‘Welcome to London,’ said Douglas dryly. It was shrewd of her to mention the inaugural flight on the Focke-Wulf airliner. Göring and Goebbels were both on that flight; it was one of the most publicized events of the year. A journalist would have to be very important indeed to have got a seat.
‘Now tell me what’s going on here?’ she said with a smile. Douglas Archer had not met many Americans, and he’d certainly never met one to compare with this girl. When she smiled, her face wrinkled in a way that Douglas found very beguiling. In spite of himself, he smiled back. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said. ‘I get on well with cops, but I didn’t expect to find so many of them here in Peter’s shop today.’
‘Peter?’
‘Peter Thomas,’ she said. ‘Come on now, mister detective, it says Peter Thomas on the door – Peter Thomas – Antiques – right?’
‘You know Mr Thomas?’ said Douglas.
‘Is he in trouble?’
‘This will go faster if you just answer my questions, Miss.’
She smiled. ‘Who said I wanted to go faster…OK. I know him –’
‘Could you give me a brief description?’
‘Thirty-eight, maybe younger, pale, thin on top, big build, six feet tall, small Ronald Colman moustache, deep voice, good suits.’
Douglas nodded. It was enough to identify the dead man. ‘Could you tell me your relationship with Mr Thomas?’
‘Just business – now what about letting me in on who you are, buddy?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ said Douglas. He felt he was handling this rather badly. The girl smiled at his discomfort. ‘I’m the Detective Superintendent in charge of the investigation. Mr Thomas was found here this morning: dead.’
‘Not suicide? Peter wasn’t the type.’
‘He was shot.’
‘Foul play,’ said the girl. ‘Isn’t that what you British call it?’
‘What was your business with him?’
‘He was helping me with a piece I’m writing about Americans who stayed here right through the fighting. I met him when I came in to ask the price of some furniture. He knew everybody – including a lot of London-based foreigners.’
‘Really.’
‘Peter was a clever man. He’d root out anything anybody wanted, as long as there was a margin in it for him.’ She looked at the collection of silver and ivory objects on a shelf above the cash register. ‘I called this morning to collect some film. I ran out of it yesterday, and Peter said he’d be able to get me a roll. It might have been in his pocket.’
‘There was no film found on the body.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get some somewhere.’
She was standing near him now and he smelled her perfume. He fantasized about embracing her and – as if guessing this – she looked at him and smiled. ‘Where can I reach you, Miss Barga?’
‘The Dorchester until the end of this week. Then I move into a friend’s apartment.’
‘So the Dorchester is open again?’
‘Just a few rooms at the back. It’s going to be a long time rebuilding the park side.’
‘Make sure you leave a forwarding address,’ said Douglas although he knew that she’d be registered as an alien, and registered with the Kommandantur Press Bureau.
She seemed in no hurry to depart. ‘Peter could get you anything: from a chunk of the Elgin marbles, complete with a letter from the man who dug it out of the Museum wreckage, to an army discharge, category IA – Aryan, skilled worker, no curfew or travel restrictions – Peter was a hustler, Superintendent. Guys like that get into trouble. Don’t expect anyone to weep for him.’
‘You’ve been most helpful, Miss Barga.’ She was going out through the door when Douglas spoke again. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘do you know if he had been to some hot climate recently?’
She turned. ‘Why?’
‘Sunburned arms,’ said Douglas. ‘As if he’d gone to sleep in the hot sunshine.’
‘I only met him a couple of weeks back,’ said Barbara Barga. ‘But he might have been using a sun-lamp.’
‘That would account for it,’ said Douglas doubtfully.
Upstairs Harry Woods had been talking to Thomas’s only neighbour. He had identified the body and offered the information that Thomas had been a far from ideal neighbour. ‘There was a Luftwaffe Feldwebel…big man with spectacles – I’m not sure what the ranks are – but he was from that Quartermaster’s depot in Marylebone Road. He used to bring all kinds of stuff: tinned food, tobacco and medical stuff too. I think they were selling drugs – always having parties, and you should have seen some of the girls who came here; painted faces and smelling of drink. Sometimes they knocked at my door in mistake – horrible people. I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, mind you, but they were a horrible crowd he was in with.’
‘Do you know if Mr Thomas had a sun-lamp?’ Douglas asked.
‘I don’t know what he didn’t have, Superintendent! A regular Aladdin’s cave you’ll find when you dig into those cupboards. And don’t forget the attic.’
‘No, I won’t, thank you.’
When the man had gone, Douglas took from his pocket the metal object he’d found under the chair. It was made from curved pieces of lightweight alloy, and yet it was clumsy and heavy for its size. It was unpainted and its edge covered with a strip of light-brown leather. It was pierced by a quarter-inch hole, in line with which a screw-threaded nut had been welded. The whole thing was strengthened by a section of tube. From the shape, size and hasty workmanship Douglas guessed it was a part of one of the hundreds of false limbs provided to casualties of the recent fighting. If it was part of a false right arm the doctor might have made a remarkably accurate guess and Douglas could start looking for a left-handed ex-service sharpshooter.
Douglas put the metal construction back into his pocket as Harry came in. ‘You let the doctor go?’ said Douglas.
‘You rode him a bit hard, Doug.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘Three A.M. I think we should try to find this Luftwaffe Feldwebel.’
‘Did the doctor say anything about those sunburns on the arms?’
‘Sun-ray lamp,’ said Harry.
‘Did the doctor say that?’
‘No, I’m saying it. The doctor hummed and hawed, you know what they are like.’
Douglas said, ‘So the neighbour says he was a black-marketeer and the American girl tells us the same thing.’
‘It all fits together, doesn’t it?’
‘It fits together so well that it stinks.’
Harry said nothing.
‘Did you find a sun-ray lamp?’
‘No, but there’s still the attic.’
‘Very well, Harry, have a look in the attic. Then go over to the Feldgendarmerie and get permission to talk to the Feldwebel.’
‘How do you mean it stinks?’ said Harry.
‘The downstairs neighbour tells me everything about this damned Feldwebel short of giving me his name and number.