Cora hurried to keep up with Van’s long strides as they made their way to the police station. Shopkeepers from two stores in Marylebone on the west end of London had been arrested on charges of involvement in the black market. Van had called in a favor with one of the detective inspectors for an interview. Later, she would track down the merchants’ customers for their side of the story.
She shook her head. Why did people take advantage of others during difficult times? Did the men have no consciences? Life was hard enough with loved ones in the armed forces, bombing raids, and other stressful situations. Citizens should be pulling together, not giving in to greed.
Debris on the sidewalk crackled under her feet. Would London never be clean again? How long would it take the residents to rebuild their homes and businesses when all was said and done? America was blessed that she hadn’t suffered as badly as the countries on this side of the globe. Ships had been sunk, and there’d been a few incidents with subs, perhaps more than she’d know about in her lifetime, but all in all her country was safe from marauders.
Blinking away the morbid thoughts, she grabbed Van’s arm. “Do we have to run the entire way?”
He slowed his pace, and his face reddened. “Sorry. I was rehearsing the questions I want to ask.”
“As a good reporter should.” She smiled. “I do the same thing. Did you come up with some good ones?”
“I think so.” He leaned close to her ear, his breath caressing her cheek.
Trembling, she tried to focus on his words, not his proximity.
“I’m going to try to get DS Graham to let us speak to the prisoners.”
She stopped short. “What a great idea. We’d get insight into their motivation. Maybe it’s not all about the money for them. Do you think he’ll allow that?”
“Doubtful, but worth a shot.” Van motioned toward the brick building about thirty yards away. “We’re here.” He winked. “Maybe you can use your beauty and feminine charm to get permission.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.” She grinned. “But since I’d love to get the chance to speak with the perpetrators, I’ll overlook any possible insults.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “No insult intended. You are a great writer, but sometimes we journalists have to get…um…creative in getting to our sources. And since you’re a lot prettier than I am, you have a better chance of swaying the detective inspector.”
“If he’s shallow and petty.”
“We can only hope.”
She rolled her eyes. “Or we can appeal to his sense of the importance of understanding the motivation of these people.”
“Have it your way.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “The game is afoot, Watson…er…Strealer.”
Her giggle died in her throat. Myrtle stood at the entrance of the police station. What was she doing here? Was she chasing the same story? How had she heard about the arrest?
Cora glanced at Van who seemed as surprised as she was to see the woman, so her niggling concern that he was in contact with Myrtle was nothing more than mistrust and worry. Van was not underhanded. He was a lot of things, but lying and subterfuge weren’t some of them. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together. Did the woman really think batting her eyelashes was effective? Lord, help me not lose my temper. Help me see her from Your perspective.
Van squinted and shielded his eyes. “Miss O’Malley. A pleasure to see you again.” His tone belied his words. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“Trying to get a story, same as you.” She sauntered toward them, hips swaying. “No success yet, but if you’re here, there must be something I’m missing.”
He shrugged.
“Won’t you give me a hint?”
“Journalists worth their salt, don’t reveal their secrets. Surely you know that, Miss O’Malley.”
“A girl can try, can’t she?” Myrtle stroked Van’s arm. “After all, we’re colleagues.”
“Actually, we’re not. Fellow reporters, yes, but we work for rival news organizations. I’m not willing to lose my job for you, Miss O’Malley.”
The woman’s ingratiating smile slipped into a frown, and she stepped back. “Understandable, Mister Toppel. But we’ll meet again, and I will scoop you.” She whirled and marched down the sidewalk, spine stiff.
Cora refrained from cheering, glad she’d prayed about the interaction. Her human-self wanted to best the woman, show her up and win. But giving in to such earthly desires would turn Myrtle away from any chance of believing in God.
Van pulled open the door and motioned for Cora to precede him. “That was a close one. I wasn’t sure how we were going to lose her if she followed us inside.”
“She’s as tenacious as ever.” Cora entered, the tile and wood lobby offering cool relief from the sunshine and warmth outside. “What if she keeps showing up where we are? She might scoop us after all.”
“We’ll cross that bridge, and all that. London is teeming with journalists. There’s enough war to go around.”
They approached the desk, and Cora fumbled in her pocketbook for her press pass. What was it about the station that brought out her nerves? She wasn’t a criminal, but the austere expression of the uniformed officer behind the counter produced feelings of guilt, as if she had something to confess.
Van displayed his pass then scrawled his name on the log. “Good afternoon, Sergeant. Miss Strealer and I have an appointment with Detective Sergeant Graham.” His voice boomed. “Would you be so kind as to tell him we’re here?”
Cora drew herself to her full five-foot-three-inch height. They had an appointment. Since when did she cower in the face of authority? She grabbed the pen and signed her name with a flourish.
“Yes, sir. The inspector is expecting you, but will be a few more minutes. Follow me.” He led them down a narrow hallway then opened a door marked Interrogation Room #1. “Would you care for tea?”
“No, thank you, Sergeant. We’re quite comfortable.”
“Suit yourself.” He closed the door, and his footsteps faded.
Goose bumps raised on Cora’s arms, and she rubbed her cold skin. “Interrogation room, huh? Is this his attempt at intimidation?”
