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

‘The ships Mr Roosevelt gave us in exchange for some bases?’

‘That’s the ones. Fair exchange is no robbery – that’s what they say, isn’t it?’ He laughed, seeming to find this an amusing thought, but Jago’s and Cradock’s faces were both blank. ‘Sorry,’ he continued. ‘You won’t know what I’m talking about, will you? Pig in a poke’s more like it. I’m serving in one of them at the moment – HMS Stockbridge, although I probably shouldn’t tell you that, should I? A terrible old tub, she is – the sort of ship that’d roll on wet grass. The Americans sailed her up from Boston to Nova Scotia with her old name painted out, then we took her over in Halifax. I reckon they were glad to get rid of her. On the way out there to get her we thought it was going to be great – we’d been told the destroyers all had fridges and showers, not like ours, and they definitely weren’t obsolete, whatever we’d heard. But when we tried to bring her back across the Atlantic, well … but that’s another story, as they say. The main thing is we got here, and now she’s in the Royal Albert Dock for a bit of refitting, and that means I’ve got a few days’ leave. Couldn’t be better for me – just a bus ride home.’

‘Very good – I’m sure everyone’s glad you got here in one piece. Now tell me, Mr Sullivan, when you crossed the Atlantic, did you bring anything of value back with you?’

‘What do you mean? You’re not the Customs and Excise.’

‘No, but I’ve heard there was a sailor selling ladies’ stockings in the Green Man on Sunday and I think that sailor may have been you.’

‘So? What if I was? There’s nothing illegal about it – I came by those stockings fair and square. They’re not stolen, and anyway, I gave most of them away for nothing – as presents, like. There were just one or two ladies who insisted on paying for them.’

‘What were these stockings made of?’

‘Made of? I don’t know. I’m a sailor, not a fashion designer.’

‘Oh, come on. You went to all the bother of bringing them back across the ocean so you could sell them – you must’ve known what made them worth the trouble.’

‘All right, then. If you must know, they’re made of nylon. It’s all the rage over there. I bought some from one of the Yanks. He said where he comes from the women are crazy about them. But what’s any of this got to do with my cap? My dad said you wanted me to come down here because you’d found it.’

‘Ah, yes, your cap.’ Jago opened a drawer in his desk, took out the cap, and passed it to Sullivan. ‘Is this yours?’

Sullivan looked inside. ‘E. G. Sullivan. Yes, that’s me. I’m glad you’ve found it – I’d be in trouble if I had to go back to the ship without it.’

‘How did you come to lose it?’

‘I’ve no idea. All I know is I definitely had it Sunday lunchtime at the pub, and I still had it when I went back there in the evening, I think, but I had a bit to drink, and when I got home that night I didn’t have it.’

‘Do you know whether you had it when you left the pub in the evening?’

‘I think so, but by then I wasn’t feeling too good. I must’ve ended up having a lie down and a little kip, because when I woke up I was in a shop doorway and I was cold.’

‘What time did you leave the pub?’

‘I think it was something like a quarter past, half past eight. I remember there was a bit of bombing going on somewhere, and I was quite impressed because most people stayed in the pub and carried on with their drinks. Not bad for civilians, I thought.’

‘And when you woke up from your little sleep, did you still have your cap then?’

The sailor screwed up his face in concentration. ‘Sorry, can’t remember. I was a bit too far gone to care, I suppose.’

‘What time did you wake up?’

‘No idea. I can remember feeling cold and a bit stiff from lying there, but that’s about it. One of your coppers stopped for a word, and I suppose I should’ve asked him the time – that’s what they’re for, isn’t it?’ He chuckled to himself. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘All right. Do you know what time you got home?’

‘Not sure – I vaguely recall putting the wireless on when I got home, the BBC programme for the forces. I thought there might be a bit of dance music on, but all I got was that religious thing, The Epilogue, so I turned it off. I think I went straight to bed then and fell asleep.’

Jago was not a devoted listener to The Epilogue, but he knew it was broadcast on the BBC’s Forces Programme at ten o’clock on Sunday evenings, and he’d caught the end of it himself on the day in question.

‘The Epilogue was on from ten o’clock to ten past ten,’ he said. ‘So you’re saying you got home sometime between those two.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Can anyone vouch for the time you got home?’

Sullivan seemed to be trying to focus his thoughts before replying. ‘Er, yes, my dad was in, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘I mean yes, he was in. But this cap of mine, where did you find it?’

‘It was found at the scene of a crime.’

Sullivan’s expression suddenly changed, his eyes widening in alarm.

‘Crime? Now hold on a minute, what’s this all about? All I’ve done is have a few drinks and lose my cap. I came down here in good faith to claim it, and now you’re trying to mix me up in some crime.’

‘Do you know a woman called Joan Lewis?’

‘No.’

‘And you weren’t in her flat on Sunday evening?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What flat?