Murder at the Ritz Read online

  ‘It happened early in the afternoon, when loads of people were around. They reckon the Germans dropped about 300 high explosive bombs on the town. We still don’t know how many were killed or injured. About 2,000 houses were destroyed. The town’s gas works took a direct hit, which spread the fire even further. The lifeboat station went. Most people went down the tunnels to get away from the bombing, but there were two auxiliary firemen who were cycling to work when the raid started, and the bastard who was flying escort to the bombers machine-gunned them.’

  ‘Yes, I heard about that,’ said Lampson.

  ‘At least we got ’em back,’ said Watts vengefully. ‘You heard what happened on Sunday?’

  ‘No,’ said Lampson.

  ‘Berlin. It was on the news this morning.’

  ‘I didn’t hear the news this morning, I wanted to get here. What happened?’

  ‘Churchill ordered the RAF to bomb Berlin. I’d like to think it was in answer to what happened here, but according to the newsreader it was in retaliation for the Germans bombing the centre of London.’

  ‘Yes, my guv’nor was caught up in that,’ said Watts.

  ‘Was he all right?’

  Lampson nodded. ‘But someone he knew was killed.’

  Watts scowled. ‘Bastard Germans,’ he spat.

  As they walked Lampson saw the scale of destruction in this part of town; the whole area seemed to have been obliterated.

  ‘The Assembly Hall,’ said Watts, pointing to a heap of wreckage where men were working, pulling at the rubble and wooden struts. ‘Or what’s left of it, which is nothing. Completely demolished.’ He stopped and gestured. ‘And here’s Belle Vue Road.’

  Lampson looked at the devastation and was filled with a deep pain that ate at his heart and right down to his stomach. Where his uncle and aunt’s house had stood there was now just rubble. Like the Assembly Hall, it had vanished and been replaced by debris. As he and Watts watched, two men lifted aside a roof beam and broken floorboards, and as they tossed broken roof tiles to one side one of the men called out: ‘Here’s someone!’

  Immediately, men working nearby came to help, joining in pulling the rubble and shattered wood to uncover what lay beneath. Lampson and Watts moved forward to join them. A foot in a heavy boot had been exposed, and gradually more of the body was revealed; then another beside it, this one a woman wearing a long woollen skirt. The men set to work even harder, ripping at the wreckage with their bare hands and tossing it aside, revealing more of the two bodies, and Lampson had to stop himself from crying out when he recognised the cardigan his uncle had always worn with the leather patches on the elbows. More and more wreckage was removed, until finally their faces were exposed.

  Watts looked enquiringly at Lampson, who nodded.

  ‘That’s them,’ he said hoarsely. ‘That’s Uncle George and Aunt Ada.’

  And tears pricked at his eyes as he saw that they had died holding hands.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The butler who opened the door looked exactly as Coburg had thought he would from talking to him on the phone: elderly with white hair, possibly in his sixties, wearing a striped waistcoat beneath a long frock coat.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Coburg from Scotland Yard,’ said Coburg. ‘I telephoned earlier.’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you’d come this way, His Lordship is waiting for you in the library.’

  The library reminded Coburg of the one at his family home, and he wondered how many of the vast array of books on display had actually been read. Neither he nor his elder brother had been great readers, that had been the pastime of his middle brother. He wondered how Charles was managing in a prisoner of war camp without access to reading material. Or, possibly, there was sufficient reading, although Coburg imagined most of it would be in German. In which case, Charles would have no problem as he was fluent in the language. He’d been the one with the brains in the family, but also the one who seemed to be dogged by bad luck: serious childhood illnesses, injuries while playing sports, wounded during the First World War, and with a wife he’d adored who’d died of the flu epidemic of 1918 after just a few months of marriage. And yet still Charles had remained positive. He was stoicism personified, in Coburg’s opinion.

  The man who stood up and came forward to greet Coburg with a handshake as he entered the library was a short man about the same age as his butler. He was dressed for comfort rather than style, a worn and faded cardigan hanging loosely over a pair of baggy and faded brown corduroy trousers. He had an unkempt grey moustache, his whole image reminiscent to Coburg of the archetypical absent-minded professor.

