When Harry left Dora and Bella, he returned to his hotel and made his plans for the next few days. The first thing he had to do was to find Freddie, the forger who had produced passports and other necessary documents for himself and Denny. Freddie’s work was first class, as had been proved when their papers had allowed them easy access into Australia. There had been no suggestion at any time that they weren’t genuine, even when Harry had used his to apply for an Australian passport.
Freddie could usually be found at the Crooked Billet on the Isle of Dogs. He had a photography studio nearby, where he carried on his creative trade. Harry had been there before, but decided to approach Freddie in the pub in case things had changed in the last four years, in case he, or the studio, were compromised. That meant he couldn’t see Freddie, at the earliest, until the following evening.
He also had to set up a meeting with Maxton and Shadbolt. He had definite instructions from Denny about his approach to them and he would need to tread carefully. He would make his move with them only once the passports were delivered, so that nothing could prevent Dora and Bella from leaving the country.
This left Harry free to follow an agenda of his own, and the next morning, he’d begin looking for Lisa.
She was special, Lisa was. She and Harry had come from the same town, Hanau, near Frankfurt. They hadn’t known each other there, but they’d been on the same Kindertransport train that brought them safely out of Nazi Germany in 1939. Despite the fact that she was a refugee from Hitler, Lisa was still German and when war was declared, she’d had a tough time at school. One afternoon, Harry saw her backed into a corner, surrounded by Roger Davis and his cronies, and decided to step in. He despatched the bullies, and he was soon recognised as her protector and the bullying stopped. They became friends, but the bond between them ran deeper than simple friendship. As Jews they’d both suffered the horrors of Nazi persecution and each understood what no one else could unless they’d been there: the horror of living in Hitler’s Germany. They had so much in common: loss of family, loss of home, loss of everything familiar. Lisa had clung to the desperate hope that her family were still alive and one day they would all be reunited, but Harry dismissed this as a vain hope. He was far more pragmatic about their situation; determined to leave his past behind him and carve himself a new life in this new country.
‘We got to make our own lives now,’ he’d said. ‘I learned that the hard way. Got to look after number one. We ain’t kids no more. So, we get on with it.’
It was four years since Harry had last seen her and he had no idea where she might be now, but he was determined to find her, and the obvious place to start was the place she’d been working then, the Livingston Road children’s home.
Four years ago, on VE Day, they’d been among the crowds out celebrating in London, and when he’d taken her back to Livingston House he’d promised her he’d come back next day, but Denny Dunc had intervened. His plans for them to sail for Australia had prevented Harry from keeping his promise. When Harry had protested that he must visit Lisa before they left, there had been veiled threats with regard to her safety, a suggestion that Mick Derham might pay her a visit, and Harry had quickly backed off. He wanted Mick Derham nowhere near Lisa.
As Harry stepped out of his hotel and headed for Livingston Road, a nondescript young man in workman’s clothes who’d been waiting at a bus stop opposite seemed to give up on his bus. He folded the newspaper he’d been reading while he waited and drifted off along the street, wandering aimlessly behind Harry. Hound, as he was known to his friends, had long ago learned to work as a tail, reporting back to whoever had employed him on where the mark went and what he did. He was the best in the business, or so Mick Derham thought. As soon as Harry had appeared at Dora’s that first evening, Mick had realised that there were plans afoot of which he knew nothing. He went hotfoot to Rat Ratcliffe to warn him something was going on, and the Hound had been employed.
Unaware of his shadow, Harry took a bus that dropped him at the end of Livingston Road. As he walked along the street looking at the houses on either side, he thought how grey and depressing post-war London looked, so different from the buzz and optimism of life in Sydney. The houses huddled together wearily as if for support, surviving the Blitz but patched and mended and tired.
The children’s home, when he reached it, looked exactly as when he’d seen it on VE Day: a rather forbidding three-storey stone house, set back from the road behind a grey stone wall. A flight of steps from an overgrown patch of garden led up to a heavy front door in dire need of a coat of paint and the whole house looked ill-kept and shabby.
Harry paused at the gate for a moment, wondering if the Morrison woman, who’d been in charge of the place, would still be there. Well, now was the time to find out. He’d had a run-in with her about Lisa before and if necessary he was ready to do battle again. He pushed open the gate, marched up the steps and rang the bell. It took a while for someone to come to the door, but when it opened Harry found himself facing a small, dark-haired woman of about thirty. She wore a harassed expression and had tired brown eyes that looked at Harry expectantly.
