Iris took the Tube to Wapping Station, which put her on Wapping High Street. She walked quickly past Merle’s, keeping to the other side of the street, then took the dogleg on Gamet to Wapping Wall.
The street was paved with cobblestones, with warehouses on both sides. Bridged walkways soared overhead, connecting the wharves to the buildings across the way.
The area had been by and large missed by the Blitz despite the Germans’ concentration on the docks. With the exception of one that had been damaged heavily by an incendiary, the warehouses all stood tall, grey, and not overly busy despite the time of day. There weren’t enough ships coming in to unload to keep the area active.
The third warehouse on the left past Monza Street was a four-storey affair, built of drab bricks whose original colour had long been lost to thick deposits of soot and grime. There was a loading bay for lorries which looked unwelcoming, and a wooden door to the right of it marked OFFICE which was locked when Iris tried it. She rang the bell and waited. A short time later, the door opened a crack and a coarse, unshaven man peered at her suspiciously.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Archie said I should drop by,” she said.
“Did ’e now?” said the man. “Didn’t tell me nothin’ about it.”
“Tell him it’s Mary,” she said. “Mary from last night.”
“Mary from last night, is it?” he repeated, leering. “Think that’ll jog ’is memory enough?”
“He’ll remember me,” she said. “I’m memorable.”
“Wait out there,” he said. “I’ll see if that’s the case.”
He closed the door. She heard it lock.
A few minutes later, it opened again and the man motioned her inside.
“Be quick about it,” he said, scanning the streets in both directions.
She ducked in, and he closed it behind her and locked it.
“Your bag,” he said, holding out his hand.
She surrendered it. He went through it, then pulled out her knife.
“What’s this, then?”
She shrugged.
“Would you let your missus wander around ’ere unprotected?” she asked.
“My missus would know better than to come ’ere,” he said, returning her bag without the knife. “You’re safe inside. You can ’ave it back when you leave.”
“Don’t go playing with it,” she said. “It’s sharp.”
“Yeah, I figured that out for meself, thanks very much,” he said. “This way.”
He led her down a passage into the warehouse proper. As far as the eye could see crates were stacked on pallets resting on rows of steel-framed storage shelves. Her escort led her down an aisle between the rows, stopping her at one intersection as a forklift drove through, its driver acknowledging them with a lazy salute as he passed. They reached a steel door at the end of the aisle. The man knocked three times, then four more. The door opened.
“There she is,” beamed Archie. “Come in, my lovely. I didn’t know if you intended to keep your appointment or not.”
“I don’t like to disappoint a gentleman,” said Iris as he held the door for her.
“Dunno if I’d fall into that particular category,” said Archie. “But I’ve met my share of so-called gentlemen, and they generally don’t meet their own standards in my experience.”
“Don’t ’ave to tell me that,” said Iris. “If I ’ad a penny for every blue blood who ever pinched me bum, I could retire to a life of soft cushions.”
“Well, I must admit, it does present a tempting target,” said Archie.
“Now, now,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “Don’t get fresh with me.”
“You’re on my turf, girlie,” he said. “I get as fresh as I like with anyone what walks in ’ere.”
“You must make the boys proper nervous, then,” she said, glancing around.
The corner of the building had been converted to a private clubhouse for Archie and his cronies, many of whom were scattered about the room. One group was playing cards in the corner, while more were gathered around a snooker table, betting and commenting raucously on each shot. There was a bar at the far end, complete with a female bartender who gave Iris the once-over before returning to pouring. She was the only other woman present, Iris noticed.
Besides the door behind her, the only other exit was in the rear corner by the far end of the bar. She made a quick consult of her mental map. It had to let out at the back of the warehouse, which meant an alleyway of some kind. Were they right on Shadwell Basin? Not quite, she thought. No watery escapes here. Hopefully, none of any kind, but she didn’t like the setup now that she was inside of it.
“Boys, you remember Mary?” called Archie. “Mary, friend of the late, lamented Tillie La Salle.”
Iris gave a wave, and the men not too preoccupied nodded back, some checking her out in a thoroughly wolfish manner.
“Mary what?” one of them called out.
“Well, I don’t rightly know, come to think of it,” said Archie, turning to her. “Mary what?”
“McTague,” said Iris. “Mary Elizabeth McTague is me full name.”
“I don’t suppose you have anything what proves that?” asked Archie.
“Proof? What for?”
“Because I wasn’t born yesterday, love,” said Archie.
“Right,” said Iris, reaching into her bag. “If it’s good enough for the rozzers, it oughter be good enough for you.”