  ‘Chief Inspector Coburg,’ he indicated for Coburg to sit in one of the library’s large leather armchairs. ‘A matter of national importance, your message said. I’m intrigued.’

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Lord Mainwaring. I’m investigating a series of murders that have taken place in London, and it has been suggested that there may be a connection with the British Union of Fascists.’

  At this, Mainwaring looked decidedly unhappy. ‘I really have nothing to say on the matter,’ he said. ‘I joined out of ignorance and because of my great fondness for Italy. It was only later that I discovered that the reasons we were given for its creation were false and that many of us had been duped. If you check with the Intelligence services you’ll find that I was investigated but exonerated. I’d had no connection with the BUF for some years before it was banned by the government. So, I’m afraid you’ve had a long journey for nothing, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Coburg. ‘The BUF was just one aspect and, I believe, a minor one, but the case I’m investigating centres on the Ritz Hotel and the retinue of King Zog of Albania. I understand that the King’s personal secretary, Count Idjbil Ahmed, recently stayed with you as a house guest, and I’d like to talk to you about your relationship with him.’

  To Coburg’s surprise, Mainwaring stood up, his face suddenly grim. He strode to the large, ornate marble fireplace and tugged at the bell pull beside it.

  ‘I think you need to talk to my wife,’ he said.

  The door opened, and the butler appeared.

  ‘You rang, my lord?’

  ‘Yes, Carter. Would you tell Lady Mainwaring there is someone to see her? A Detective Chief Inspector Coburg of Scotland Yard.’

  With that, Lord Mainwaring strode purposefully out of the library.

  Coburg got to his feet, intending to go after him, but then stopped. What was going on? Why had Mainwaring become so angry all of a sudden? And then he cursed himself for an idiot. Count Ahmed hadn’t been Lord Mainwaring’s house guest at all, he’d been Lady Mainwaring’s.

  Coburg remained standing, and soon the door opened to reveal a very handsome woman in her mid-fifties. Unlike her husband, Lady Mainwaring dressed in style. She wore a tweed suit, jacket and skirt with aplomb, especially as the tweed material was offset by a white fluted blouse and a colourful neckerchief.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Coburg.’ She smiled, and held out her hand for him to take. ‘I understand you wish to talk to me.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Coburg. She gestured for him to sit, then took a chair herself. ‘I came to talk to your husband about Count Idjbil Ahmed, the private secretary to King Zog of Albania. I believe he was staying here recently.’ He paused, then added: ‘Your husband suggested I talk to you.’

  ‘Poor Kirby,’ sighed Lady Leonora. ‘I hope you won’t be shocked by what I’m going to tell you, Chief Inspector. Particularly because I know some of your background, and in the class of society we come from, the concept of marriage can sometime be a fluid one.’

  I know of your background, thought Coburg. She also knew I was coming here today, told by the butler, he expected, but whereas her husband had not been curious about the visit, Lady Mainwaring had obviously felt the need to make enquiries. Why? As she began to speak, Coburg realised she’d wanted to find out if he was ‘one of them’, one of their sort, and could be told thin
gs without fear that it would be turned into gossip. However, she still felt the need to precede with a proviso.

  ‘What I’m going to tell you, Chief Inspector, is the frank and unvarnished truth, but I’d like your word it will not be publicised. Although the situation is common knowledge among our close friends, for my husband’s sake we prefer it remain confined to that circle only.’

  ‘So long as whatever you tell me turns out not to be material to the murders I’m investigating, you have my word, Lady Mainwaring,’ said Coburg.