‘Yes?’ Her tone abrupt. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Good morning, madam—’ Harry began, but the woman interrupted him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘we don’t buy at the door.’
‘That’s all right then,’ said Harry cheerfully, ‘cos I’m not selling anything. I was hoping to catch up with someone who works here, an old friend, Lisa, Lisa Becker.’
The woman shook her head. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s no one works here called Lisa anything, I’m afraid.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said Harry, who hadn’t thought of it before, ‘I think when she came to work here she was called Charlotte.’
‘Was she?’ The woman looked a little sceptical. ‘Well, we haven’t got anyone called Charlotte here, either. Sorry.’ She made a move to shut the door and Harry put a hand out to stay her. ‘She was working here during the war.’
‘Was she? Well, that was years ago, and I’m afraid she’s not here now.’
There was nothing for it, Harry was going to have to talk to Miss Morrison if he was going to discover Lisa’s whereabouts. He knew she didn’t like or trust him, but it was the only chance he had.
‘Is Miss Morrison here today?’ he asked. ‘Miss Caroline Morrison? Could I have a word with her?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘When will she be? Will she be here tomorrow?’
‘Miss Morrison has resigned as superintendent and has left to get married,’ stated the woman firmly. ‘My name is Audrey Acton and I am superintendent here now.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Harry felt deflated. ‘Is there anyone else who was here during the war? Anyone who might remember Lisa, I mean Charlotte?’
‘Look, I’m very sorry Mr...’
‘Black, Harry Black.’
‘Mr Black, but I really can’t let you in to go interrogating my staff about some girl who might have worked here during the war.’
‘She certainly did work here for almost three years. If I could just ask someone who was here too, if they know where she is now...’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr Black,’ said Mrs Acton firmly. ‘Good morning to you.’ And with that she closed the front door, leaving Harry standing fuming on the doorstep. He thought of ringing the bell again, but knew that the door would not be reopened to him. He turned and walked slowly down the steps, thinking hard. Would it be worth lying in wait in the street, hoping to catch one of the staff as she came out for some reason? Or wait for the children to come home from school and try asking one of them? Reluctantly, he decided that neither was a good idea. Either course of action might lead to Mrs Acton summoning the police, and his mission for Denny Dunc was too important to risk being arrested for making a nuisance of himself at a London children’s home. He’d have to think of some other way of finding Lisa.
What about those foster parents of Lisa’s, who’d lived in Kemble Street? he wondered.
When they’d been bombed out, Harry had appropriated their cellar to store his black-market goods. What was their name? Freeman? Freidman? It would come to him. If he could find them again, they’d be sure to know where Lisa was. Where had they gone? Somewhere in Suffolk, Harry was sure, but where in Suffolk he’d never bothered to find out. It hadn’t been important, then. Still, Kemble Street was a lead. He could go back there and see if the foster parents... Federman... that was it, Dan and Naomi Federman... see if they’d returned after the war, and if not, whether any of their neighbours knew where to find them.
Harry glanced at his watch. He had time enough to go to Kemble Street before searching out Freddie. There might be someone there who could help him. With one final glance at the closed front door of Livingston Road children’s home, and the wry thought that it was the second time that a superintendent had virtually pushed him back out into the road, he set off for Shoreditch.
From one of the front windows of the home, Audrey Acton watched him go. She’d called Matron down as soon as she’d shut the door.
‘D’you know that man?’ she asked. ‘The one just going out of the gate?’
Chloe Burton had been matron ever since she, Caroline and Mary Downs, the cook, had been bombed out of St Michael’s, the children’s home where they’d worked before. She was a small, sturdy woman with piercing blue eyes, the sort of eyes the children in her care were sure could see round corners and never missed dirt behind the ears or under the fingernails. Her iron-grey hair was cut short, tucked behind her ears, making her look sterner than she really was. She loved her charges dearly, but she stood no nonsense from any of them. Now she peered out of the window at the man’s half-turned face and shook her head.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘What did he want?’
‘He wanted to find someone called Lisa who’d worked here during the war. Then he changed his mind and said her name was Charlotte. It all seemed very odd to me. When I said there was no Lisa or Charlotte working here, he asked to speak to Miss Morrison.’
‘Did he indeed?’ Matron said sharply. ‘Did he tell you his name, by any chance?’
‘Black,’ replied Mrs Acton. ‘Harry Black. I told him Miss Morrison had left to get married and I sent him away.’
