Princes Gate (18 page)

Miss Edgar provided no assistance.

“What’s the story with her?”

“She was friendly with both of the victims. She has also been behaving rather oddly the past few days. Obviously she was upset at Joan’s death, but she was off work the day Morgan’s death was discovered and the day before she was in a bit of a state.”

“Do you think the police are going to concentrate on her?”

“She had a long interview. There were a lot of tears I understand. She wouldn’t tell me what the police were asking, but…”

“Was she in some kind of relationship with the chauffeur?”

“Possibly. I don’t encourage relationships between workers at the residence, as I’m sure you know.”

“Hmm. Well, let’s wait and see what the police come up with. If it all turns out to be a messy domestic affair which embroiled these three poor young people, that’s probably for the best, isn’t it? With a bit of luck the police will solve this before the Ambassador returns.” Zarb stroked his thinning hair and sighed.

“Any news on the Ambassador’s return, Herman?”

“He’s coming some time next month. He was pretty vague and if I were a betting man I’d say nearer the end than the beginning. I mean, what would you choose, Philippa? A sunny, warm, war-free Florida or a cold, dark London, waiting for the Luftwaffe? A London which the Ambassador believes won’t survive more than a few weeks of war.”

She started to say something but thought better of it and bit her lip before asking “Do you have any instructions for me?”

He rose from his chair, removed the gum from his mouth and threw it in his desk-side bin. “Just let me know as much as you can of how the police are proceeding and what lines of enquiry they’re taking.” He moved around his desk and accompanied Miss Edgar to the door. As he opened it he held her by the elbow. “An odd fish, Norton, don’t you think?”

She had a couple of inches on Zarb and looked down at him. “He’s not the usual type of diplomat, I suppose, but, as a close and trusted advisor of Mr Kennedy, I give him my full respect.”

“Yes, yes. But don’t you think he’s a bit strange?”

“It’s not my place to make such observations, Herman.”

Zarb chuckled. “Alright, dear, we’ll leave it at that. But I’d like you to keep a particular eye out for him. I’d like to know what he gets up to away from here.”

After he’d shown his guest out, Zarb returned to his desk. He looked out at the darkening square and switched his desk-lamp on. He picked up the Foreign Office letter and read it again. The name of the fellow who had signed it was familiar. A high-flyer he had heard. He spoke the name out loud: “Mr F. R. Douglas.”

Bridges pulled the car over to the kerb. Merlin looked up from the IRA case report he had been immersed in during their short journey. They were a few hundred yards from the Ambassador’s residence. “I managed to speak to Miss Edgar concerning Morgan’s employment, sir. She told me that he was put up for his job by Mr Norton. A reference was also provided by a Mr M. Owen, who described himself in his letter as being a restaurant owner. He apparently used Johnny as a driver and commented favourably on his driving skills.”

“The uncle?”

“I would guess so. Miss Edgar gave me an address for Mr Owen in Earl’s Court.”

“We’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. First things first.”

Merlin got out and led Bridges down a narrow alley into a cobbled mews street. “This is it. I’m sure.”

Merlin strode ahead and stopped next to a garage door. He turned with his back to the garage and flashed his torch at the facing house. “Number 15, Sergeant.”

Bridges handed over the bunch of keys which had been found in Morgan’s jacket. The front door was successfully opened and their footsteps echoed over the linoleum of the small hallway and up the uncarpeted stairs. They unlocked and went through the second door and Merlin swore in Spanish as his knee connected with something solid. He hopped up and down as Bridges switched on the lamp on the solid oak table and looked sympathetic. Merlin’s pain eased and the two men silently took in the room before them. “Looks like he’d come into some money, Sergeant. Must be three times the size of the other place.”

Bridges crossed the opulently furnished bed-sitting room and entered the only other room in the flat. “Nice bathroom as well, sir.”

Merlin limped over to him. “Doesn’t feel very lived-in this place, does it? It’s like a service flat.”

Bridges nodded. “Shall we have a poke around?” The two men spent the best part of an hour looking around the rooms. They found no clothes, no personal items and no correspondence, not even bills. Everything was neat and clean and there was little sign of human habitation.

Merlin sat on the bed. “Nothing much to help us here. It’s as bare as Clem Attlee’s bonce. All we can do is check out the ownership of this property and see where that leads us.”

“The drink’s been cleaned up.”

“What, Sam?”

“You know. Kathleen said that Johnny spilled the whisky over her. No sign of that on the carpet, nor of any drinking come to that.”

Merlin looked at the carpet and then at a full bottle of whisky standing on a drinks cabinet by the bathroom door. “You’re right. Someone tidied up after them.” He rose stiffly to his feet. “Come on. We’ve got a long evening ahead of us.”

It was just after 10.30 when they arrived in the small side street behind Shaftesbury Avenue.

Bridges’ torchlight revealed letters to the right of the door. “‘BA Club’. BA short for Blue Angel we hope, Sam, rather than Bugger All. I think it’s best that we go in separately. If we’re together and start asking questions and someone gets suspicious, then we’ll both hit a brick wall. If we are asking them separately we’ll have better odds and a better chance of getting information.”

“Fine by me.”

“I got some cash out of the kitty. Here’s a couple of tenners. Probably a ten to one shot against you having any change left when we get out.”

“Who’s first then, sir, you or me?”