She handed over a National Registration Identity Card duly filled out in the name of Mary Elizabeth McTague, courtesy of her war work. Another souvenir that she was supposed to turn in after demobilization, but she had held onto it for unspecified emergencies, and the Brigadier had never asked for it back.
She wondered if that was a deliberate error on his part. She wouldn’t put it past him.
Archie gave it a cursory glance, then handed it back.
“Miss Mary Elizabeth McTague, what can we do for you today?” he asked.
“I came for stockings,” she said.
“’Ow many would you like?”
“One for each leg,” she said. “But ’ow many pairs depends on the price.”
“Well, we’ve been selling ’em for four pounds a pair—”
“Cor blimey!” she exclaimed, meaning it.
“But,” he said, holding his hand up placatingly, “we have a discount for our friends, and I think we can consider you one.”
“How much of a discount?” she asked warily.
“Well, it depends on ’ow friendly you’d like to be,” he said.
He went over behind the bar, pulled out a long, narrow cardboard box from underneath, and opened it.
“Come inspect the merchandise,” he said.
She walked over to him. He pulled out a pair of nylons and draped them across her hands.
“These are the real article,” he said.
“Oh, these are lovely,” said Iris, holding them up to see the light shining through them.
“Try ’em on,” said Archie.
“Right,” said Iris. “’Ave you got a ladies’ in the place, or should I just go in back?”
“Like I said, the discount is for our friends,” said Archie. “We’re all friends in ’ere, aren’t we, love?”
“I suppose,” said Iris, looking around dubiously.
The others in the room had ceased their various gaming and drinking activities momentarily to watch the transaction with unveiled interest. Iris suddenly realized that she was on display.
“So, since you’re amongst friends, try them on for us,” said Archie.
“What, ’ere?” she exclaimed. “Right in front of everyone?”
“That’s the deal,” said Archie. “Brings the price down, depending on ’ow much approval you earn.”
“I’m no dance-hall girl,” said Iris indignantly. “If you think I’m going to put on some kind of show for this lot—”
“Oh, but I think you are, love,” said Archie, smiling.
Only this smile had teeth in it.
Well. Do what you have to do, old girl, and maybe that will be the end of it, she thought. What’s a little humiliation in the pursuit of a case, right?
“I don’t ’ave nothing to ’old them up,” she said.
He reached into the box and pulled out a pair of garters.
“These should do,” he said, tossing them to her.
“Yeah, they’ll do nicely,” she said.
She kept her eyes down as the men began whistling from around the room. She reached down and unbuckled her shoe, then took it off and placed it on the bar. She took one of the stockings and began to roll it down from its edges.
“That’s enough,” said a voice from the back.
“What’s that?” said Archie.
“I said, that’s enough, Archie,” the man repeated.
And Roger Pilcher walked towards the bar from the corner where he had been playing cards.
She had missed him when she came in. He must have had his back to the door.
Not good, thought Iris.
“What’s this about then, Rog?” asked Archie.
“This bird you leave alone,” said Roger. “She’s off-limits.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah, says me,” said Roger.
What the hell is going on? thought Iris.
“Before I beat the living Christ out of you, tell me why,” said Archie.
“She ’asn’t been telling you the truth about ’erself,” said Roger.
Damn, thought Iris. Get ready for the forty-yard dash, girl.
She casually slipped her shoe back on.
“What ’asn’t she been telling us?” asked Archie.
“It’s a personal matter,” said Roger. “I’d rather not discuss it ’ere.”
“If there is anything you got to say about this, you say it in front of all of us,” said Archie. “Spit it out while you still got all your teeth, boy.”
“Remember when me and Tillie broke up?” asked Roger.
“Wasn’t so long ago that I’d forget,” said Archie. “What about it?”
“What I didn’t tell you is that she found out I ’ad been ’aving a bit on the side,” said Roger. “That’s the reason why it ’appened.”
“I’m surprised she din’t slice you to ribbons if that were the case,” said Archie. “So, what’s that got to—oh, I got the wind of it.”
“Right,” said Roger. “This is the bit on the side. Me and Mary.”
And suddenly a lifeline, thought Iris in shock. Grab it!
She walked up to Roger, her face contorted in rage.
“You weren’t supposed to tell no one!” she shouted.
“Well, you weren’t supposed to come around barging into me business!” he shouted back. “Bad enough you come out to Merle’s, but ’ere? I told you never to come ’ere! We ’ad an agreement.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to see if you was telling me the truth about it,” spat Iris. “If you really was the big man you said you was, running with Archie and the boys at all hours. I ’ad to know the truth!”