‘Harry Black,’ repeated Matron. ‘Well, I’m glad you got rid of him. He’s always caused trouble. He and Lisa were both German refugees, but he was a scamp. Caroline didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. She thought he had some hold over Lisa, but wasn’t quite sure exactly what. She sent him away one evening, but he said he needed to talk to Lisa and he’d be back in the morning. Lisa was her German name, we knew her as Charlotte.’
‘This all sounds very confusing,’ said Mrs Acton, shaking her head.
‘It’s a long story,’ Matron agreed. ‘Suffice it to say, he didn’t turn up. Charlotte was very upset, it was the second time he’d promised to come and see her and then disappeared. We were all pleased. She was better off without him. Anyhow, he seemed to vanish into thin air, and we all thought good riddance; even Charlotte herself after a while. She’s happily married now, with two lovely kiddies. We certainly don’t want that Harry Black to reappear and rock the boat.’
‘No, I see that,’ said Mrs Acton thoughtfully. ‘Well, he’ll learn nothing of her from anyone here, will he?’
‘No, he won’t,’ agreed Matron, while thinking privately that if Harry ran true to form, he wouldn’t give up so easily.
When the children were in bed that evening, she sat in her work room and wrote to Caroline, care of St Mark’s Vicarage, Wynsdown, to warn her that Harry was back and looking for Charlotte.
Harry, meanwhile, still unaware of his shadow, caught the bus to Shoreditch High Street, from where he walked to Kemble Street. It was almost unrecognisable as the street where the Federmans had lived and where he had inhabited their cellar for several months before he’d been arrested as a black marketeer. Most of the houses along the right-hand side were still habitable, though many had roofs patched with corrugated iron and the occasional window was still boarded up, awaiting new glass.
How could all the repairs take so long? Harry wondered as he walked down the road. The war had ended four years ago; surely people must have been able to rebuild their homes by now.
The opposite side of the road, where the Federmans’ house had been, was a building site. The terrace of houses that stood there from Victorian times was gone. Destroyed by fire in the Blitz, their blackened remains had now been razed to the ground, and in their place a block of flats was being constructed, rising to four storeys. Blank-faced, built of yellow London brick, they were ugly, utilitarian, towering over the rest of the street, but they would provide homes for twice as many families as the earlier terrace had done, and Harry realised that housing must be at a premium since the end of the war. Something Denny might have taken an interest in, Harry thought, had he been here to see the opportunities. He’d bear that in mind when he finally got to talk to Maxton and Shadbolt.
He stood for a moment and looked up at the half-finished building and wondered if the Federmans were planning to come back to live in one of the flats when they were finished.
‘If you’re looking for one of them places, you’ll have to be quick cos they’re nearly all took,’ said a voice behind him. He turned round to find a woman standing on the step of the house opposite.
‘Aren’t they going to be for the people who lived here before?’ Harry asked innocently. ‘I mean,’ he added, ‘don’t they get first chance to have one?’
‘No, all owned by one landlord, then rented out. First come first served.’ She looked at Harry speculatively and asked, ‘So you ain’t looking to rent one, then?’
‘No.’ Harry smiled. ‘I’m Australian,’ he improvised. ‘I’ve just come round here to see if I can find a relative that used to live in this street. Cousin of my mother’s, she is, but Ma lost touch with her during the war and hasn’t heard from her since. I was over here on business and Ma asked me to look her up.’
‘Oh?’ The woman looked interested. ‘An’ who was that then?’
‘She’s called Naomi Federman,’ said Harry. ‘Ma’s afraid something might have happened to her during the Blitz.’
‘Naomi? She went to live in the country when they was burned out.’
‘You know her then?’ Harry treated the woman to his most charming smile. ‘D’you know where she is now?’
‘I know where she was,’ replied the woman, ‘but I don’t know if she’s still there.’
‘Well, perhaps you could tell me that, then even if she’s moved on maybe I could track her down.’
For a moment the woman eyed him suspiciously. ‘I’ve known Naomi Federman since we was children,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember she had a cousin in Australia. What’s your name, young man?’
‘Victor Merritt,’ answered Harry. ‘You probably never heard of my ma. Her family moved to Australia just after the war, the Great War that is. She’ll be thrilled when I tell her that Cousin Naomi is alive and well.’ He paused, hoping that the neighbour, whoever she was, would now supply the information he was looking for.
The woman studied him for a moment and then said, ‘She moved out to a village in Suffolk. Place called Feneton. Got a live-in job at the local pub, but as I said I ain’t seen her for years, so I don’t know if she’s still there.’
‘Well, that’s very helpful... Mrs?’
