Murder at aldwych statio.., p.6
Murder at Aldwych Station, page 6
With that Allison left.
Coburg looked at the address the superintendent had left him, The Dorchester hotel, and scowled.
‘I thought we were supposed to be servants of the public, not the commissioner’s friends,’ complained Coburg.
‘Yeah, but maybe this is one for us,’ said Lampson guardedly.
Coburg looked at his sergeant inquisitively. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’ he asked.
‘Well, I’ve got this mate who’s an auxiliary fireman, and he was telling me that some of the crews are a bit iffy. Rotten apples, if you get my meaning.’
‘Looting the properties they’ve gone to protect?’
‘Yeah, in a word. They’re only a minority; most of ’em are dead genuine. Like my mate Archie. But the ones who are on the nick are bringing down the reputation of the good ones.’
‘How widespread is it?’ asked Coburg.
‘I can only speak for the area my mate Archie looks after. According to Archie, and he should know, the Auxiliary Fire Service in London is twenty-three thousand strong, all volunteers, unlike the London Fire Brigade, who are paid professionals. The AFS has got three hundred Auxiliary Fire Service substations. The London Fire Brigade has got fifty-nine stations, plus river stations on the Thames. So, as you can see, the AFS is the bigger by far and so gets most of the call-outs.
‘Now when they started calling for volunteers, most who signed up were like my mate, Archie, set on doing something for the war effort: protecting property and saving lives. But once the Blitz started, some blokes signed up because they saw it as a way of lining their pockets.’
‘Looting?’
Lampson nodded. ‘Some councils appointed salvage officers to oversee the recovery of properties that had been bombed and quite a few of those rotten apples ended up in court. There was even one mob that used gelignite to blow open safes at wealthy-looking places they went to put the fires out.’
‘Places like the block of flats where this General Walters lives.’
Lampson nodded. ‘Anyone who can afford to stay at the Dorchester has got to be worth a few bob. And when you think about it, guv, the fire service is the same as any big organisation. Twenty-three thousand on the force – if only five per cent are crooked, that’s still over a thousand.’
‘So this assault case might turn out to be something bigger?’
‘If what Archie says is true, and I don’t have any reason to doubt him.’
‘I must say it’s not something I’ve thought of,’ admitted Coburg. ‘In effect, I’m like most people: we assume the people in uniform whose job is to protect us are doing just that. The RAF, the army, nurses, the police. But we both know there are corrupt police officers taking bribes to look the other way, and when I was in the army, in every regiment there was always someone who stole army property and sold it, usually working with a corrupt quartermaster.’
‘And how many of them got jail time?’ asked Lampson pointedly.
‘Hardly any,’ admitted Coburg. ‘It’s about protecting the reputation of the organisation. So anyone caught with their fingers in the till – or worse – is usually allowed to resign. No charges filed.’
‘Which looks to be the same with some of the auxiliaries,’ said Lampson. ‘So even if they’re doing it, we might not get the charges to stick. Morale of the organisation, and that sort of thing.’
‘We’ll do what we can,’ said Coburg. ‘I suggest we start by calling on General Walters.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday 4th December 1940
Pamela Cuddington picked up the ringing telephone in the hallway of the house she shared reluctantly with her husband, Lord Colin Cuddington.
‘Cuddington,’ she said.
‘Pam-baby,’ said a man’s deep voice, and even in those few words she could hear sadness in his voice.
‘Alexis,’ she said.
‘I got some bad news for you, baby. Benny’s dead.’
She stood, momentarily silent, then slumped into the small chair beside the telephone table with a little whimper.
‘Pam?’ she heard Alexis say, apprehensive.
‘How … how?’ she forced herself to ask, and already she could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘He was poisoned is what I heard,’ said Alexis. ‘They found him in the Underground tunnel at Aldwych station. I wanted to let you know before you saw it in the papers. Although they may not even put it in at all.’ He fell silent, but he must have heard her weeping because he said, ‘I’m sorry, Pam. It’s really bad. If I hear anything more, I’ll let you know.’
