The Reckoning (35 page)

With Chubb's approval and the station commander's help, Joe had put a team together quickly. Besides the four men posted outside the hotel, he had enlisted the services of a senior detective he knew well, a sergeant named Braddock, and once they had got to the Regal and he'd seen the lie of the land, Joe had directed him to wait there in case their quarry turned up unexpectedly, while he distributed the rest of his forces. Now, having given them their instructions, he and Lily returned to the hotel, where he explained to her what her role would be.

‘I want you to sit in the lobby,' he said. ‘You can either be a new guest waiting to move into her room or a visitor come to pick up a friend. But look as though you just happen to be there.'

Joe himself had resolved to wait for the elusive Miss Oakes in her room, along with Braddock – a decision prompted by the single-sex nature of the establishment.

‘If she comes in and sees two men sitting there in the lobby, chances are she won't stop to wonder who we are. She'll make a run for it.'

Initially, however, his plan had met with opposition from the manageress, a smartly dressed lady with well-coiffed grey hair named Mrs Holly.

‘We simply don't permit men on the upper floors,' she had explained earnestly to Joe, whose look of sheer incredulity as he listened had almost caused Lily to split her sides; she had had to bite her tongue to stop herself from guffawing. ‘They may call here for our young ladies, but they can only do so from the lobby.'

Having informed her, in somewhat brutal terms, that the only young lady they were there to call on was a person they
had every intention of removing from the premises in handcuffs, Grace had eventually secured her reluctant agreement to his scheme. The two men would take up their positions in Miss Oakes's room on the second floor. Lily would remain in the lobby, cooling her heels. When their quarry returned, Lily would wait until she was on her way upstairs and then call Joe on the house phone to alert him.

Once again the thorny question of identification had arisen. Mrs Holly had peered long and hard at the two sketches, before announcing that she couldn't say for certain that either one was necessarily her guest.

‘She does wear glasses, it's true,' she said. ‘I suppose that one on the right could be her, but I wouldn't swear to it. Her hair looks different.'

Miss Oakes had made a reservation by telephone a few days before her arrival. She had given a home address in Ipswich, and although Mrs Holly admitted that she had not checked the details carefully – one didn't these days – it was doubtless the same as the one on the identity card that Miss Oakes had shown her. She had left the hotel soon after nine o'clock wearing a coat and hat.

‘She said she was expecting a letter. She first asked me about it yesterday, and I had to tell her it hadn't arrived yet. But it came with the midday post. I have it here.'

Mrs Holly had pointed to an envelope lodged in one of the pigeonholes behind the reception desk.

‘And before you ask, Sergeant Grace, I can't let you have it without authorization – a warrant or some such thing. Whatever she may have done, it still belongs to Miss Oakes.'

For a second Lily had thought Joe was going to make an issue of it. His gaze had hardened as he listened to the manageress and, knowing how unpleasant he could be when he chose, she had held her breath. But he'd surprised her by simply shrugging.

‘That's fine by me. You can give it to her when she comes.'

Grace had taken Lily aside.

‘We'll find out what's in it later,' he told her. ‘This is starting to get interesting. I'm only sorry the guv'nor's not here. He ought to be in on this.'

Lily, too, had wondered what was keeping Styles that morning.

Left to her own devices now, she surveyed her surroundings. The lobby was small, but some effort had gone into its decoration. A pair of oil paintings – landscapes both – hung on the wall, and the floor was covered by a carpet that might have been Persian. The whole place had a genteel air that went with the well-cut skirt and blouse Mrs Holly wore and the string of pearls she was playing with nervously, as she watched Lily take her seat on one of two armchairs placed on either side of a small settee.

The manageress had hoped to absent herself from whatever was to follow. She had decided on her own initiative to post her secretary, a middle-aged lady named Miss Haynes, at the reception desk, while she herself sat in the office behind keeping an eye on developments through the window that separated them, but well out of the way of any unpleasantness that might occur. However, she had made the mistake of revealing this plan to Joe Grace before he went upstairs, and once he'd realized that she was the only person who could identify Mary Oakes – it seemed her secretary rarely emerged from the office – he had insisted that she remain on duty at the desk.

