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

decreed that AFS men would be issued with only one set of uniform, so every time he got home from duty he had to hang up his tunic and trousers in front of the range, in the hope that the heat from its fire would dry them before his next shift. It didn’t always work.

‘Surely you don’t have to go every night,’ he said. ‘You can’t just abandon me to fend for myself when I’m working all hours like this.’

‘I’m sorry, Hosea, but I’m not spending the night here until all this bombing’s finished, and that’s final.’

Amy Evans was a short, stout woman of forty-three, who, unlike her Welsh husband, was a native of Plaistow. Born in Brighton Road, she had lived there until she married Hosea, and then had moved into the next street, Stephen’s Road, and lived there ever since.

‘Look at the clock,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait around any longer.’

She already had one arm in the sleeve of an old black overcoat and was struggling to get the other in while propping up a grubby canvas bag with her foot to stop it toppling over. Once she had the coat on, she poured a cup of tea as quickly as the pot allowed and handed it to him.

‘I’ll be back in the morning, same as always,’ she continued, ‘but my nerves just won’t stand it. I don’t think this old place would stand up to a decent clap of thunder, never mind high explosives. You know what I was like when the air raids started. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were here with me, but six nights a week you’re out fighting fires and suchlike. Now don’t get me wrong, I think you’re very brave for doing that, but there’s no use pretending. I’m not made of the same stuff as you, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. It’s men that start wars and men that fight wars. That Hitler must be a coward to bomb women and children, but he’s doing it, and that’s a fact. It’s not going to change anything by me staying here and getting killed too. I’m just thankful Cissie’s said I can spend the nights out there. At least I might get some sleep, and that means I can come back here in the morning and look after you properly. I only wish we could move out there ourselves.’

‘Oh, yes, let’s move out to the country. And what would we live on? I don’t like this war any more than you do, and I can think of plenty of things I’d like to do all night more than trying to put out fires when half the German air force is up there dropping bombs on our heads. But at least it means I’ve got a job. When have I ever earned three pounds a week in the last ten years?’

‘Yes, and when have I ever seen three quid coming into the house? I know a good wife isn’t supposed to begrudge her husband a drink, but a pint here and a pint there and it soon dribbles away, doesn’t it? I’m sure you’re a valued customer down at the King George, aren’t you? Not to mention the dog track. But I’d appreciate seeing a bit more of it in my purse, paying our bills.’

‘We’d have a bit more to spare if you weren’t spending it on train fares to Epping every night too, wouldn’t we?’

‘That’s not fair. It’s an emergency. I don’t think we can say the same about your pint down at the King George, can we?’

‘All right, love, you win. Look, we don’t want to start arguing, do we? I mean, when I’m out at night fighting fires I feel like I’m just one step away from an early grave. You’ve only got to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and you’ve had it, like those couple of lads when that wall fell on them last week. You go and see your sister, and have a good sleep, and God bless you, Amy. You’re more than I deserve, and I know it.’

Her expression softened, and she crossed the room to give him a hug.

‘And I love you too, Hosea. Just you look after yourself tonight.’

Before he could reply there was a knock at the front door. Amy opened it, to find Jago and Cradock standing on the pavement outside.

‘Is Mr Evans at home?’ said Jago, showing her his identity card. ‘I think he’ll be expecting us.’

She looked them both up and down, then beckoned them in.

‘I’m on my way out, as you can probably see. I’ve got a train to catch, but if it’s my husband you want to talk to you won’t need me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off.’

She swung her bag over one shoulder, turned back to give Evans a brief kiss on the head, and went.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ said Evans. ‘Do come in and take a seat. She’s not walking out on me, by the way, if that’s what you think.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve been happily married for nigh on twenty-five years. Got our silver wedding anniversary coming up next spring, although as you can see we’re not the sort of people to have a lot of silver about the house. No. Thing is, she’s a trekker.’

Jago was familiar with the term: he’d heard people using it since the first heavy air raid in September. But this was the first time he’d met one.

‘She doesn’t go and sleep out in the forest, like some of them,’ Evans continued. ‘I don’t know what they’re going to do when the winter comes, if this bombing hasn’t let up by then. It’s pathetic, really, isn’t it? I mean, people having to cart their bedding and everything out to Epping Forest every night just to get away from the bombs? Fortunately for Amy, she’s got a sister in Epping – Cissie, her name is. Got a nice little bungalow, and she