The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

‘No, she’s not in trouble, but we think she may be able to help us.’

‘I’ll send for her, then. The office next to this one is empty today, so you can use that if you wish.’

‘That will be perfect, thank you.’

When Carol Hurst arrived she presented quite a contrast to her staid manager. She was young, in her early twenties to Jago’s eye, and despite her demure dress – he assumed the bank had rules about that sort of thing – she seemed bursting with life. She joined Jago and Cradock in the empty office, took a seat, and straightened her skirt in a somewhat exaggerated manner. Jago broke the news of Joan’s death to her, and she seemed genuinely upset.

‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ he said, ‘but we understand you and Joan were friends. Is that the case?’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Carol. ‘I got to know her about four years ago. We were both in the Women’s League of Health and Beauty. We used to like that kind of thing in those days – fresh air, exercise, keeping fit. We were supposed to be the flower of English womanhood, but actually, looking back now I think we were just a bunch of conceited young women prancing round in baggy satin knickers and waving our arms about thinking we were changing the world. I think that’s how she met her husband – he was a fresh air type at the time, liked camping and all that. But I think the charm wore off for him too. Mind you, I suppose being a part-time soldier and going on training camps in the summer means a bit of outdoor life, so maybe he hadn’t given it up completely. Not like her. I reckon the closest she’s got to that sort of thing in the last couple of years is watching cowboy films at work.’

‘So you know her husband?’

‘Richard? Yes. I was her bridesmaid – me and her sister Beryl. The wedding was in January of last year, so they only had a year and a bit together before he was sent off to France. You know he’s in the Territorial Army, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do. What else can you tell me about him?’

‘Well, no one knows where he is at the moment – it’s a bit of a mystery. Joan told me someone from the same battalion as Richard came to see her when he got back to England. He said they’d been sent over there to defend Calais, but they’d run into a spot of trouble. Rather serious trouble, in fact – he said most of the battalion were killed or captured, and Richard had gone missing. It must’ve been terrible news for Joan, and she was never a very strong person. I think she went to pieces a bit, but she tried to cover that up. I did my best to comfort her – Richard’s only missing, after all, not killed, and we’re all hoping there’ll be some good news soon.’

She paused, as though taking in the significance of what she’d just said, then looked at Jago with a pained expression.

‘That’ll be too late for her, though, won’t it?’

Jago nodded sympathetically. ‘I understand Richard volunteered for the Territorials before the war started,’ he said.

‘Yes, in April of last year, I think. He said he joined up because of Hitler occupying Czechoslovakia – he said that was the last straw. But I think there was more to it than that. He had a boring job, and maybe joining the Territorials sounded like a bit of adventure. I expect his mother’s told you all about him volunteering, though.’

‘We have spoken to Mrs Lewis, yes. Do you know her?’

‘What – Audrey? Yes, I’ve met her a few times, but I don’t know her well. She’s done nothing but worry about Richard since he went to France – but then she’s always been the same, from what I’ve heard. What you might call a possessive mother, a bit overbearing at times.’

‘She seemed confident that he’s still alive.’

‘Oh, yes. But I think that’s mainly because her friend Madame Zara says so.’

‘Madame Zara?’

‘Yes. She’s a spiritualist – a medium. I believe Audrey’s consulted her about her late husband, Richard’s dad, but I don’t know why. Audrey’s a bit of a crackpot, if you ask me.’

Jago wondered whether she spoke this freely about all her acquaintances and how she might later describe himself to her friends.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘did Joan have any men friends?’

She smiled and gave him a sly look. ‘That’s a bit of a naughty question, isn’t it? I mean, she was a married woman.’

‘It’s a question I have to ask in a case like this.’

‘Well, I can’t give you any names, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Do you mean you have some names but can’t tell me, or that you don’t know of anyone?’

‘I don’t know of anyone, of course. What kind of girl do you think she was? Mind you, she wasn’t what I’d call shy. She could be a flirt – you know, looking all coy talking to the boys, but then giving the eyelashes a bit of a flutter if she felt like it.’

‘Do you know if it ever went further than flirting?’

‘Well, that I couldn’t say, Inspector. I think she was just a bit tired of life. I mean, you know – husband’s gone overseas to fight and hasn’t come back, and for all she knows maybe he never will, and she’s cooped up with a mother-in-law who’d barely give her the time of day, in what’s probably a dead-end job. Not much chance of a social life, either, with the shifts she worked at the cinema. I think she was looking for a bit of excitement, a thrill – but not for something serious.’

‘How was she financially?’

‘She told me she earned twenty-seven and six a week at the cinema. Not a king’s ransom, is it? I get two pounds at