Mrs Miller’s words turned out to be prophetic as once again, early the next morning, Eve answered the bell to find the excitable young constable jigging up and down on her doorstep.
A heavy air raid had disturbed the previous night and Eve and Pete spent most of it on the tube station platform. A fight for territory broke out amongst some other shelterers, which Pete had felt obliged to quell even though he was officially off duty, so they didn’t manage to get much sleep. As a result Eve greeted the eager boy bleary-eyed and bad-tempered.
‘Oh, God! What do you want?’ she snarled.
‘Come quick, miss,’ he said, trying to catch his breath, ‘they’ve found him, that milkman chap. He’s dead.’ The lad’s eyes widened with the thrill of vicarious horror.
‘You’ll have to give me a minute. I won’t be long,’ said Eve, sighing with resignation. Her curiosity spurred her on.
The lad lingered on the step, not sure what to do next.
‘Go on. You can go back to the station. I don’t need your help to cross the Green.’
She watched as the lad scurried back to his base. Eve then sawed off a doorstep-thick slice of bread and, after slathering it with jam, she washed it down with a cup of weak tea. Her supply had disappeared rapidly this month and she was reduced to using the sawdust at the bottom of the tea caddy. Tea wasn’t rationed yet, but the grocer still only let you buy a limited amount. He was probably stockpiling it so that he had plenty when the inevitable rationing did come into force. She would have to talk to Pete and Charlie about it and get them to bring some of their own tea when they visited. She flung on her clothes, grabbed Jake’s lead and ran.
Within ten minutes she was standing in Inspector Reed’s office and Jake was under the front desk in the foyer, being pampered by the desk Sergeant.
‘Ah, yes, Miss Duncan. Good morning.’ said the inspector, remarkably jovial considering the news he was imparting. ‘Well, we’ve solved the mystery of your milkman. Someone seems to have murdered him.’
Eve’s heart sank. Inevitably, she knew, she would be the one to break this news to Mrs Miller. How would the poor woman cope?
‘Oh dear. What happened, sir?’
‘The doc says he’s been stabbed. It looks as if he was dumped in the rubble of a bombed out building to make it appear as if he was killed in a raid. But as you know we haven’t had any bombs fall hereabouts for a few days until last night, so that little plan didn’t work. In fact that particular building was bombed months ago – you’d think he would have known that. Bad luck for the killer because if we’d had a raid here in Shepherd’s Bush on last Sunday night, and he’d chosen the spot better, we might never have found him; the milkman, I mean.’
‘Who discovered the body, sir?’
‘Some lads poking about in the rubble for souvenirs. Must have given them a hell of a shock. Perhaps that’ll keep them off the bomb sites. We keep telling them how dangerous they are, what with unexploded bombs and so on.’
‘They just want to collect bits of shrapnel and shell cases.’
‘Well, they can pick those up off the street. They’ll cop it if half a house falls on top of them; these damaged buildings are very unstable. Well, come on, Miss Duncan, let’s go and see the body.’ He swept his cap off the desk, stuck it on his head and strode from the room. Eve followed.
The body had been deposited in the rubble of the extensive bomb site in Coningham Road, where several buildings had been destroyed last September, in the first month of bombings. Anyone who knew the area would be aware that the milkman dumped there could not have been killed recently by enemy action. It must simply have been a convenient place to leave the corpse.
Accompanied by a couple of constables with orders to search the site for a murder weapon, the Inspector and Eve arrived at the place where the body had been discovered. The site was roughly corralled by string and a barrier of pieces of scrap timber, to prevent curious spectators from trampling all over the place. A small crowd had gathered on the pavement, from which rose soft, speculative murmuring. Eve noticed one of the milkmen amongst them, the burly one; she seemed to remember his name was Jack. She nodded to acknowledge him, but he ignored her.
