VII 1945: V-E Day
Daisy had already known for more than four years that it was Cedric who had murdered Ralph. In fact, she could pinpoint precisely the day on which she had found this out. It had been on V-E Day, Tuesday the eighth of May 1945. Like many other people in Britain and in the world at large, she would never forget that day.
At 02:41 in the morning of the seventh—in fact in the middle of the night—at General Eisenhower’s HQ at Reims, in the north of France, the Germans had signed an agreement of unconditional surrender to the Allies. This armistice was not meant to go into effect until the evening of the next day, but when the news had come out on the wireless that morning, all over London and elsewhere in Britain the people had started to rejoice straight away rather than wait for the eighth.
Mrs Maurois had come knocking at Daisy’s door early that morning, telling her the news, urging her to put the wireless on, and they had listened together to the latest dispatches. The authorities announced that the next day, the eighth, would be a day off, an official day of celebration. “Well, be that as it may, Mrs Em, I do have to go to work now…” Before Daisy left, her old neighbour had hugged her tenderly, which didn’t happen often.
On the way to work—on the tube—and all day long at the practice, the wonderful news hung in the air and touched everything with a celebratory mood. Keeping up a conversation with the patients came effortlessly, the German surrender was the talk of the day.
When Daisy came back from work her neighbours were already celebrating. In Tufnell Park the whole neighbourhood had been out on the streets all day long. There were wireless sets turned on loud in the window openings so that the revellers could find out more about what was going on. People were hanging bunting and banners on the facades of their houses and between lampposts, they held fancy dress parades for the children, carried tables and chairs outside and held impromptu banquets… Choice supplies that had been set aside during many years of wartime rationing were brought out. It was a lovely, mellow, sunny day; people got drunk, laughed and shouted, sang and danced.
Daisy discovered a new side of her neighbours on that day. It was the first time since she lived there that Tufnell Park was no longer in the grip of the war. There was music on the wireless. People she hardly knew—acquaintances one greeted, known by voice only—offered her beer and things to eat, or invited her to dance. It took some time before she finally got home and could go to bed. She was exhausted.
The next day, the eighth of May, it just went on. In the morning Mrs Maurois came to fetch her blind neighbour and together, hand in hand, they roamed the streets and enjoyed the parties. But Daisy had something on her mind that kept the celebratory mood in check. “What is it, dear?” Mrs Maurois asked her in the end. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Well, you know, I can’t help thinking of Ralph…”
“Oh, of course, how silly of me! But you know, on a day like this, you just have to pretend that he is present too, somehow, somewhere… Just make believe that he is right here, next to you: what would you like to say to him?”
“I know exactly what I would like to say, but it would start me weeping to think of it, and then you know what happens…”
“Good grief, yes! I remember the horrible infection when that poor boy died… I’m so sorry!”
“Well, I don’t know about you, Mrs Maurois, but I’ve had my fill of revelling… I think I’ll go home now.”
“Of course. I’ll escort you.”
Back in her flat, eating a sandwich for lunch, Daisy reflected on what her neighbour had said: what would you like to say to him? “Well, what I would like to ask you, darling Ralph, if you know the answer: Who on earth took you away from me?” Then she made herself a pot of tea, and while taking her first sips she thought back on the unresolved question of the Group Captain’s identity. It was a bit more than a year since Chief Inspector Cockett had warned her not to pursue the matter… Surely she had let enough time go by, now? And with everybody celebrating in the streets, maybe it would be a good time to call her old acquaintance at Great Dunmow airbase. He would still be on duty there, but this time he was not going to say “Don’t pester me, I have a bombing operation to run.”
Daisy installed her phone on the coffee table and dialled the local switchboard operator, asking to be connected to Major Clarence Mannings, Commanding Officer of the RAF station at Great Dunmow. It took some time, the switchboard was busy, a lot of people all over Britain were phoning one another, but at length the connection was established.
“Major Mannings? Daisy Prendergast here. Do you remember me?”
“But of course, my dear Daisy! How could I forget you!”
“Have you heard the news?”
“Of course! The Germans have surrendered!”
He actually sounded glad to hear her voice. She congratulated him on their victory, and then without much ado, as they had only three minutes to talk, she managed to put to him quite innocently the question that was burning in her mind. She made sure not to use the word “murder”, as that would surely drive him up the wall: “Who was this Group Captain that came to the base on the very morning after Ralph was killed?”
“Oh,” the major answered lightly, “that was just Cedric Clifton, Air Vice-Marshal Rupert Clifton’s boy. The same chap, by the way, who only a fortnight later pestered me to grant you access to my airbase. He really knows how to throw his weight around, that one…” Then he added, “You know, Daisy, I loved Ralph very much, almost like a son. I still deplore his death. What a tragedy!”
“Yes, indeed, Major. Thank you ever so much.”