‘We won't know it's her unless you tell us.'

She had paled as he pointed out the obvious.

‘You've got to tip us the wink, luv.'

Lily looked up from the newspaper she was pretending to read. A young woman wearing a coat had come into the lobby, but she had reddish hair and wasn't wearing glasses. Mrs Holly greeted her by a name and handed her a key.

Lily glanced at her watch. She had been sitting there for close on an hour and had seen several women pass through the lobby, most of them young. Two had been new arrivals who had come laden with luggage. Others had entered and collected their keys from Mrs Holly, before taking the lift or the stairs to go up to their rooms. Tense at first, Lily had gradually settled into the routine, glancing up from the newspaper she was pretending to read at each new face, checking Mrs Holly's for any sign of recognition. Although she had impressed on the manageress the need to act normally, Lily knew from experience that you couldn't count on civilians to behave as though nothing was going on.

‘Just give her the key and the letter when she comes,' Lily had said. ‘We'll do the rest.'

But she had noticed, as the morning wore on, that Mrs Holly was becoming more agitated, rather than less so. She had already disappeared twice into the ladies' room at the back of the lobby, leaving Lily to wonder what would happen if Miss Oakes were suddenly to make an appearance. No doubt the secretary, Miss Haynes, would come through from the office to give her the room key. But it was unlikely she would greet her by name or hand her the letter. However, Lily knew what her room number was – 203 – and she could see the hook where it was hanging on a board behind the desk.

Not for the first time that morning the phone behind the reception desk rang. It was attached to a switchboard, and Lily had seen Mrs Holly connect several callers to rooms upstairs. This time, however, after a brief hushed conversation, she beckoned urgently to Lily.

‘It's for you, Miss Poole.' She seemed to struggle for breath. ‘It's Scotland Yard.'

Lily jumped to her feet. She crossed the lobby in a few steps and grabbed hold of the instrument.

‘Poole here . . .'

‘Chubb speaking. What's the situation there? Quickly now.'

Something was up. Lily could tell. The chief super's voice was fraught with tension.

‘Sergeant Grace is waiting upstairs in her room with another detective. He's got four men outside in the street. I'm down in the lobby. When she arrives and collects her key from the desk I'm supposed to tip him off.'

‘Can I speak to him . . . Grace?'

‘I'll have you put through.'

‘Wait. Listen. This woman is dangerous, do you understand?'

‘Sir?'

‘
Dangerous
, Detective. She's our shooter.'

‘Jesus!'

Lily spoke before she could stop herself. She met Mrs Holly's glance. The manageress was standing on the other side of the reception counter, staring at her open-mouthed.

‘Have you got that? She's a killer . . . and I'm not just talking about the men she's topped in the last few weeks. She's got a gun, and by God she knows how to use it.'

‘But how do you—?'

‘Never mind that now. Inspector Styles is on his way. He'll fill you in. Is there any way you can warn the men in the street?'

Lily thought. ‘I could slip outside for a moment and tell one of them. He could pass the word to the others.'

‘I take it none of you is armed?'

‘Christ, sir . . . no, sir.'

‘Then don't try to tackle her – not you, I mean. Let her pass through the lobby when she arrives. Now put me through to Grace.'

Lily tried to catch Mrs Holly's eye. But the manageress's gaze wasn't fixed on her any longer. She was looking over Lily's shoulder. Her mouth hung open.

‘May I have my key, please?' The voice came from behind Lily's back. A woman came up beside her. Lily caught a glimpse
out of the corner of her eye of a coat cuff and a gloved hand. ‘And is that my letter there?'

The gloved hand was pointing at the pigeonhole.

Lily didn't dare look at her face. She kept the receiver pressed to her ear.

‘Poole, are you there? I said put me through.' Chubb was getting testy.

‘Er, no, I'm afraid I can't do that right now . . .'