Pamela replaced the telephone and gave herself to grief, her howls of anguish echoing through the large house. Her howls had subsided into sobbing as the front door opened and her husband walked in.
‘What are you snivelling about?’ he demanded.
‘Benny’s dead!’ she managed to utter, before lapsing back into tears.
‘Benny?’ asked Colin Cuddington. Then he remembered, and a smile crossed his face. ‘Oh, him,’ he said scornfully. When Pamela looked at him, pain writ large on her face, Cuddington smirked and said, ‘I warned him what would happen.’
‘You did it?!’ burst out Pamela, aghast.
‘Let that be a lesson, Pam,’ said Cuddington. ‘Don’t cross me.’
He walked past her and made for the stairs. ‘I shall be out this evening,’ he said. ‘No need to wait up for me.’
As Coburg and Lampson walked up the steps of The Dorchester towards the main entrance, the sergeant commented, ‘I suppose this is another place where you know half the staff and they know you. Not to mention the guests.’
Three of the previous cases Coburg and Lampson had been involved in had occurred at The Ritz, The Savoy and Claridge’s, three of the most luxurious hotels in London. Now, with this visit to The Dorchester, their set was complete. Like the other five-star luxury hotels in London, The Dorchester had been built to withstand bombing and earthquakes, with the result that the wealthiest Londoners had flocked to it once the Blitz began.
Lampson was proved correct when they approached the reception desk and the concierge, resplendent in a purple frock coat adorned with gold braid, greeted them with: ‘Mr Coburg! What a pleasure to see you again!’
‘See?’ grunted Lampson in a whisper.
‘Good afternoon, William,’ said Coburg. ‘Is General Walters available, do you know?’
William cast a look at the rows of keys behind him, then nodded.
‘His key is out, so I assume he’s in. Although I saw Mrs Walters leave the hotel not long ago.’
‘That’s alright, it’s the general we need to see. Can you ring his room and tell him DCI Coburg and Sergeant Lampson from Scotland Yard are here to see him?’
‘Of course.’ William smiled. He dialled a number, then said, ‘General? It’s reception. DCI Saxe-Coburg and Sergeant Lampson from Scotland Yard are here to see you.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you. I’ll send them up.’
He put down the phone and said, ‘It’s room 354. And my apologies for expanding to your full name, but it helps to differentiate between you and some other Coburg.’
Coburg nodded, and then headed for the lifts.
‘Are there many Coburgs, then?’ asked Lampson.
‘One or two, I believe,’ said Coburg. ‘Mostly in central Europe.’
‘Germans?’
‘And Hungarians, so I’m told.’
General Walters was a tall man in his sixties, well dressed, with neatly barbered white hair and a grey military moustache. The only blot on his otherwise immaculate image was a purple bruise around his left eye. He welcomed them into the hotel room.
‘Thank you for coming. It’s just me, I’m afraid. The memsahib’s gone out to do some shopping.’ He looked quizzically at Coburg. ‘Saxe-Coburg,’ he mused. ‘Any relation to Magnus Saxe-Coburg?’
‘He’s my eldest brother,’ said Coburg.
‘Good chap,’ said the general. ‘We were in the trenches together in the first lot. You were in that, too, I believe. Shot and wounded just before the armistice, so Magnus told me.’
‘Yes,’ said Coburg.
‘There’s your brother Charles, as well,’ said the general. ‘I bumped into Magnus a couple of months ago. He told me that Charles is in a PoW camp in Germany. Taken prisoner at Dunkirk.’
‘That’s right,’ said Coburg. ‘But, with respect, sir, we’re here to learn about the robbery you experienced.’
‘Those damned auxiliary firemen!’ Walters scowled. ‘Bunch of gangsters! Punched me in the face!’
‘How sure are you that they were responsible?’
‘Very sure. When the air raid warning sounded, Phyllis and I gathered everything up. We keep a couple of bags ready by the door. Before we left the flat, I checked the safe, as I always do. It was shut and locked.’
‘Where was the key?’