“Maybe, but it’s more likely he wants us out of the way and unable to see what’s happening elsewhere.”
She glanced at the dingy, gray walls, one of which held a sign that proclaimed Prisoners Must Remain Seated At All Times. The only window was on the door, and the pane was frosted, preventing her ability to see into the corridor. The stale odor of cigarette smoke and sweat permeated the room. How many prisoners passed over the threshold? How had war impacted the number?
“We might have another story, Van. What if we explored how the war has changed the face of crime? In a time of killing, do men and women break the law more or less often?”
“Brilliant, Cora.” Van’s face lit up. “Positively brilliant.”
She warmed at his words, and her heart skittered. Perhaps this partnership would work out after all.
a
Van’s chest expanded. Cora beamed at him like he’d just handed her an expensive gift. He blinked. In a way, he had by complimenting her idea. What was it like to be a woman in a man’s field? Probably a laborious effort to be accepted as a colleague, someone who could do the job as well as the men.
The women on his home newspaper had covered society events, food, fashion, child-rearing, and other topics geared toward the home. Had any of them wished they’d received tougher assignments? Gritty stories that required deep investigation? Or had they been satisfied with their place on the staff?
More than one hundred women had been certified as war correspondents by the government. Surely, they weren’t the only females in the nation who had interests of a worldly nature. He cocked his head. Cora made him rethink everything he’d ever known.
Leaning back his chair, Van pulled his notebook and pencil from his shirt pocket. “Maybe DS Graham will give us a hand with this piece, too. Or he might have connections at Scotland Yard who would be willing to speak with us. We could take the opportunity to shine the light on the work they’re doing to keep England safe at home while many of her men are in combat.”
Seated next to him, Cora nodded. “We could go into the neighborhoods to conduct interviews too. Find out how men and women feel about their safety, and their perception of the level of crime.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “London has a lot of ground to cover. We’d have to decide how to divide the city in order to get a good cross section of people.”
“Merchants, also. They’ll definitely have an opinion, especially about black-market business.”
Cora tilted her head. “Do you ever struggle reconciling your faith with the amount of evil that seems to be sweeping across the globe? At this stage of the war, it appears the good guys will win, but how many of our allies can we trust? England and America only partnered with Stalin because of a mutual enemy. What will happen when the war is over? Uncle Joe seems like he might try to get more than his fair share of the spoils.”
Van rubbed his jaw. “God’s plans are difficult to see during times of war and terrible events, when thousands or even millions of people die. When I heard about how many Jews and other so-called undesirables Hitler had exterminated, I was angry at God for not intervening. Assassination attempts were made on Hitler, yet he was never killed. Why not? I still don’t understand why God allowed him to live, but I’ve learned that I will never know the whole picture.” He shrugged. “But I still question God as to why the war raged as long as it has.”
“What a relief to know I’m not alone with my doubts.”
He pulled at a stray thread on his sleeve. “At least you don’t have to wonder if you’re hiding behind your typewriter.”
Cora straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Face it, I’m a perfectly healthy young…er…youngish man, yet I carry a pen not an M1 rifle. I chase stories, not enemy soldiers, sailors, or air men. Shouldn’t I be in uniform putting my life on the line?” He refused to look at her. Seeing her pity or condemnation would be debilitating.
She reached out and stilled his hand, the warmth of her palm sending darts of electricity up his arm. The clean scent of her hair wafted toward him. “If you’re saying you’re a coward, I disagree.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I may not be a military strategist, but maybe the division of responsibilities is like in the church. Paul talks about many members of one body. People have different areas of expertise. Don’t hear me say that war is anything like church or the body of Christ, but you have certain gifts. Yes, you could train to be in the armed forces, but I think your skills are better used wielding your pen, not a sword. God calls us each to different tasks. Your writing can impact one person or millions.” A gentle smile bloomed on her face. “Do you think all the other correspondents are cowards and should have enlisted?”
“Well, no, but many of those guys are older.”
“Yes, but don’t you think if the War Department wanted you to serve, you’d have received your draft notice?”
“I did, but when I reported for duty and indicated I was a journalist, I received a waiver. Sometimes I wonder if I should have told them I didn’t want special treatment.”
“You’re saying you know better than the War Department?”
“When you put it like that, no.” He blew out a sigh. “Are you just trying to make me feel better?”
“Absolutely not. Haven’t I proved myself cantankerous and opinionated?” She giggled. “You’d prefer I didn’t spare your feelings?”
He chuckled. She really was a pip. He’d been lucky not to have been saddled with someone like Miss O’Malley. With a shudder, he raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to protect Cora from the woman’s machinations. Her actions made it clear she couldn’t be trusted not to undermine Cora or try to pull a story out from under her. Would she try to contact their editor with the false claim that they wanted her help? He’d sent the telegram but hadn’t received a response. Was he too late?
The door opened, and DS Graham stepped into the room. Tall and broad shouldered, he filled the room. Piercing green eyes stared at them, his mouth set in a slash above a cleft chin.
Beside him, Cora's quick intake of breath was audible. Did she find the man attractive? Van studied her from under lowered eyelids. Would his attempts to thwart Miss O’Malley mean anything to her, change her feelings toward him? Why did that suddenly matter?