“Look around you, love. What do you see? Am I a liar?”
She turned back to face Archie, whose face had gone from puzzled anger to amusement.
“You. You’re supposed to be the big boss,” she snarled. “You tell me. ’As ’e been working for you all this time, or does he got another girl stashed somewhere?”
“Christ, sounds like every night with me mum and dad in the kitchen,” commented one of the men by the snooker table.
“Miss McTague,” said Archie. “Far be it from me to be the arbitrator of this little lovers’ quarrel, but if you’re asking me to vouch for ’is general whereabouts, ’e works for me, and ’as been for nearly a year now.”
“And nights?”
“Some of our best work is night work,” said Archie. “Stockings don’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Satisfied?” asked Roger.
“Well, since ’e says so, I guess I am,” said Iris.
“I must say I ’ad no inkling about this from ’ow you two acted last night,” said Archie. “You played it straight.”
“You didn’t ’ear us going at it in the street afterwards,” said Iris. “Liked to ’ave waked the dead.”
“Knives were out,” said Roger, grinning at her.
“They certainly were,” she said.
“Well, I’m glad to see true love and all that,” said Archie. “So the stockings—”
“I still want a pair,” said Iris.
“They’re on me,” said Roger.
“No,” said Iris. “You’re not buying your way out of this one, Roger Pilcher. I pay me own way. ’Ow much, Archie? Or do I still ’ave to put on a show for you and the lads?”
“Oh, you’ve put on a show, all right,” laughed Archie. “Make it two and six. You can pay Louise there.”
“Right,” said Iris, slapping the money on the counter and taking the stockings. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. If you ever need a solid girl for any extra work, I might be interested.”
“Might be a place for you,” said Archie.
“You,” said Iris to Pilcher. “Walk me to the train.”
“All right, Archie?” asked Rog.
“A gentleman would do no less,” said Archie grandly. “Are we not all gentlemen ’ere?”
“Right,” said Rog. “Be back in a while.”
“Take your time, my boy,” said Archie. “There ain’t no great demands for your services tonight.”
“There ain’t gonna be any from me, that’s for certain,” said Iris.
She rolled the stockings up carefully, then looked at Archie, winked, and put them into her handbag.
“Ta ta, gents,” she said, and she sauntered towards the door, then looked at Pilcher.
“Well?” she said expectantly.
“You waiting for a ‘yes, dear’?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for you to open the bleedin’ door like a gentleman oughter,” she said. “Show them ’ow it’s done, Rog.”
“Christ,” he muttered, striding angrily past her and opening it.
They walked silently to the front of the warehouse, where the spiv on watch sat reading a magazine.
“One sec,” said Iris. “Oy, you ’ave something of mine.”
“What?” said the watchman. “Oh, right.”
He pulled open a drawer and pulled out her knife.
“Careful with that,” he said. “A little birdie told me it’s sharp.”
“So it is,” said Iris. “Thanks for taking care of it. Shall we?”
“Night, Tony,” said Pilcher.
“This your girl then, Rog?” asked Tony as he unlocked the door.
“Afraid so,” said Pilcher. “But we all got our troubles, don’t we?”
“Truer words,” said Tony as they passed by him. “Night, then.”
“Now,” said Iris pleasantly as she took Rog’s arm. “We ’ave to ’ave a little chat, lover.”
“Shut it,” he said.
“But—”
“I said shut it, and I meant it,” he whispered urgently.
They continued on until they came back to Wapping High Street. He glanced behind him.
“All right, no one is following,” he said. “Now, what the bloody ’ell are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”
“Who are you?” asked Iris.
“I’m Roger Pilcher, and if you keep at this, I’m going to be the late Roger Pilcher,” he said. “I warned you last night—”
“Who do you work for?” she asked.
“What?”
“You don’t seem like CID,” she continued. “Some special branch?”
“You’re a madwoman,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yet you came to my rescue,” she said. “You could have given me up on the spot. It would have been the smartest move you could have made.”
“I’m coming to regret that decision,” he said. “Listen, I don’t know what tree you think you’re barking up—”
“I was warned away from you this morning,” she said.
“From me? What for? Who by?”
“By CID,” she said. “Ongoing investigation, they told me. Look, I have no intention of getting you in trouble—”
“Great,” he sighed. “You’re doing a fine job unintentionally then. Who do you work for?”
“The Right Sort Marriage Bureau,” she said. “But you know that. You came there.”
“And what’s that a front for?”
“A front? What on earth makes you think we’re anything other than what we appear to be?”