‘In my pocket. I always keep it with me. When the all-clear sounded, we came out of the shelter and went back to the block of flats. Our flat is on the top floor, and unfortunately we’d taken a hit. Roof gone. The fire service was there, auxiliaries, not regular. There was a fire engine parked in the street and it was pretty obvious they’d doused the building; there was water everywhere. We went up to our flat and saw they’d broken in, smashed the door down. To be honest, I was niggled at that, but not unduly upset. It struck me they might have had to break in to put out any fire, but although there was a hole in the roof there didn’t seem to be any sign of fire damage inside the flat. But there was water everywhere, ruining everything. The furniture, the carpets, everything. And then I noticed my safe was open. The door was hanging off its hinges.
‘The fire crew who were in the flat asked what we were doing there. I told them we were the owners and we’d come to see what damage there was. I pointed the safe out to the one in charge and demanded to know what had happened to it. He said he had no idea. I then told him it was empty, all my wife’s jewellery had gone, along with my medals and the cash we kept in it. He said it was nothing to do with them.
‘Well, I could tell he was lying. He looked shifty. He had the same look I used to see on the faces of men in the army when they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. I challenged him. Demanded to look in their pockets and bags. It was then that the bastard punched me. Outrageous behaviour! Then they left.
‘I was going to go after them, face them down, but Phyllis held on to me, told me they might be dangerous. I could get hurt. I told her, in the trenches we were always in danger and I got hurt often enough then; I wasn’t going to be frightened off by a bunch of crooks.
‘Eventually I managed to persuade her to let go of me, I didn’t want to push her, one doesn’t do that to one’s wife, but by the time I got downstairs they and their fire engine had gone.’
‘Did you get the number of the fire engine?’ asked Coburg.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the general. ‘I thought of going to the AFS HQ and asking which fire crew would have been here, but then I thought it would only alert them and they’d have their excuses and alibis worked out. So I decided that letting the police handle it was the best way forward.’
‘It might be useful if we could look at the scene,’ said Coburg. ‘Would you mind accompanying us to your flat?’
‘Delighted to,’ said the general. ‘I’m glad that someone’s doing something.’
Coburg and Lampson accompanied General Walters to his block of flats in Knightsbridge. Pools of water were still evident on the pavement outside the block, and all the way up the concrete stairs.
‘There’s a lift,’ said the general, ‘but we’ve avoided using it in case the electrics were damaged. Last thing we want is to get trapped.’
The door to the flat had been smashed in so that the fire crew could gain access. Inside, everything had been soaked with water. Although there was a hole in the ceiling, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of fire damage inside the flat.
The general led them to the safe, the door of which was hanging open on the lower hinge; the top hinge had been smashed off.
‘It’s been hammered,’ said Lampson. ‘Heavy hammers, with a pointed side. Like a cross between a sledgehammer and a tree splitter.’
‘So the fire crew did it,’ said Walters.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Coburg. ‘Someone could have seen you and your wife leave, come in, broken into the safe and then run off before the bomb hit.’
‘It’s a bit unlikely’ said Walters doubtfully.
‘In this war, anything’s possible,’ said Coburg. ‘What we’ll do is have a word with the auxiliary fire crew who attended. There’ll be a record of which crew it was. In the meantime, I’d advise you to get on to the block’s management company and get them to fix the roof and the door.’
‘I’ve done that,’ said the general. ‘They’ve said they’ll have it done as soon as they can. It seems they’ve got the same issues at their other blocks.’
They took General Walters back to The Dorchester, then made for Scotland Yard.
‘I suppose the next thing is to track down the crew who attended the fire,’ said Lampson.
‘We’ll do that tomorrow, after we’ve got back doing what we were planning before this robbery business came up,’ said Coburg. ‘Getting the stations in Soho to check the clubs and find out which one Benny Martin was playing at the night he died. I want to dig into Benny Martin’s murder before the trail goes cold.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wednesday 4th December 1940
That evening, Coburg filled Rosa in on their meetings with Benny’s mother and his sister, Alice.