And that is how Daisy had learned the identity of the snooping Group Captain.
She was stunned and shocked. She leaned back in her armchair, feeling slightly dizzy, and almost nauseous with misery. A jumble of disjointed images and memories was spinning in her head, until she started thinking over and over, “Cedric! Good God, Cedric? How could you? Cedric…”
But the first flash of despair was immediately replaced by amazement. How was such a thing even possible? He had helped her! At the funeral he had volunteered his support at a moment when no one else was willing to even listen to her… Thinking back to the funeral, Daisy suddenly conjured up the memory of herself, taking an envelope out of her bag and handing it over to Cedric. “It would help tremendously if I could show that to the authorities concerned…”
Without further reflections, Daisy picked up the phone again and asked the switchboard operator to connect her to the office of the coroner in Saffron Walden. This was the man who had ordered the inquest about Ralph’s death, and he had published the results after putting his signature under the report. “No recriminations, no wild accusations,” Daisy admonished herself while she waited endlessly for the line to be connected.
When she finally had the man on the line and she had introduced herself, Daisy was relieved to hear that he too was in a very expansive mood, as she had hoped he would be… “Ah yes, Mrs Prendergast! I do remember who you are… To what do I owe the pleasure on this most memorable of all days?”
“Well, if you would be so kind as to allow me, there is something I would like to tell you regarding my husband’s death…” And without giving the man enough time to groan or protest, Daisy started explaining the case of the two Thermos cans… only one accounted for… a Group Captain seen snooping on the premises on the very morning Ralph died… and then she put the question to him, “Now, my dear Mister Jacobs, if I told you that I have only recently learned the exact identity of this Group Captain, would you be interested at all? I mean to say: would you be willing to look into this matter?”
“Well, erm… Mrs Prendergast… I’m afraid not. Reopening a case like this would be a very drastic step. Rather unprecedented, in fact. I would need to have a very good reason indeed to do so, but unfortunately, I have to tell you that your information is just too circumstantial, if you see what I mean…”
“Yes, I was afraid you would say that, Sir…”
Just at this moment they were interrupted by the voice of the switchboard operator muttering “Sorry, time’s up…”
“Excuse me, Miss—operator? Coroner Jacobs speaking! This is important, please leave the line open! Now, where were we? Ah yes. I can assure you that I understand your frustration, Mrs Prendergast. It must be terrible, hearing that your husband did not die of natural causes… that is, in this case, enemy fire… and then it turns out that it was an accident, after all… I understand how you must have felt. However…”
“Yes, yes, my dear Mister Jacobs, believe me, I have also come to the conclusion that I must accept the results of the inquest. But there is just one more question I would like to ask: when you ordered the inquest, a fortnight after Ralph’s death, who asked you to do so?”
“Ah? Er, yes. I remember now. It was one Bernard Thistlehurst, a very young Senior Investigating Officer at Scotland Yard, one of the most brilliant criminal investigators of his generation. When a chap like that advises you to look more closely into an affair, you ignore his advice at your own peril…”
“Well, could you give me his number? Oh, and did he transmit the pharmacist’s report to you? Mister Dobbs’ report?”
“No. He did not. Chief Inspector Cockett already had that report…”
“Oh? Of course! The inspector got that from me… And the man’s telephone number, please?”
And so this Bernard Thistlehurst of Scotland Yard was the next person Daisy got hold of on the telephone on V-E Day. It was funny to witness how these officials, the Major, the Coroner and the crack investigator at Scotland Yard, could not allow themselves to take the day off, but were delighted when a lady they hardly knew phoned them on this special day, at a moment when they had absolutely nothing to do. This man even turned out to be a great fan of Daisy’s.
“When Cedric told me your story I was bowled over, my dear Daisy! May I call you Daisy? I mean, you’re blind since birth, and you of all people found out that your husband’s death was suspicious and that his coffee had been poisoned… I take a bow to you there, my dear!”
“So it was Cedric who came to you with my story?”
“Yes. We’re old friends, you know. We went to school together… The Duke of Cumberland’s Royal Military School at Folkestone. Ever heard of it? That creates a bond, you know, something outsiders can’t understand…”
“Then you brought the case to the attention of Coroner Jacobs in Saffron Walden?”
“That’s right.”
“And did Cedric give you… or show you, for that matter, the pharmacist’s report about the poisoned coffee?”
“No. But I read that document when the coroner’s report was published, of course…”
“But Cedric didn’t give it to you on the day he came to see you about the case?”
“No, I’m positive he did not. Does it matter?”
“The thing is, he did have the original in his possession, because I gave it to him… Oh well, it’s probably not important. I was just wondering, that’s all… I shall not bother you any longer, Mister Thistlehurst.”
“Please, Daisy, call me Bernard!”
