Chapter 34
The police station in Bow Street was strategically situated.
The perfect location to keep an eye on the hustle of Covent Garden market, a hundred yards away.
The blue lantern was dark, thanks to the blackout.
That, along with the darkened windows, gave the place an air of being out of business.
Not the impression Cook would have wanted to give, in a city on the edge of going feral.
‘I’ll wait here,’ Gracie said.
Inside, there was a crowd of people gathered around the front desk. A young desk sergeant sounded like he’d been repeating the same information for a while.
‘If you need help finding shelter,’ the desk sergeant shouted, ‘the nearest rest centre’s Soho baths on Wigmore Street.’
Nobody moved.
‘If you’re looking for someone gone missing, your first stop should be hospitals. Start with St George’s if your loved one was last seen in this vicinity.’
A young mother, baby in arms, pushed her way back out through the crowd, past Cook, to the exit.
‘If you’re looking for the home repair allowance, talk to your local ARP warden.’
‘They told me to come ’ere,’ a red-faced labourer replied. ‘Said your lot was giving out five quid for materials.’
‘I’ve got no money here,’ the desk sergeant said, firmly. There was a collective moan from much of the crowd, who had evidently been sent here on the same understanding as the labourer.
‘Who’s in charge?’ the labourer asked. It was a reasonable question, Cook thought.
‘In charge of what?’ the sergeant replied.
The labourer looked around as if it was obvious.
‘The whole lot,’ he said. ‘They’ve known the bombers was coming for years. All the blackout stuff, all the gas masks. Someone must be in charge.’
The desk sergeant, trying to avoid the discussion, caught Cook’s eye.
‘I’m here for Ruby Reynolds’s things,’ Cook said. ‘She was on the bus last week, near Piccadilly Circus.’
The sergeant nodded and shouted back, through a door.
‘Ruby Reynolds,’ he shouted. ‘Next of kin for the belongings.’
‘What about my savings?’ an elderly woman at the front of the crowd asked, quietly.
‘What happened to your savings?’ the desk sergeant asked, not unkindly.
‘We went down the shelter like we was told, and when I came back someone had been in the house and taken my savings,’ she said. ‘And the piece of fish I’d left out for me tea.’
The sergeant brightened. Finally, his body language seemed to say, a customer he could help. He reached below the desk and produced a sheaf of paper. Small print, densely packed. Spaces for information. He handed it to the woman and pushed a pencil across the counter.
‘Fill this in,’ he said.
‘Will I get it back?’ she asked.
‘What, the fish?’ someone in the crowd joked. He was rewarded with a ripple of laughter.
‘Tell us the amount,’ the sergeant said, ‘and if we nick someone with that exact amount on him, we’ll let you know.’
‘Unlikely,’ opined the self-appointed commentator. ‘He’ll be right off down the pub.’
A constable appeared at a connecting door behind the counter with a brown paper bag. He handed it to the desk sergeant, who checked the label, then passed it to Cook.
Cook looked inside the bag. The remains of a black coat.
‘That’s it?’ he asked.
The sergeant shrugged. He looked tired. Soot in the creases around his eyes. He cradled his right hand on the counter. A nasty burn on the palm.
‘Were you there?’ Cook asked.
‘Not that one,’ the sergeant said. ‘He’s kept us busy though.’
‘Check it’s hers,’ the sergeant said, as Cook turned to leave.
Cook took the coat out of the bag and shook it out. It was a thin raincoat, scuffed at the elbows, hand stitching around the collar. A name written on the label: Ruby Reynolds.
‘I heard there wasn’t a body,’ Cook said.
The sergeant looked him in the eye. Shook his head.
‘There wasn’t anything,’ he said. ‘Surprised that survived. Must have been caught on the blast. They said it was across the street.’
Outside, Gracie took the bag.
‘That it?’ she asked, pulling out the coat.
‘Direct hit,’ Cook said.
Gracie was quiet.
‘She wouldn’t have felt anything,’ Cook said. ‘In the army, they used to say a bomb like that, the blast wave moves faster than your brainwaves. You’re gone before you know it.’
Gracie thought about this for a second.
‘You reckon that’s right?’ she asked. ‘Or just something they say.’
‘I reckon it’s right,’ he said.
Gracie fingered the coat. She brought it to her face and breathed it in.
‘I’ll get it taken in for Frankie,’ she said. ‘He’ll need a coat for the winter.
A siren wailed into life. Within seconds it was joined by more. Cook looked east, towards the docks. Dots in the sky already growing larger.
‘I wanted Ruby to go with him,’ Gracie said. ‘Get her away from all this.’
‘You didn’t know the bombs would come,’ Cook said.
‘Not just the bombs,’ Gracie said. She looked around. ‘All of it.’