Eve and Inspector Reed crossed the makeshift barrier and, trying not to turn their ankles on the roughly heaped stone, bricks and timber littering the place, they approached the people surrounding the body. The shadow of the remains of one wall of the original structure loomed over the scene, casting a gloomy pall over the proceedings. Some effort had been made earlier to clear the bomb site, but once everything useful had been salvaged it was abandoned, as other newly damaged buildings took priority for the clean-up crews.
Malcolm was lying on his back, his face a pale mask of shock, as if the attack had taken him completely by surprise. Perhaps it had been someone he knew well, thought Eve, and he was amazed when they attacked him. He looked so vulnerable and young. Malcolm still wore his long white United Dairies apron, liberally stained with blood on the front, and his peaked cap lay amongst the broken bricks not far from his body. His limbs were contorted at awkward angles and he had clearly bled copiously before he died because the white dust around him was dyed to a dried reddish brown. The killer must have struggled to carry him here as Malcolm had been a tall man, even though he still had the slimness of youth. Judging by the amount of spilled blood, the murderer would have been covered in it as well. It was probably only because it was so early in the morning that he had not been seen carrying the body. Perhaps he had used the milk float to bring the body here. But they were several streets away from Pennard Road, where the horse and float were found.
Eve shuddered, trying not to be squeamish. This was not the first dead body she had seen, but she could not help being affected by seeing such a young, healthy man dead before his time. She knew that in wartime many young men were killed by violence, but this death seemed so senseless. Malcolm may not have been very likeable and he certainly seemed to have aroused intense animosity in his colleagues, but did he deserve to die?
The doctor was packing up his bag; he seemed impatient to leave, having already waited for the inspector to arrive. The dim dampness of the site certainly did not encourage lingering.
‘I’ve done all I can here. He wasn’t dead when he arrived here, hence all the bleeding. It looks as if a long knife was used. Something like a big carver, or even a bayonet could have done it. It must have been at least ten inches long, but I can’t be more accurate until I’ve done the post mortem. I need to get him back to the mortuary first. There’ll have to be an inquest of course.’
The inspector nodded his agreement, ‘Yes, George, get on with what you have to do. I’ll speak to you later.’
An ambulance, in the form of a converted delivery van, was standing by on the street and soon the two constables had loaded the body onto a canvas stretcher and were carrying it to the vehicle. Eve watched as they put it on board and the ambulance was driven away to the mortuary.
Inspector Reed turned to Eve. ‘I don’t think there’s much more we can do here. I’ll talk to the lads who found him and see if they saw anything, but I think it’s unlikely. The doctor thinks he’s been dead for well over twenty four hours so they won’t have spotted the murderer. Nothing’s ever that easy,’ he shrugged. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d go and give his mother the news. I’m sorry, Eve, but I can’t spare anyone else to go and do it and certainly no-one with the feminine touch.’ He tempered these words with a grim smile. Eve was grateful that, for once, he had addressed her by her first name. She dreaded the task of informing Mrs Miller of her son’s death, but somehow she felt that it would not come as a complete surprise. She seemed to already expect that her wayward boy would meet a sticky end.
‘After that,’ Inspector Reed continued, ‘you can go home. Take the rest of the day off and tomorrow you can go back to Mr Gibbons. We’ll take it from here.’
‘Oh, no, sir! Can’t I carry on helping you with the enquiry? I’ve hardly started with the men at the dairy. I think there’s a tale to tell there. Someone must know something. Please can I pursue some ideas?’
Inspector Reed looked at her calmly. ‘I really think that now this is a murder enquiry you should hand over to us. After all, you’re not really trained for this work.’
Eve tried to keep the disappointment she felt from showing on her face. She really wanted to continue with this investigation, especially now that they had found the missing man dead. She was beginning to find this case intriguing. Also, she didn’t want to go back to Mount Pleasant yet; detective work was much more exciting.
‘I learned a lot last year, sir. I would really like to continue with this if I may.’
The inspector considered her plea for a moment and then, probably remembering how short staffed the Force was and how many crimes were being committed in the area, keeping his few men busy, he gave in.