“Well, my dear Bernard, goodbye. Thank you for your time.”
As she sat next to her telephone in the front room of her flat, the sound of music and laughter drifting in from the street below, Daisy reflected on the three conversations she had just had. “It’s the magic of this day… All of a sudden things are possible—even easy—that seamed unattainable only yesterday…”
Then she picked up the phone again and asked to be connected to her friend Beatrice’s family residence. “Bee? It’s Daisy! Would you like to come over to Tufnell Park? Great! And could you do something for me? I want you to bring along a photo of the gang… As recent a picture as you can find, I’ll tell you why later…”
In fact, Daisy didn’t want to tell her friend the real reason why she needed this photo; she didn’t want her to be involved more than necessary. When Beatrice arrived, Daisy told her a vague story about her neighbour Mrs Maurois being curious about Ralph’s background and about Bottomleigh House. Then, when she was handed the picture, she asked her friend to identify the sitters from left to right. It was Ralph on the left, then Cookie, Cedric, Beatrice herself, William, and Joan. Putting the photo away, Daisy invited Beatrice to go outside again and participate in the revelries.
It was only after her friend had left that Daisy took out the picture, put it in an envelope with a short note, and using a special writing frame to get the lines straight, she wrote Victor Hadley’s address at Great Dunmow station on the front of it. She went out again and posted the letter in the nearest red box. Now that she had discovered the identity of the Group Captain, she needed to verify the testimony of her witness. Victor called the next day, as soon as he had received the photograph by the mail, and he assured Daisy that the man he had seen on the morning after Ralph died was the third person from the left. The first one was Ralph, the second one an unknown young lady, and the third one the man who had come to take a look at Ralph’s room… “Yes, definitely, no doubt possible.” So then Daisy had known that she had a positive identification.
The war still went on in Asia, against Japan, and for that reason it took some time before the soldiers were allowed to go home. The military bigwigs kept their options open to send British troops to the East. It lasted until the summer, when finally, on the fifteenth of August, the Japanese capitulated as well.
In the meantime the Americans had taken over London. They seemed to be everywhere. They had all the goodies: chocolate, cigarettes, nylon stockings… Daisy had a few US servicemen as patients, in need of physical therapy, who provided her with some of those goodies, and she was propositioned by a couple of them, but she turned them down.
Then finally the British soldiers were released from military service and life started to go back to a semblance of normality. Victor came to visit Daisy at her flat in Tufnell Park. It was the first time they met in person since that winter day at the end of forty-three, when Victor had been taken into custody by the police. “I can’t tell you how much it meant to me, dear Daisy, that you never accused me, and did all you could to buck me up. I mean, you of all people, being the widow of the victim and all that, you stayed so calm and rational and… so nice, so kind!”
“Well, I’m glad I could make you feel better… And you see, now it turns out that Ralph’s cousin did it!”
“Yes! When I think of that man, it makes my blood boil! Is there nothing we can do to get him arrested?”
“Apparently not. I’ve pestered that Chief Inspector, spoken to the coroner on the phone, even talked to a crack detective at Scotland Yard. They all made it clear that as long as we have so little hard evidence—for the moment we can only infer what happened—there is no way they are going to reopen the case… Besides, the crack detective is a childhood chum of Cedric’s, so I had to be very careful about what I said to him.”
“Now we still have to find out how Cedric administered the poison. Do you have anything new on that?”
“No, but I do have something that I want to show you… Just a minute.”
Daisy stood up and retrieved Ralph’s pocket diary from a shelf of her bookcase. “I’m sure this is very familiar to you, but that you have never looked inside…”
“Ralph’s diary! That’s right, I never did…”
“Well, I want you to go through it now and think back carefully. Somewhere in there, last week of October I think, there’s a page with the name of another cousin, William, and his address at Bletchley Park in Buckinghamshire, and then Cedric’s name and address in Cairo. And Ralph has written: ‘send thank-you note’. Does it ring a bell? Now that I know that Cedric is the murderer, I have come to the conclusion that this might be important…”
Victor studied the tiny diary in silence for a while. “This brings back a lot of memories: the groceries I would go and buy for Ralph, and how careful he was to give me enough money and to keep correct accounts…”
“And how about that ‘send thank-you note’?”
“Well obviously Ralph intended to send a note of thanks to his cousins… or at least to one of them… Wait a minute! Of course, the Arabian coffee! Ralph received a parcel from Bottomleigh, once, containing a pack of very special coffee that had been sent to him by a good friend… There was some Arab script on the wrapping and it was clearly something exclusive and exotic. So, for a couple of weeks, I prepared only this coffee for Ralph, and put it in his Thermos flasks as well… He never drank anything else until the pack was finished. That could be it!”