‘What?'

Mrs Holly had been standing as though paralysed behind the reception desk staring at the woman, whose face Lily hadn't seen yet. Now, like a robot coming to life, she reached stiffly for the envelope in the pigeonhole behind her and handed it over.

‘I'm going to have to wait here a bit longer.' Lily fancied she could hear the false note in her own voice. ‘We were supposed to meet, Annie and I, but she hasn't shown up yet.'

‘Is she there?' Chubb had lowered his voice to a whisper.

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘Keep talking then, and stick to your plan. As soon as you get the chance, call Grace and warn him.'

The envelope had disappeared into the woman's coat pocket – Lily had been able to see that much out of the corner of her eye. She'd been holding her room key in her hand. But now she laid it on the counter.

‘I've just remembered, there's something I have to do.' She spoke in a neutral voice. ‘I'll be back in a few minutes.'

She turned without haste and made for the street door.

Lily stole a quick look over her shoulder. The woman had a small suitcase in her hand. She wasn't hurrying, but she knew all right – she had guessed – and Lily was as sure as she was of anything that if she let her go now, it would be the last they would see of her.

‘Just a moment, Miss . . .'

Dropping the receiver onto the counter, she ran after her and
at the same moment the woman spun on her heel. Lily just had time to note the athletic whirl of her body before she saw the case coming towards her and realized it was too late to duck. The corner caught her just above the eye and, as she went down, she heard Mrs Holly's scream.

Stunned, Lily found herself lying half-conscious on the carpet; she was flat on her back. The screaming had continued and, as though in a dream, she saw the back of the woman disappearing out of the door.

With an effort she managed to roll over and drag herself to her knees. Behind the desk Mrs Holly seemed rooted to the spot. She had stopped screaming, but now she was gasping, struggling to get air into her lungs. There was someone with her, Lily saw, and she supposed it must be Miss Haynes. Her own mind seemed to be operating like a tractor in slow gear, while her limbs felt leaden. Yet somehow she pulled herself to her feet.

She had one thought in mind now, and only one – to blow her whistle – and she stumbled across the floor to the street door and dragged it open. The cold air came as a shock and, as she stood wavering on the steps, a shadow moved in the swirling fog – it was a car passing by in the street – and she heard running footsteps away to her left. Unsteady on her feet and fearful of falling, she stumbled down the steps to the pavement, searching for her whistle in her bag, scrabbling about with her fingers until she found it. But as she put it to her lips she heard a shout. Then a shot rang out. It was followed by another, and all at once the foggy street was filled with noise. Men were shouting, a police whistle sounded; and then, louder than all the rest, she heard the metallic crash of a collision and the noise of breaking glass.

Lily started to run down the pavement in the direction of the disturbance, but the effort made her head reel and, when she put her hand to her brow, it came away bloody. One of her eyes
had gone blind and she realized it must be from the blood that was flowing down her face. She tried to get her bearings, but the ground was tilting under her feet, and before she had time to grab at a nearby lamp post for support, her legs gave way and she passed out.

27

B
ILLY PAUSED AT THE
door for a moment to watch as a detective from the Yard's forensic squad sprinkled powder on the glassed top of the dressing table. Even from where he was standing he could see the prints come up clearly on it. The men had been hard at work for the past half-hour lifting dabs, but whether they belonged to Alma Ballard was still anyone's guess, and Billy knew he wasn't alone in hoping that they would have run their quarry to earth long before that particular question was resolved.

‘This fog won't last forever. She can't hide for much longer. Those ID cards are no use to her now. And if she uses her own name, which she may, we'll nab her.'

The view was Chubb's, and it had been forcefully expressed soon after the chief super's arrival from the Yard to inspect the scene. Billy had taken him up to Mary Oakes's room. It had already been searched from top to bottom, though with little result.

‘She didn't have much with her,' Billy had told his superior. ‘Just a couple of dresses in the wardrobe, and some underwear and what-have-you in the drawers. It looks as if she kept whatever was important to her in that case she was carrying.'