‘Well, all right then. But keep out of danger, please. I would never hear the end of it if you got hurt. If there’s any sign of trouble, any at all, I want you to report back to me. I’ll get Sergeant Heller to give you a police whistle you can blow if you need help.’
Much good that would do if she had a murderer after her, thought Eve. Still, I suppose it’s better than nothing. ‘Thank you so much, sir. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way. I just hope I can find some clues that will lead us to the murderer.’
‘Oh, and you could take that friend of yours, Charles Spalding isn’t it? He’ll look after you,’ the inspector said. ‘Just don’t let him get you into more trouble than necessary.’
Eve thought that Charlie wouldn’t appreciate that remark, but she certainly felt that having Charlie with her whilst she was asking questions might make her feel safer.
‘Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. We’ll do what we can. I thought I might visit one or two of the other milkmen first. There seemed to be a lot of resentment against Malcolm at the dairy. Some of the men seemed to really dislike him. If I get each of them on their own maybe they’ll open up.’
‘Well, if anyone can do that I’m sure it is you, Miss Duncan. Just be careful is all I ask.’
They had been strolling towards the Green during this exchange and had reached the police station. The inspector went inside, back to all his other work. As it was now lunchtime, Eve decided to go and find Charlie in the market and tell him about the discovery of the body.
*
Charlie was working on a vegetable stall, juggling potatoes and onions, trying to persuade his audience of housewives to buy them. His usual droll patter accompanied his antics and many of his customers bought from him simply because he was amusing and took their minds off the grim reality of wartime life.
‘Six for a tanner, lady. I can’t say fairer than that. Come on, madam, a pound of onions for a bob and I’ll throw in a cabbage.’ Charlie’s voice carried over the bustle and clamour of the crowded market as people pushed and shoved around his stall.
Fresh vegetables were in short supply, especially after a harsh winter and with little imported produce coming from abroad, there wasn’t much on offer. Swede, potatoes, onions, leeks, turnips and a few greens, sprouts and cabbages were all Charlie had to sell. Apples and pears were the only fruit and they looked sad and wizened, having been stored over the winter to be sold in the spring. Oranges, bananas, lemons, any fruits that were imported, had disappeared. Tinned fruit was still available, but that was also in short supply and it was said that it would soon be rationed. Everyone was encouraged to grow their own vegetables if possible. ‘Dig for Britain’ said the posters. Many people, like Eve’s father, had dug up their gardens and grew what they could. Even the moat around the Tower of London was cultivated, as well as wide stretches of the parks where sheep grazed on the green turf. Parts of Shepherd’s Bush Green had been dug up into allotments and potatoes, carrots, onions and cabbages had started to sprout.
Not so long ago the population of these islands had been convinced that they would die of starvation due to a virtual state of siege, with the Germans destroying merchant shipping in the English Channel and the Atlantic. These brave craft, even when attended by a convoy of warships to protect them, often foundered under attack from German submarines, or U-boats as they were known, or were destroyed by mines. Without help from the Americans it seemed inevitable that food would not get through to the British. But, since U-boats had also sunk American civilian shipping, and even though the American Senate still refused to sanction any military aid, they had finally agreed, on March 11th, to help with food, oil and materiel - planes, tanks, weapons and so on. This scheme was known as Lend-Lease and was already proving a godsend. But even with this help there were no luxuries to be had, just basic foodstuffs and ever more commodities were rationed.
‘Charlie, Charlie!’ Eve jumped up and down so that he could see her over the crowd of housewives admiring his skills as he dropped onions into brown paper bags and swung them round to seal them with one hand whilst he took cash with the other. ‘Charlie, it’s me!’
Eventually he spotted her small figure and grinned as he continued to work.
‘Hello, titch, whatcha. Can I help you with something?’
‘Can you get away, Charlie? We’ve got another murder.’
Heads turned in the crowd of housewives and gasps of horror hissed amongst the murmurs of dismay.