  ‘The murder of the unknown man at the Ritz in Idjbil’s suite,’ she said. ‘Very unfortunate. But take my word, Idjbil didn’t do it. He couldn’t. Again, do I have your word?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Very well. I met Idjbil many years ago when I was in Italy. It was before he was a count, and before I was married to Kirby. We were young, and very much in love. We desperately wanted to get married, but my parents refused. They had other plans for me, to marry an English aristocrat. An Albanian who at that time had very little money of his own did not fit the bill for them. I defied them, of course, and insisted I would stay in Italy and marry Idjbil, but they had me brought back to England. It was all very unpleasant. But true love never dies.’

  ‘But you married Lord Mainwaring.’

  ‘Yes. I was told in no uncertain terms that I had no choice, and that if Idjbil entered Britain he would be arrested and then deported. There was even talk of having him killed. My father was that sort of man. So, I married Kirby. But I never forgave my parents, and I never forgot Idjbil.’

  ‘Was Lord Mainwaring aware of your feelings for Count Ahmed?’

  ‘Yes, but I think he thought I would grow out of it. Or, at least, that my father and his associates would keep me under control. But when my father died I decided to assert myself. I set Kirby a choice: divorce, or the freedom for me to travel to Italy and see Idjbil.’

  ‘And he agreed?’

  ‘His family are Catholics. The idea of divorce is anathema to them. And so, for the past many years, things have continued in a civilised fashion, with me taking sojourns in Italy and Kirby entertaining himself with other companions. Of course, the current war put a stop to any idea of my travelling to Italy, but when Idjbil wrote to me and told me the King and his party were coming to England, we decided to make arrangements.’

  ‘And Count Ahmed came here and stayed with you recently?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your husband?’

  ‘He elected to stay at his club in London while Idjbil was here.’ She regarded Coburg quizzically. ‘I’ve answered your questions honestly because the fact that a chief inspector from Scotland Yard has come here to ask questions about Idjbil suggests he is in trouble, and I will do anything to help clear his name if he’s suspected of anything. The dead man was found on the morning of Tuesday 20th August, is that right? Although he may have been killed the night before, the 19th.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Coburg.

  Lady Mainwaring gave a small smile.

  ‘The 19th was our first meeting for a long time. I had a room at the Savoy. We were both there, together, all day and all night. So, Idjbil wasn’t killing anyone at the Ritz. But I’m sure he could have told you all this. Why didn’t you ask him where he was and what he was doing?’

  ‘I tried, but he was reluctant to talk to me,’ said Coburg.

  She sighed. ‘Yes, Idjbil can be very protective of my reputation. Have you talked to anyone else in the King’s party?’

  ‘The King,’ said Coburg.

  Lady Mainwaring smiled. ‘I can’t imagine he enjoyed that.’

  ‘You know King Zog?’

  ‘I’ve met him a few times in Albania, with Idjbil, before the war. He struck me as a bit of a phoney. Don’t you think? Not a real royal.’

  ‘It’s not for me to say,’ said Coburg carefully.

  ‘No? But surely you’re the real thing. The Honourable Edgar Saxe-Coburg, son of the Duke of Dawlish.’

  ‘You’ve been doing your homework.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been as frank with you if I hadn’t checked you out. When Kirby told me he’d received a telephone call from a policeman asking to talk to him, I was intrigued. And when he told me your name, I was even more intrigued. I’ve met your older brother, the present Duke, a few times. He mentioned you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, in very complimentary terms. He’s proud of you. The work that you do. Your record during the First World War. You were badly injured.’

  ‘Many were injured,’ said Coburg. ‘I was one of the lucky ones. I survived.’

  Lady Mainwaring studied Coburg thoughtfully, then said: ‘I’ll talk to Idjbil. Tell him to talk to you. And to be open and honest with you. There’s a lot of suspicion among the King’s retinue; they believe they have enemies everywhere.’

  ‘And do you think they have?’

  ‘Absolutely. They wouldn’t be here in London if they didn’t.’

  It was with a sense of foreboding that Lampson approached his parents’ house, wondering how his mother would react to the news about the death of her sister and brother-in-law. Badly, he knew, but how badly? He knew his mother had problems with her heart, everyone in the family knew that. But how bad was it? Bad, like the tobacconist Mr Porter’s had been; so bad that the shock of the robbery had killed him? His mother never said how bad her heart condition was, just that sometimes she got out of breath climbing the stairs. Was that a symptom?

