knows more than he’s telling. And what about those girls –jealous, you can be sure. Maybe one of them did it. Or the secretary, she doesn’t like them, does she? Come on, Eve, it’s got to be someone you’ve met.’
Eve deflated by his attitude, realised how right he was.
When she arrived at the mortuary, slightly late, Eve saw that the others were waiting. Two of the Polish girls were there - the little blonde, Anna, had another, dark-haired girl anxiously towering beside her. Eve was surprised to see Borys with them as well.
‘Thank you all for being on time,’ said Eve. ‘I didn’t know you were coming, Borys.’
Boris stared at her with a strange expression that might have been fear, sorrow or malice. Eve couldn’t make it out.
‘I come for the ladies,’ he said simply. ‘Is very sad for them if is Zoya. She was friend. I help.’
Eve nodded understanding and pushed open the morgue’s door. They were directed along cold, tiled corridors to where identifications occurred.
A man in a buff coloured overall ushered them into a bare room. A body covered in a sheet lay on a wheeled stretcher.
‘Are you ready?’ asked the man.
‘Yes,’ Eve answered for everyone, thinking, let’s get this over with. She knew that the girls were quaking with nerves and probably couldn’t utter a word.
The Polish girls approached the covered body; their hands entwined in fear. Borys followed and Eve went to the other side, hoping to observe their reactions when the body was revealed.
The technician pulled back the sheet. The victim’s face looked less ghastly than when Eve had first seen her in the street; you could almost imagine that she was sleeping.
The girls gasped in unison and immediately began to cry. Great wails of grief burst out and they clung together and rocked.
Borys was the first to speak. ‘Yes, is Zoya,’ he said, his voice brimming with sorrow. ‘Cover her now please.’
Eve learned nothing from their expressions except that they were distraught, although it had been an almost foregone conclusion that the body was their friend’s. Borys’s face was equally enigmatic, nothing more than a stern frown crossed it.
The technician covered the body and the sad group turned towards the door. One of the girls ran back and, wrenching back the sheet, bent and kissed Zoya’s forehead. She whispered a Polish benediction and followed the others to the corridor.
‘Could you wait here a moment, please?’ the mortuary man asked. ‘There are a few formalities.’
The group sat on wooden chairs until the man returned with a file. Anna signed a form confirming the identity of the body, witnessed by the dark-haired girl. Borys hung back, his face creased in grief. His hands were clenched, trying to hold back strong emotion.
‘Do we know the results of the post mortem? What exactly happened to her?’ asked Eve.
‘The post mortem report’s gone to the police station, miss. You’ll have to ask there,’ the man replied and gestured for them to follow him to the exit.
Eve said goodbye to the sad trio and watched them start homewards. She hurried towards the police station, needing to find out from Inspector Reed what the post mortem told them about how Zoya died.
The panic about the factory seemed to have subsided and the station was relatively calm when Eve arrived. She stepped into Inspector Reed’s office within minutes and reported the result of the identification.
‘Oh,’ said the inspector. ‘They recognised their Zoya then? Sit down, Miss Duncan. I expect you want to find out what the PM says. Well...’ he picked a card folder from his desk and riffled through. ‘The pathologist says he was struck by the fact that, though the young woman’s neck was broken, there was little external sign of strangulation. Just one tiny bruise under her hair at the back. A very professional job, he says, probably carried out by someone with training.’
‘Training?’
‘Yes, unarmed combat, that sort of thing. The stuff they teach soldiers.’
‘So it must have been a man then?’ said Eve.
‘Yes, almost certainly. You’d need strength to do this and large hands. There wasn’t another mark on the body; no sign of a struggle. It was over very quickly. She must have been taken by surprise. Those girls at the PRC wouldn’t have the strength or speed.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Eve. ‘There aren’t many men to choose from. There’s the two Polish airmen, and one of them’s got a bad arm. Borys, he’s really strong. Simon -Major Parkes, - I suppose. Rachel Archer might have the strength. She’s a big girl and I think she may have training; she’s seconded from the Ministry of War. But she had a grudging respect for Zoya, so why would she want to kill her?’
‘It needn’t be one of the men from the PRC, Miss Duncan. It could be someone Zoya knew outside the refuge.’ He tapped the PM report. ‘There’s something else in here. It seems that Zoya was pregnant.’
Eve gasped. Someone had said over lunch the other day that Zoya had a boyfriend, so of course she might be pregnant. Who could be the father? Perhaps the inspector was right and a man Zoya knew outside the PRC might be the culprit. Zoya had a job; she must have met lots of men at the bakery. They sold sandwiches at lunchtime. Surely it couldn’t be Mr Drummond, the baker. He was strong, but he looked harmless. Eve couldn’t wait to talk to Charlie; he might have some ideas.
But after Inspector Reed had given her further instructions and Eve left his office and found Charlie, he wasn’t helpful.
‘Told you she was a good time girl, didn’t I?’
‘I think you may have mentioned it, Charlie. But I don’t think that’s it. I think Zoya had just one boyfriend. It’s sad and rotten luck that she got pregnant.’
‘And got herself killed too, don’t forget.’
‘Yes, that too,’ sighed Eve. She turned to leave. ‘Look, I’m going home now; I need an early night. It’s been an emotional day. I’ll see you tomorrow. Reed’s asked me to look through Zoya’s things to see if there are any clues there. She may have something that’ll help us.’
She slowed, deep in thought. A trolley bus clanged past, but she paid no attention because she had an idea. Perhaps there was someone at the PRC who might be able to help her.