‘Newman, Shirley Newman.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Newman, you’ve been a great help. Shall I give your good wishes to Cousin Naomi if I catch up with her?’
‘You can, I s’pose,’ Shirley said, ‘if you find her.’
‘I didn’t know whether to tell him or not,’ Shirley said to her husband Derek when he got home later. ‘Him being a complete stranger. Only last time, when that girl Lisa came looking for them and I didn’t tell her where they was, that Naomi gave me a right mouthful!’
‘I’m sure you did the right thing,’ said Derek with a yawn. ‘Any tea on the go?’
Harry was delighted with the information Shirley had given him. As soon as he heard they’d gone to a village called Feneton, he remembered the name. Lisa had traced them there when she’d come back to London after the Blitz. Now he had something to go on; if he could find Naomi and Dan Federman, he could find Lisa. He’d follow it up as soon as he’d got all the other business sorted.
He caught a bus back to his hotel and got ready to go to the Crooked Billet in the hope of finding Freddie, the forger. When he reached the pub, he sat in a corner nursing his pint as he watched and listened to the comings and goings in the bar. Other people came in – a young couple took their drinks to another corner table and sat whispering together, an elderly man with a dog on a lead took a place by the fire, a bloke in overalls who bought a half of mild and propped himself up on the bar and chatted to the barmaid – but there was no sign of Freddie. Harry was beginning to think he would have to try the studio after all, when the door opened and Freddie slouched in. Harry recognised him at once. He was a thin man. Everything about him was thin: his pointed nose, his chin, his faded fair hair, his whole body. If you turned him sideways, Harry thought as he studied him standing at the bar, you wouldn’t be able to see him!
Harry had remembered that Freddie was skinny, but he hadn’t remembered him being little more than skin and bone, skeletal wrists and bony hands poking out from his sleeves and his head no more than a skull perched atop a scrawny neck.
He’s dying, Harry realised as he took in the man’s grey colour and protuberant eyes. Wonder if he’s up to the job? And who the hell am I going to get to do it if he ain’t? Who could I trust?
As these thoughts skittered through his mind, he knew he must find out for sure. Swallowing the last of his beer, he went up to the bar for a refill. He pushed his glass over to the barmaid and then, turning casually to Freddie who had already downed half his whisky, he said, ‘Get you another one of those, Freddie?’ Without waiting for a reply he said to the barmaid, ‘And the same again for my friend.’
Freddie look up, fear in his eyes. ‘Who’re you?’
‘Vic Merritt,’ replied Harry with a smile. ‘You did a bit of work for me and my dad, George, a few years back. Remember that, do you?’
‘Never heard of you,’ Freddie said, glancing anxiously over Harry’s shoulder as if to see if anyone were watching.
‘Let me buy you a drink, Freddie, and then we can go to my table over there,’ he nodded at the corner, ‘where we won’t be overheard, and I can remind you all about my dad, George.’
Harry hadn’t sounded menacing, but there was something in his expression that made Freddie decide it would probably be wise to do as he was asked. He picked up his glass and downed the rest of his whisky before picking up the refill and following Harry to his table.
‘Not looking too well, Freddie,’ Harry remarked as he sat down. He raised his glass and said, ‘Good health.’
Freddie took a mouthful of his drink and then put the glass down on the table.
‘What do you want?’ he asked wearily.
‘You do remember who I am... and who I work for?’
‘Never forget a job I done,’ Freddie said.
‘Good. Well, now that we understand each other, Freddie, I got another little job for you.’
‘I’m retired,’ Freddie replied flatly. ‘I don’t do that stuff no more.’
‘Retired?’ Harry sounded surprised. ‘Why’ve you retired, Freddie? You had a nice little business going.’
‘I’m retired because I’m ill,’ said Freddie.
‘Well, I must say you don’t look too special, Fred,’ Harry agreed cheerfully. ‘Still, I’m sure you can manage just one more job before you kick the bucket.’
‘No, told you, I’m retired. I don’t do that stuff no more.’
‘That’s bad news, Freddie. Really bad news. Thing is, you see, we got to get this job done and my dad, George, he wants you, and only you, to do it.’
‘He can’t have me,’ said Freddie, his eyes swivelling with fear. ‘He can’t have me no more. I don’t work freelance no more.’
Harry looked at him through narrowing eyes. ‘Who’s took you over, Fred? Shadbolt or Maxton?’
At the mention of the two names Freddie turned even paler and tears started in his eyes. ‘I can’t do it, Vic,’ he whispered. ‘’S more than my life’s worth.’