‘Neither were much help, to be honest,’ he said. ‘We’re going to check all the clubs in Soho to find out where Benny was playing the night he died, but Sergeant Lampson is doubtful if it will yield much in the way of information.’
‘What about his guitar?’ asked Rosa.
‘His guitar?’ asked Coburg, puzzled.
‘If Benny was dressed to perform, he must have left his guitar somewhere. Find the guitar and you’ll find out where he was.’
‘Surely a guitar’s just a guitar,’ said Coburg. ‘How will we know if it was his?’
‘Because Benny had stuck his initials in pearl letters on the front: BM.’
‘That’s good,’ said Coburg thoughtfully. ‘I’ll pass that on to the squads tomorrow.’ He looked at Rosa and said, ‘By the way, something came up today you need to know about.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. Your friend Gerry Matthews at the Pink Parrot club.’
‘Was he able to help?’
‘Very much. It was he who gave us Benny’s address in London, and from there we got the addresses of his mother and sister.’
Rosa grinned. ‘Gerry’s always been a fount of information.’
‘Yes. He also told me something else, something I haven’t shared with anyone else for the moment.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘I’m weighing up where to go with it. It seems that Benny had a lady friend. Lady Pamela Cuddington.’
Rosa frowned. ‘So that’s who it was.’
‘You’ve seen her?’
‘She was in the audience at a gig where Benny and his band were playing, and when he came offstage he went to the table where she was sitting and she was all over him. At first I thought she might be his mother, she looked old enough, but the way she acted – wow! – that was no mother expressing her affection for her son. Luckily the lights were low, but as it was one of the waiters had to go and have a discreet word with them. Mainly with her. I thought that Benny looked embarrassed. Anyway, they left soon after.’ Rosa looked inquisitively at Coburg. ‘So, what’s so secret you haven’t shared it with anyone? Not even Ted?’
‘Not even Ted,’ said Coburg. ‘But I will because it could affect the case. The thing is, Gerry Matthews told me that Lady Pamela told him that she and I were once engaged to be married.’
Rosa stared at him, stunned. ‘Engaged? You and her?’
‘Yes, although she was Pamela Westbrook then.’
‘My God,’ chuckled Rosa. ‘Was she like that then? All over you? She must have worn you out!’
Coburg shook his head. ‘There was nothing like that. We were both young. I was seventeen and she was sixteen. We’d been introduced by a mutual friend, and we started going out together. Just a couple of kids. And one day her father asked me what my intentions were towards his daughter. He was a very severe man, quite intimidating. I thought it was the right thing to do. It’s what our class did then. The decent thing. So we got engaged. A few months after that, I got my papers to go to war. I’d applied to go, but the paperwork took time. The tide had begun to turn in the war and there were lots of young men about my age applying for a commission.’
‘A commission?’
‘I was the son of an earl. It was expected that I would go in as an officer. I’d done officer training at Eton, along with almost everybody else. So, January 1918 saw me go to France and take charge of a battalion of the 2nd Sussex, even though I was younger than everyone else in it.’ He fell silent for a thoughtful moment, then said unhappily, ‘It was a dreadful time. The slaughter on both sides. Cutting a long and painful story short, I managed to stay alive for the rest of the year, just a few minor injuries occurring. But then came the 4th of November and I led a charge of the Sussex at the Sambre–Oise Canal, along with the 2nd Manchester and the Lancashire Fusiliers. It was meant to be the final assault that would end the war. In fact, the war ended just a week later with the German surrender and the armistice.’
‘That’s where you were badly wounded,’ said Rosa.
Coburg nodded. ‘For some time they thought I wouldn’t pull through. The machine guns we were up against had ripped most of the men to shreds. I was lucky, although I lost a lung.
‘Anyway, I spent the next six months in a convalescent hospital in England, being rebuilt. Pamela had written to say she’d visit, but she never did. Finally, a letter arrived from her father to say that it was with regret the family had decided the marriage could not go ahead, due to my medical condition. It was felt that, as an invalid, I would not be able to provide for her. So that was that.’