“I’ll dive in first. Give me ten minutes then follow me down.” It was dark behind the door but there was a glimmer of light when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Further along a narrow corridor a dirty, bare bulb shone onto a black door, to the right of which was a small printed card with the design of Joan Harris’ matchbook and the words ‘The Blue Angel’. As his eyes became accustomed to the weak light, Merlin saw another corridor on his right. A stale, fatty smell wafted towards him from that direction.

He took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell beneath the card. An elderly evening-suited man, with the ears of a small African elephant, appeared immediately. His jacket appeared to have been tailored for a larger body and hung down baggily from his hunched shoulders. There was a red curtain behind the doorman and Merlin could hear music, chatter and the clink of glasses.

“May I ’elp you, sir?” A black wart nestling under the doorman’s battered nose moved around disconcertingly as he spoke, while his flapping ears created a nice breeze.

“A friend of mine told me that this was a good place for a drink.”

“That it is, sir, but was it just a drink you were looking for?”

“He said you offered good company as well.”

“May I know the name of this friend, sir?”

“Name of Jack. Met him in a pub tonight. We had a few drinks together and I asked him if he could recommend some clubs. I’m in town on business. Staying the night and thought I’d like to have some fun. He gave me a few names but said your club was the nearest and the best.”

The gloomy doorman gave him a bleak smile. “Very well. Please come in. I hope you have a good time.”

As the red curtain parted, Merlin’s nostrils were assaulted by a wave of cheap perfume. The room was bathed in a subdued red light. The walls were decorated with a garish purple paper and a number of flesh-filled paintings in the style of Toulouse-Lautrec. He saw a bar in the distance, and several table booths scattered around the edges of the room. In the middle of the room was a small dance floor, where a few couples were dancing to the music of a three-piece band playing from a raised dais next to the bar. The musicians were, for some reason, dressed in Mexican outfits with Zorro hats, tight leather trousers, and frilly shirts.

“Can I show you to a table, sir, or would you prefer a drink at the bar?”

“The bar, please.”

As he made his way past the dancing couples, he was conscious of a host of eyes giving him the once-over. When he reached the bar three girls bore down on him.

“Hello, dear, buy us a drink will you?” said a Mae West look-alike wearing a tight silvery dress, out of which her bust was bursting.

“I saw him first, Carol. You’re going to buy me a drink first, aren’t you ducks?” The second girl was older than the first. Her dark hair was long and fell in curls round her neck and over a less monumental bust than that of her companion. She wore a particularly pungent cheap perfume.

A third girl, the youngest and prettiest of the three, sidled up to Merlin along the bar and put her hand on his.

He smiled at the three women.

“Hang on a sec, ladies. All this beauty has taken my breath away. I’ll need a while to recover so if you don’t mind, I’ll just settle in and get myself a drink for now. I’ll try and catch up with you later.”

The buxom blonde and the brunette melted swiftly into the pink gloom. The third girl, a petite girl with wavy fair hair and bow lips, withdrew to a chair further along the bar. She took a long drag from her cigarette. “Take your time, dear, there’s no rush.”

He struggled to get the attention of the barman, who was chatting to a plump man at the other end of the bar. Eventually the barman dragged himself away from his companion. “A beer, please.”

“Run a tab sir, or pay as you go?” The barman was Irish, a short, fair-haired man with a cast in one eye.

“I’ll pay as I go, thanks.”

The barman delivered the drink and passed a bill across the counter. Merlin frowned and handed over ten shillings. “Busy tonight?”

“Pretty normal for a Friday. It’ll probably get a lot busier after midnight.”

In a bowl on the counter were some loose cigarettes. He’d just have the one to steady his nerves. The barman threw some matches over.

“Thanks.” Merlin looked at the familiar design and lettering. “I live out of town but I’ve been to plenty of London clubs over the years. Never heard of this one before. Apart from in that Marlene Dietrich film that is. Been in business long?”

The barman looked suspiciously at Merlin with his good eye. “I’ve only been working here a couple of months. I think the club’s been here for a while but they change the name from time to time.”

The man at the other end of the bar shouted for attention and the barman moved away. Merlin sipped his beer and had a good look around the room. The curtain by the entrance was being pulled back with some regularity and the club was filling up. The band was playing a romantic tune with a Latin American beat. The kind of music his father would have loved.

As he trawled the recesses of his memory to try and remember the title of the song, he saw Bridges being ushered into the club by the lugubrious doorman. Bridges stood for a few moments by the door before heading to the opposite end of the bar. He was also quickly surrounded, in his case by a gaggle of four women. Looking a little perplexed and glancing briefly in Merlin’s direction, he sent three of the girls packing and kept the fourth, a dark-haired, foreign-looking woman. Then he ordered himself a beer and the girl a glass of wine.

“Friend of yours, is he?”

Merlin turned with a start to face the pretty girl perched along the bar. “Not at all. Why do you say that?” He wondered briefly whether the girl had arrived at the club just after them and seen them at the street door. But no, the girl had been well established at the bar when he’d arrived.

“Just seems that you’re taking a great interest in him, that’s all.”

He puffed at his cigarette. “I just like watching what goes on. I’m a curious sort of person. These places are very interesting.”

The girl finished her drink. “Don’t you find me interesting, dear?”

“Of course I do, I’m just taking my time. Didn’t you say there was plenty of time?”