“Oh, I dunno,” he said. “Maybe the fact that you’re investigating a murder. A murder which has been already solved, in case you haven’t heard. Not to mention the obvious training—you handled that knife like you were Special Forces. And the fact that you’re showing up in some very odd places in character, complete with a nicely forged Ident Card, no less. You just happened to have that laying around for emergencies?”
“You never know when it will come in handy,” she said. “Is your name really Roger Pilcher?”
“I could show you my ident,” he said. “It’s realer than yours. So, who are you working for?”
“I had some interesting experiences during the war,” she said. “But I’m on my own, now. Or with Mrs. Bainbridge, to be accurate. The Right Sort is legitimate, not a front.”
“Then what made you turn into Holmes and Watson?” he asked. “Or is this Gert and Daisy Clean Up?”
“Won’t we ’ave a party when it’s over?” she sang. “I love Gert and Daisy. That’s the one where they catch the black marketeer, isn’t it? Well, we’re certainly on the right track, if that’s the case. But I’m guessing that’s your objective, isn’t it?”
He didn’t reply.
“Not CID,” she speculated. “Bureau of Trade? One of Yandell’s inspectors? No—they don’t go in for undercover work. Ministry of Finance, however…”
He winced. She saw it.
“That’s it, then,” she said. “You’re with Finance, hot on the trail of smuggled nylons—only you know about the nylons, so it can’t be that. You want bigger fish to fry. Who and what are those fish?”
“Stop it,” he said. “I’m no undercover.”
“Why did you step in when you did, Roger Not-a-Spiv Pilcher?” she demanded. “All that would have happened is I would have shown more of my legs to strangers than I normally like to do on a first date. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world.”
“It wouldn’t have stopped there, you see,” he said. “It would have gone further once you let it start. Much further. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to an innocent woman.”
“So you put yourself and your operation in jeopardy to rescue me from a fate worse than death,” she said. “How very gallant of you.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“No,” she said. “I meant it. You could have left me to suffer the consequences of my recklessness. I’m grateful.”
“So you’ll stay away now?”
“Where were you on the night Tillie La Salle was killed?”
“Are you still on about that?” he asked, turning to stare at her in disbelief. “You were told I was in the clear.”
“I was,” she said. “But I don’t believe everything that I am told. Where were you that night?”
“Being debriefed by my superiors,” he said. “And no, you can’t verify it with them, because you are not allowed to know who they are. You can bloody well take my word for it, because you have no business knowing anything else. Or even this much.”
“Why did you follow Miss La Salle to our office?”
“Because I wanted to know where she was going,” he said. “Then I had to see what the two of you were all about.”
“Why did you care about where she was going?”
“Tillie’s been up to something,” he said. “Or was. I thought she was running some kind of side game, and I thought this might have been part of it.”
“Side game? What was the main game?”
“She worked for Archie,” said Pilcher. “That’s how I got in. I romanced her, wormed my way in, made myself useful. Then she dropped me.”
“Her girlfriends said you dropped her.”
“That’s what she told them, I guess,” said Pilcher. “But something else was going on. When I heard she got killed, I thought it might have had something to do with that.”
“What kind of work did she do for Archie?”
“She got information from blokes who couldn’t help talking to pretty girls. Information that led to a lot of lorries getting robbed, warehouses getting looted.”
“Could any of that have led to someone killing her?”
“Maybe.”
“What about Archie himself?”
“If he thought she was playing him for a fool, he would have done it without batting an eye,” said Pilcher.
“Maybe he did,” said Iris. “Did he say anything when he heard she was killed?”
“Nothing other than surprise,” said Pilcher. “He was angry. I was worried he might have thought I had done it. Exes going at it and all. I tell you, I was never more relieved when I heard they got that fellow you set her up with. Took the heat off of me.”
“You’re welcome,” sighed Iris. “So if it wasn’t you, and if it wasn’t Dickie Trower—any idea where Archie was that night?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t with him,” said Pilcher. “So I can’t tell you where he was, and I’m not about to go asking him.”
“What’s the big fish? You still haven’t told me.”
“Yeah, well, there’s the problem. The big fish got away.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were right about the nylons being small fry. The big money is in clothing coupons.”
“Selling stolen coupons? There’s enough money in that to keep them going?”
“You have no idea. Coupons go for four to six shillings apiece, and books go for up to four pounds each.”
“All right, that’s a lot, but to steal enough to make real money—”
“They aren’t stealing them,” said Pilcher. “They’re fixing on making their own.”
“Forgery? On how large a scale?”
“Large. They were planning on printing tens of thousands of coupon books.”
