“Anything for us, miss?”
“We have to find two men, a Lucas Peeters”—Maisie pushed her notepad towards Billy so he could see the spelling—“and Carl Firmin. If they are in the telephone directory, it shouldn’t be too hard. On the other hand, if they aren’t, then it’s back to the drawing board, the lists, and asking a lot of questions.”
“Just a tick,” said Billy. He left his chair and went through to the main office, returning with the London telephone directory. “Well, Firmin’s here. Want me to find him?”
Maisie shook her head. “I’ll go—and I’ll not telephone first. I don’t want to give anyone a chance to leave. And I’ll visit this association in Greenwich—I’m sure it’s on Sandra’s list.” She made a note of the telephone call on another sheet of paper. “So, Billy, what about Mike Elliot?”
“Nice bloke. Seems as if he was easygoing—once upon a time, anyway. He works on the railways, but not at St. Pancras. I found him at Euston—they’d transferred him up the road there after the business with Addens and him having to identify the body. Turns out he met Frederick Addens when they were both apprentices, and they became pally, you know, had a drink after work every now and again. Mike worked in another part of the station and would wander over to see if Frederick was there and wanted to have a swift half-pint after work, that sort of thing.”
“Anything interesting?”
“This Mike was still sort of shaken about it all. Said he couldn’t think why anyone would want to kill Addens—unless it was to steal whatever he had on him at the time, and of course we know now that he had more than a little bit on him, on account of having been given his wages and having overtime paid on top. Elliot said he was a good worker, quiet but not standoffish, and good to his wife and children. Mike said that if he asked Frederick to have a second pint, he would always say no, had to get back to the family.”
“But nothing about any worries or concerns?” said Maisie.
Billy shook his head. “Not exactly, but he did say that Addens had a cross to bear. He said he put it down to his background—not that he’d spoken much about it to Mike. But Mike said Addens couldn’t stand any discord, any argy-bargy at work, and even when they were younger, he would always step in if there was a bit of nastiness between a couple of the blokes they were working with. He said it was always the same, he would say, ‘Don’t argue, because arguments lead to battles and battles become wars and we all know where they lead.’” Anyway, Mike said he asked him about it once, why he was so touchy about it—I mean, they all knew what war meant, didn’t they?—and he just shrugged and said, ‘I saw too much death, Mikey, to leave it alone.’”
Maisie nodded, imagining a younger Frederick Addens pouring oil on troubled waters, smoothing tempers and ironing out disputes. And she wondered about the death he had seen before his escape from occupied Belgium.
“And did you get anything from the landlord at the Crown and Anchor?”
“Oh, good old Smitty, the drinker’s friend!”
“Smitty?” said Maisie.
“He was all very chatty, very welcoming. Name of Phil Smith, but the locals all call him Smitty.”
“I knew you’d have better luck than me.”
“And I’ve saved the juiciest morsel for last, miss.”
“Go on.”
“I showed him that photo of Albert Durant, and he said he’s not one hundred percent sure, but he reckons he might have seen him a week or so before Addens was murdered.”
“That’s as near a thread as we’ve managed to get so far,” said Maisie.
“He wasn’t entirely certain, but I reckon there’s a good chance. Turns out the man came in after a Sunday darts match, when all the lads were having a drink to celebrate another win. He walks in and taps Addens on the shoulder—Smitty noticed it because, apparently, this bloke was well dressed, looking every inch the city type. Addens turns round, big beaming smile on his face, and then Durant—well, the man we reckon is him—whispers something to him, and they go over to the corner table and sit and talk, heads close together. Smitty said it wouldn’t have surprised him if Frederick Addens didn’t start to weep, his face was so torn. Said that he assumed the other bloke was an official visitor, bringing news of someone they’d both known who’d died. Frederick didn’t say much, according to Smitty—he just plonked money for his shout on the bar, said thank you, and they left.” Billy paused, looking at Maisie. “What do you think, miss?”