Harry looked at him in surprise. ‘Your life? Want to spend the last months of your life in gaol, do you?’ he asked. ‘Want the cops tipped off about you and your boyfriend, do you? Know what they do to nancy boys in prison, don’t you, Freddie? Be a pity if that happened to you simply because you couldn’t help out an old friend one more time. Think about it, Freddie, before you finally decide.’
Freddie gulped the rest of his whisky down in one huge swallow, his whole body rigid with fear.
‘I’ll get you another one of those, Freddie, while you think about it. You look as if you need it.’
When Harry returned from the bar he set another whisky down in front of the terrified Freddie. ‘Now, look here, Freddie, you don’t have to worry about Grey Maxton and Bull Shadbolt, I’m here to sort them out. Which was it, by the way?’
‘Shadbolt,’ whispered Freddie.
‘Forget about Shadbolt for now, Freddie. What you have to do is take this little job I got for you, and then you’ll have no trouble with any of us no more and you can go home to your friend Eric and die in peace. All right?’
Dumbly, Freddie nodded. He didn’t believe Vic could deal with big boys like Bull Shadbolt, but he had no choice. Whichever way he decided, he knew he was in the shit. Bull Shadbolt’s minder, Rat Ratcliffe, had been round and told him that from now on, Bull wanted both names of everyone Freddie did an ID job for, old name and new name. He also wanted 25 per cent of whatever Freddie was paid.
‘That way,’ Rat had explained, ‘you won’t be troubled by the rozzers, or anyone trying to muscle in on your business. You... and your friend,’ he gave a sly wink, ‘will be under Bull’s particular protection, see? Best thing all round, wouldn’t you say?’
Freddie wouldn’t say, no, but there was nothing he could do about it if he wanted to protect Eric and himself. He did, very much; and now Vic’s threat was the more immediate.
‘What’s the job, then?’ he asked wearily.
‘It’s a very private one,’ Harry said, his eyes holding Freddie until the little man looked away. ‘I hope you understand that, Freddie, cos as you know, my dad George can be real mean if he thinks someone’s double-crossing him. Know what I mean?’
When Freddie didn’t answer, Harry said again, ‘Know what I mean?’
At last Freddie nodded.
‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘Here’s the deal. He needs new papers for his missus and daughter. OK? The works, like you did for him and me. Them papers, Freddie, was first class. He wants the same for his ladies.’
Freddie was about to speak but Harry raised his hand. ‘And he will pay you, Freddie. He will pay you a grand.’
Freddie’s eyes flew to Harry’s face. A thousand pounds was more than he could have dreamed of. Ever. He and Eric could disappear. They’d get out of London; could go to the seaside. With that much money they could live in comfort for what he knew and accepted were the last few months of his life. And when he died, Eric would not be left penniless. For a thousand pounds it was worth the risk, and with any luck at all, he could be up and gone before the Bull or the Rat knew he’d done one final job for Denny Dunc.
‘You’re on,’ he said. ‘But I want half up front.’
‘Don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, Fred,’ Harry told him. ‘Still, as you’ve always done good work for Denny, you can have a ton up front, but we need them papers yesterday, so get your arse in gear.’
A hundred pounds was less than he’d hoped, but even with that safely in his pocket he had a chance to make a break for it.
‘They’ll have to come round my studio, same as you did,’ Freddie said. ‘You know where, and they’d better come after dark. Bring them tomorrow, when the pubs is closed.’
‘You better make sure you’ve got everything ready, Freddie,’ Harry warned, ‘because they ain’t coming there twice.’
‘I will,’ promised Freddie, feeling happier than he’d felt since the Rat’s visit. ‘If there’s any problem, the outside light will be on. Make yourself scarce. If it’s off, you can bring them on in... with the money, Vic. You won’t forget that, will you?’
‘A hundred up front, the rest when you deliver the goods,’ Harry agreed. Then he got up and was about to leave when he turned back and, leaning across the table, spoke softly.
‘If Mick Derham comes sniffing around, he won’t be coming from me, right? Whatever he says, tell him nothing, Denny’s orders, or the deal’s off and you’re on your own. Capeesh?’
Then with a nod to the barmaid, he made for the door and walked out into the night. He’d been there too long for comfort, but he’d got the job agreed, and with the promise of enough cash to last him out, he was pretty sure he’d secured Freddie’s silence. He had a list of things to discuss with both Shadbolt and Maxton, and now Freddie was one of them. All he had to do now, was to deal with them. He set off back to his hotel, Hound drifting along behind him. It had been a long day for both of them.