Read Online Murders in the Blitz by Julia Underwood - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Underwood
Tags: Historical Mystery
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question. I wanted to find out if your father knew of any men that Zoya talked to. Anyone in particular, that is.’
‘No idea, Miss Duncan, but I’ll ask Dad when I see him later. She was such a pretty girl. What a waste.’
‘Did you ever see her yourself, Mr Drummond? As you thought she was so pretty?’ Eve said, again trying to blunt the question with a cheeky grin. She didn’t want him to think he was a suspect, though, of course, he could be.
‘Yeah. She was pleasant enough, for a foreign girl. Not my type really; a little too exotic, if you know what I mean.’
To Eve this sounded like typical Londoner’s xenophobia. Some young men did not want to get mixed up with the foreign girls that had descended on London since the invasion of countries in Europe. She wasn’t sure if their aversion was a good thing or not.
‘Well, thank you, Mr Drummond. I won’t take up any more of your time.’ Eve turned towards the door. ‘But please ask your dad if he knows any men who were particularly friendly with Zoya.’
‘Any time,’ he paused, ‘...I don’t suppose you’d like to come for a drink with me later?’
‘No thanks. My boyfriend’s taking me to the Palais. See you around.’ She gave a friendly wave as she left, catching a glimpse of his disappointed face.
It was nearly six and Pete was to pick her up at 7.30. They usually had a drink in the pub before walking into Hammersmith. She hurried home to prepare, put on her glad rags, sadly not as glamorous as Zoya’s, but the best she had.
By seven thirty, primped and polished and wearing a swirling black skirt, a tight pink top and a pair of high heeled shoes for a change, she was ready. Pete arrived promptly and waited, cheerful and happy on her hearthrug as she put on her jacket. Such a good, solid citizen, Eve thought. This is what I need, someone steady to look after me. At the back of her mind something was telling her that that would not be very exciting, but she suppressed the thought ruthlessly.
‘At least it’s not raining,’ said Pete. ‘God, it’s good to have a night off. I seem to have been on duty forever.’
With the staff shortage, shifts at the police station were longer than ever and double shifts were often a necessity. Pete had been victim to this and fatigue lined his homely face but had done little to suppress his cheerful nature.
Eve hugged his arm to her as they climbed to the pavement.
‘We’ll have a good time, love, and try to forget about work, murders and wrongdoers; even lost dogs. We might forget about invasion, if we’re lucky.’
‘We will, darlin’,’ said Pete, but he still insisted on hearing all the details of Zoya’s murder over a drink.
‘Boy, Evie, are you sure you want to be mixed up in all this? Your Mum’s right, you know, it could be dangerous.’
Eve dismissed his warning. ‘It’s more fun than wading through paper at Mount Pleasant.’
Mr Weismann, the owner of the pawnbroker’s shop, was playing chess in the back bar. Eve wondered if he might know anything about the emblem she had seen on Simon Parkes’s cigarette case. It was the sort of thing he might recognise in his line of business. But it would have to wait; she wasn’t going to let the residents of the PRC spoil her evening.
On their way to the Palais they passed near the PRC building. Eve saw Major Parkes hurrying out. He was moving fast for a man with a wounded leg. She was tempted to yell a greeting, but stopped as he stepped into a large black car. There were several other men inside, but Eve couldn’t see them clearly. Where could Major Parkes be going? Perhaps he was visiting that club he had told her about.
As the evening was fine it didn’t take long to reach the Palais. Eve and Pete chose Wednesdays because the dancehall was less busy than Friday or Saturday nights. The polished floor was not thronging with barely moving dancers. By the time they arrived the evening was well under way. Dancers came early and
‘No idea, Miss Duncan, but I’ll ask Dad when I see him later. She was such a pretty girl. What a waste.’
‘Did you ever see her yourself, Mr Drummond? As you thought she was so pretty?’ Eve said, again trying to blunt the question with a cheeky grin. She didn’t want him to think he was a suspect, though, of course, he could be.
‘Yeah. She was pleasant enough, for a foreign girl. Not my type really; a little too exotic, if you know what I mean.’
To Eve this sounded like typical Londoner’s xenophobia. Some young men did not want to get mixed up with the foreign girls that had descended on London since the invasion of countries in Europe. She wasn’t sure if their aversion was a good thing or not.
‘Well, thank you, Mr Drummond. I won’t take up any more of your time.’ Eve turned towards the door. ‘But please ask your dad if he knows any men who were particularly friendly with Zoya.’
‘Any time,’ he paused, ‘...I don’t suppose you’d like to come for a drink with me later?’
‘No thanks. My boyfriend’s taking me to the Palais. See you around.’ She gave a friendly wave as she left, catching a glimpse of his disappointed face.
It was nearly six and Pete was to pick her up at 7.30. They usually had a drink in the pub before walking into Hammersmith. She hurried home to prepare, put on her glad rags, sadly not as glamorous as Zoya’s, but the best she had.
By seven thirty, primped and polished and wearing a swirling black skirt, a tight pink top and a pair of high heeled shoes for a change, she was ready. Pete arrived promptly and waited, cheerful and happy on her hearthrug as she put on her jacket. Such a good, solid citizen, Eve thought. This is what I need, someone steady to look after me. At the back of her mind something was telling her that that would not be very exciting, but she suppressed the thought ruthlessly.
‘At least it’s not raining,’ said Pete. ‘God, it’s good to have a night off. I seem to have been on duty forever.’
With the staff shortage, shifts at the police station were longer than ever and double shifts were often a necessity. Pete had been victim to this and fatigue lined his homely face but had done little to suppress his cheerful nature.
Eve hugged his arm to her as they climbed to the pavement.
‘We’ll have a good time, love, and try to forget about work, murders and wrongdoers; even lost dogs. We might forget about invasion, if we’re lucky.’
‘We will, darlin’,’ said Pete, but he still insisted on hearing all the details of Zoya’s murder over a drink.
‘Boy, Evie, are you sure you want to be mixed up in all this? Your Mum’s right, you know, it could be dangerous.’
Eve dismissed his warning. ‘It’s more fun than wading through paper at Mount Pleasant.’
Mr Weismann, the owner of the pawnbroker’s shop, was playing chess in the back bar. Eve wondered if he might know anything about the emblem she had seen on Simon Parkes’s cigarette case. It was the sort of thing he might recognise in his line of business. But it would have to wait; she wasn’t going to let the residents of the PRC spoil her evening.
On their way to the Palais they passed near the PRC building. Eve saw Major Parkes hurrying out. He was moving fast for a man with a wounded leg. She was tempted to yell a greeting, but stopped as he stepped into a large black car. There were several other men inside, but Eve couldn’t see them clearly. Where could Major Parkes be going? Perhaps he was visiting that club he had told her about.
As the evening was fine it didn’t take long to reach the Palais. Eve and Pete chose Wednesdays because the dancehall was less busy than Friday or Saturday nights. The polished floor was not thronging with barely moving dancers. By the time they arrived the evening was well under way. Dancers came early and
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