“Were? What happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. The new annual books get issued at the end of the month. Archie somehow got hold of a set of plates for the new coupons. I don’t know if they’re originals or they managed to make a mould, but they were going to put out copies that look just like the genuine article.”
“So what stopped them?”
“Someone nicked the plates from Archie,” said Pilcher. “Inside job, maybe a month ago. No honour amongst spivs, I’m sorry to say. The old boy may be smiling and spreading good cheer, but inside he’s ready to hang people on meat hooks and roast ’em slowly.”
“Could that have been Tillie’s handiwork? The side game?”
“Maybe. I didn’t think Tillie was that deep in that she’d have known about it, but I’m wondering about it now.”
“You said she had a knack for getting men to talk about things they shouldn’t talk about.”
“She did, yeah,” said Pilcher. “Something you have in common. But I don’t think she knew about the plates.”
“You knew about them,” said Iris. “Why didn’t you have the whole lot arrested when you found out?”
“Because I only found out about the plates after they were nicked from Archie,” said Pilcher. “Without them, there’s nothing to pin on him, and I’d have wasted nearly a year’s work just to get them on selling nylons. That isn’t exactly the big score we’re hoping for. He’d be back on the outside in no time.”
“What if you brought me in?” asked Iris.
“What?”
“Keep me in the fold. I could winnow out something more about Tillie, and maybe find something to help you out into the bargain.”
“You have to be joking. Bad enough that you tumbled me, but now you want to double the chances I get my cover blown?”
“I know what I’m doing,” she said.
“Says you.”
“Besides, it would be awfully strange if that was my only appearance with you, now that our torrid affair is out in the open.”
He kicked angrily at a chunk of broken brick, sending it clattering down the cobblestones.
“That’s the problem with being nice to people in this world,” he said. “It gets you nothing but trouble.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I’ll speak to my superiors tonight,” he said. “If they say yes, then it’s a go.”
“Thank you, Mister Pilcher,” she said.
“You better start calling me Rog,” he said. “Mary.”
“I will,” she said. “I may even use some embarrassing pet name. Would you like some verisimilitude to take back with you?”
“Meaning what?”
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, making sure to leave some lipstick behind.
“I wasn’t ready,” he protested as she pulled away. “I can do it better.”
“Don’t wipe off the lipstick until they see it on you,” she advised him. “I must say, I am very impressed that you’ve been doing this as well as you have for so long, Rog. Keep your nose clean.”
“I think I’m safer with gangsters than I am with you,” he called as she headed into the station.
“That’s probably true,” she said. “Ta ta, lover.”
She stared out the train window, trying to put her thoughts in order. Assessing her performance.
She found it wanting. Too reckless, too dependent on improvisation. And she had gone in with no backup other than—
“Damn,” she said, looking at her watch.
Then she heaved a sigh of relief. It was only four fifteen. She had forgotten to call Sally and let him know that she was safe. She would have to find a phone box at the transfer station and make sure he didn’t send the police into the warehouse after her.
That was not the sort of mistake she should be making. Why was she so hell-bent on proving herself today?
Was it because she had ended things with Andrew? Was she overreacting by trying to show she could out-spy the spy? And out-detect the detective while she was at it? Was she trying to solve the case so she could throw the mess in Mike’s face as well?
Pathetic, Iris.
What did she have to show for her efforts? She had eliminated her top prospect for the murder, and nearly scuttled an official investigation, which was precisely what Detective Sergeant Ex had warned her against. But she might also have wormed her way closer to Miss La Salle’s murderer, assuming the dead girl had indeed been double-crossing Archie.
The train pulled into Whitechapel. Iris exited and hurried to the nearest phone box and called the Right Sort. To her surprise, Gwen answered.
“I was expecting Sally,” said Iris.
“He’s still here,” said Gwen. “He says he’s in the throes of a bisexual love triangle which means that there are at least six possible permutations to work through. He’s drawing diagrams and cursing in different languages.”
“Sounds like he’s in full Muse,” said Iris. “How did things go with the psychiatrist?”
“He feels that our pursuit of justice is not entirely insane,” said Gwen. “It gave me some hope.”
“I may have to disagree with him,” said Iris. “I jumped into a rabbit hole today. I landed in a pair of nylons.”
“Enigmatic. Can you tell me more?”
“I don’t want to hold you up from tilting with the family gorgon,” said Iris. “I’m going to head straight back to the flat. But it looks like Pilcher isn’t our man after all.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Long story,” she said. “And my train is coming in. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Give my love to Sally.”
She hung up.
Because it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, she thought.
Because today I kissed a man who I was ready to stab yesterday, she thought.
Story of my life, she thought.