  He knocked on the door, which was opened by his dad.

  ‘Terry’s out,’ he said grumpily.

  Lampson nodded, then entered the house. His mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘You’ve got to have a word with that boy,’ continued his dad, obviously upset. ‘He went out with his mates and I told him to be back in time for you coming home, but he takes no notice. He’s got this obsession with finding German spies.’

  ‘I’ll have another word with him,’ Lampson promised. ‘But I’m glad he’s not here at the moment because I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘Oh?’ said his dad suspiciously. ‘It’s not about you and that woman whatsername.’

  ‘Ruth? No,’ said Lampson. ‘It’s about Uncle George and Aunt Ada in Ramsgate.’

  ‘What about them?’ asked his mother, suddenly fearful.

  ‘Ramsgate was bombed the day before yesterday,’ said Lampson.

  His mother and father looked at one another, bewildered.

  ‘No one told us,’ said his father.

  ‘It hasn’t been on the wireless,’ said Lampson. ‘I only heard about it from a police sergeant I know.’

  ‘When did you know?’ demanded his father.

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday!’ burst out his father, angrily. ‘And you never told us! Even though you were here in this house coming to pick up Terry!’

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I knew what had happened to them,’ said Lampson. ‘If anything had happened to them. No one could tell me anything, so I went to Ramsgate today to find out for myself.’

  His parents stood stock-still, staring at him, then suddenly his mother began to cry.

  ‘She’s dead!’ And she buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with sobs.

  ‘They’re both dead,’ said Lampson.

  ‘You don’t know that!’ said his father defiantly.

  ‘I do,’ said Lampson. ‘I was one of the party of rescuers that found ’em. It was them all right.’

  The painful silence was broken by the rattle of the letterbox.

  ‘That’ll be Terry,’ said his father, his voice faded and broken with shock.

  ‘Leave him to me. I’ll take him,’ said Lampson.

  He made for the door and opened it to see Terry on the doorstep.

  ‘Hello, Dad!’ The boy grinned. ‘Here, I got to show Grandad something. I found a bullet today in the street! It must’ve fallen fr
om a German plane.’

  And Terry produced the long metal cartridge from his pocket. He was just about to rush into the kitchen when Lampson put his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Not today, son. Show ’em tomorrow. They’re busy right now.’

  ‘Busy? Doing what?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way home.’ He called, ‘See you in the morning!’ to his parents, then ushered Terry out and pulled the front door shut.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Terry. ‘Grandad and Nan are never busy.’

  ‘I had to give them some bad news,’ said Lampson as they walked. ‘D’you remember your Great-Uncle George and Great-Aunt Ada?’

  ‘Nan’s sister,’ said Terry. ‘Yeh, course I do. They live near the seaside.’

  ‘Ramsgate,’ confirmed Lampson. ‘Well, the day before yesterday the Germans bombed Ramsgate, and George and Ada were killed.’

  Terry stopped and looked at his father, stunned. ‘They’re dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Lampson.

  ‘But why did the Germans kill them? They weren’t soldiers or anything. They were just … people.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lampson. ‘But in war it’s usually the ordinary people who die. More than the soldiers and airmen and navy.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘It’s just the way it is, son. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. People die.’

  ‘Will we die?’ asked Terry, suddenly worried.

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’ said Lampson grimly. ‘Anyway, it’s time for tea. What do you say to pie and mash?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘How did you get on in Kent?’ asked Rosa when they met up in the flat early that evening.

  ‘I’m hoping it will have eased the way for me to get information from King Zog’s entourage,’ said Coburg. ‘How about you? Did you see the St John Ambulance people?’

  ‘I did, but the person I need to talk to is the manager, a Mr Warren.’

  ‘You don’t seem happy about it,’ observed Coburg.

  ‘I’m not. It seems he came to see me at the Ritz.’