“Day’s leave. Been at it pretty much non-stop since this all began. As the raiding intensity has softened just a little for the last few days, the powers that be said we could have a break. Battersea station is covering for us. We’ll be back at it tomorrow. I think it’s only the calm before another storm. What can I do for you, Peter?”
Johnson rubbed his upper lip, still missing his late lamented Ronald Colman moustache. “DCI Merlin has mentioned the looting problems to you?”
“Och, yes. That he has. As has my boss, Sir Archibald. He mentioned that the two of you were getting your heads together on this.”
“Have you come across any looters?”
Stewart stifled a yawn. “I’ve seen people around the action who didn’t appear to have any reason or right to be around… but as for people actually in the act of looting, no, I haven’t, as I told Frank. That’s not to say I don’t believe it’s going on.”
“Hmm.” Johnson finished his tea and looked up at the rain spattering a nearby window. “Sir Archibald and I were chatting and we had an idea I’d like to run by you.”
“Fire away.”
“What if we attached a police officer to your team so he could keep an eye out?”
Stewart rubbed his eyes. “You realise what we are doing is not a walk in the park?”
“Of course, I know it will be extremely dangerous.”
“Who are you thinking of?”
“Myself actually, perhaps with one other officer.”
Stewart chuckled. “Well, I always knew you Geordies were mad buggers and now you’ve confirmed it. I have no objection, provided you don’t get in the way of the team. Who’s the lucky fella who’s going to be your partner?”
“I was thinking of DC Cole, you know him, I think?”
“Aye, nice lad. The champion runner. Should come in handy bringing the bastards down, eh?”
The two men stood and shook hands. “If you are back on duty tomorrow, how about tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night it is, Peter. We’ll look forward to your company. Keep in touch with Sir Archibald. He’ll be able to tell you where we are being deployed.”
*
Merlin chewed on a soggy corned beef sandwich at his desk, puzzling as to why Bridges had not been able to find anything at all on the Grand Duchy and Oriental Trading company. It wasn’t registered as a British company and there was no record of it as a branch of an overseas one. Perhaps it was just a front for something else. The sergeant, who was sitting opposite him, had just telephoned the St Pancras mortuary. Neither Bentley Purchase nor Sir Bernard Spilsbury were around, but Bridges had managed to speak to one of the deputy coroners and passed on the message about the need for a post-mortem.
Webster had shown them where he had found Kilinski’s body. It turned out to be just a hundred yards or so from the Grand Duchy building on the other side of the Euston Road.
The office door swung open and A.C. Gatehouse strode into the room. Merlin lowered his feet from the desk and brushed the sandwich crumbs from his lapels. The A.C. smiled affably at the two men. “How’s your wife coming along, Bridges? Is the infant due soon?”
“December, sir.”
“Ah yes. I was a December child, you know. Born Christmas Day in fact. Well, best of luck to you both.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mind if I have a private word with DCI Merlin, Bridges? Won’t be long.”
Bridges hurried out and the A.C. seated himself at the desk opposite Merlin. “Frank, I was just wondering whether you could, er… let me know how my niece, I mean, Detective Constable Robinson is coming along? I’m seeing my sister at Claridges for dinner tonight and she’s sure to want a report.”
Merlin had met the A.C.’s sister once. She was a female carbon copy of the A.C. – tall, gaunt and not exactly beautiful. He hadn’t been able to work out how this spectral apparition had given birth to the beautiful Claire. Presumably the father was very handsome, in spite of which he had ended up with her mother.