“Yes! And by the time you were through with this special coffee, of course, Ralph had ingested a deadly dose of arsenic. The coffee beans must have been laced with it, in a carefully measured way… And in the meantime Ralph probably did send that thank-you note to Cedric in Cairo, because he knew that it was Cedric who had sent him that delicious coffee from Egypt, by way of Bottomleigh House…”
“Yes… Yes, that is what must have happened!”
“Oh God! This is so frustrating! We’re getting closer and closer to the solution. I wish I could call the inspector again and just goad that man into action!”
“Well, you just said there is no hope from that quarter.”
“I know, but isn’t there anything else we can do?”
“Well, do you have anything planned tonight? Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“Only in the afternoon. What do you have in mind?”
“I would like you to come with me. I want to show you were I work.”
“Well, I’d be delighted…”
Victor had a car and he drove them into the centre of London. “We’re going to my place in the East End…”
“What kind of place?”
“Wait and see!”
After parking the car, Victor took Daisy’s hand and led her into a tobacconist’s shop. She recognized the smell of cheap, sweet cigars immediately, but at the same time there was something funny going on here. Normally a tobacconist’s shop is a quiet place with a subdued atmosphere; here there was a lot of noise and excitement in the air. Several wireless sets were transmitting live reports of different horse- and dog-races, which made for a strange cacophony that didn’t seem to disturb anyone. Daisy heard the voices of half a dozen customers, but instead of ordering cigarettes or cigars, they were placing bets with the man behind the counter. They all seemed to know her companion, crying, “Hey Victor! All right?” when they entered the shop. Victor greeted them back and seemed to know everyone by name.
“So the rumours were right: you’re a bookmaker!”
“Yes, you’ve got it in one, Daisy.”
“But isn’t it illegal? What do you do when the police shows up?”
“There’s a chap on the lookout in front of the shop who warns us. As soon as the cops arrive, the punters melt away through the back door, and the tobacconist just pretends that he’s very fond of horse- and dog-races.”
“But you’re the one who runs the place?”
“That’s right. Do you know that only recently I made a pile of money out of Churchill’s defeat at the elections? Most people didn’t see that coming, but I knew it all along!”
“I also voted for Labour…”
“Well, there you are! And the best part is, during the general elections I was still at the station in Great Dunmow, relaying my instructions in coded language and in three minute instalments!”
They walked through into a back office, and Victor led his guest to a comfortable armchair. “At this time of day I hold court here. I want you to listen without saying a word. Do you want something to drink? A beer perhaps?” Then very soon the first of many visitors was ushered in by the tobacconist. Each new visitor raised an eyebrow towards Victor when he saw Daisy sitting there in a corner of the office, and Victor nodded his head to indicate that they could speak freely in front of the blind lady. But the lady in question, of course, didn’t perceive these silent exchanges.
For the next couple of hours a dozen visitors, all men, came in to discuss highly confidential matters with Ralph’s former batman. Mainly about loans. Some wanted one, others couldn’t pay back and made excuses, begged for an extension. Two men came in to discuss a turf dispute involving prostitutes; they appeared to be pimps and were seeking Victor’s arbitration. There came a man who explained that he was looking for an extra supply of cocaine, because the Americans were clamouring for the stuff. Victor promised to keep an eye out, but told him that he didn’t want to get involved directly. A moment later the same kind of conversation was repeated with another man, looking for a particular kind of firearm…
After a few hours of such consultations, Victor told the tobacconist that anyone who wanted to see him would have to come back the next evening. Then he took Daisy out to a club where they played excellent jazz, and they were led to a table in a far corner where they could talk in private. Victor ordered some drinks and snacks.
“Well, Victor” Daisy said after the first sip, “I must say that I’m impressed. I had no idea. You appear to be something of a kingpin in the London underworld!”
“Let’s say just a pin, albeit a solid one, and only in my own little backwater of the underworld. I hope you don’t think less of me now…”
“Oh no! Who am I to judge? I’m a little surprised, that’s all.”
“For my defence I’d like to say this: if people want to take a bet, why should I object? They need some excitement in their lives… And if grown-up women want to offer themselves for money, and if men are willing to pay, let them be able to do so peaceably. If people want to forget themselves on illegal substances, again why should I object? They’re doing no harm to anyone… In my view it’s better if someone like me—with sound judgement—takes charge of all these matters, rather than some unscrupulous gangster.”
“Of course, if you put it like that… But tell me something, Victor: did Chief Inspector Cockett know about this background of yours when he took you into custody?”
“Yes, and that is why he was so sure that he had found his murderer… In the end I almost started to believe it myself… because of my background!”
“Oh, poor thing! In the light of all this I realise now that your situation was even worse than I thought!”
“Well, you were so kind to me, Daisy—as I told you before—and tonight I think I wanted to show you who I really am, so that you may check your sympathy for me if you find you must…”
“No, that’s not necess