Chapter 92
‘We need to talk,’ Cook said, as the doorman stepped back into the doorway. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
‘Tell the old man they were doing a good job of it – didn’t just dump me straight away,’ Cook continued.
‘He’s upstairs,’ the doorman said.
‘I’m not here for him,’ Cook said.
‘What’s he doing here?’ the doorman asked, looking suspiciously at Burton.
Cook realised they knew each other, after a fashion. Two adversaries who’d faced off across the busy road, hour after hour, day after day.
‘Same as me,’ Cook said. ‘Looking for Ruby.’
‘You saw her,’ Burton said, ‘after the bus was hit.’
The doorman looked up, into the stairwell. The powers that be.
‘Tell me,’ Cook said, ‘and that’ll be an end to it.’
‘She was running across the road,’ the doorman said, his shoulders slumping, his decision made. ‘Got into a shouting match with another guest. Nasty woman, always looking for a fight.’
‘She wasn’t on the bus?’ Cook asked.
The doorman shook his head.
‘She was back over my side of the road. Must have got hit. She was bleeding. I didn’t see much else.’ He pointed to the bandage over his eye.
‘Where did she go? Burton asked. ‘You must have seen something.’
The doorman shook his head.
‘I thought she was all right,’ he said. ‘I remember thinking she was taken care of.’
‘An ambulance?’ Burton guessed.
The doorman started to nod, then stopped.
‘A car,’ he said. ‘Had something written on it. Like where it would say police. I saw it drive off.’
‘Someone took her?’ Burton asked.
‘He didn’t take her,’ the doorman said. ‘He helped her.’
‘We need more,’ Burton said. ‘For God’s sake.’
The doorman shut his eye. Thought. Shook his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
The man had been half blinded. He would have been going into shock.
‘You remember anything, her mum’s the landlady at the King’s Stairs, on the island,’ Cook said. ‘Let her know.’
‘We can’t just give up,’ Burton said, as they left the doorman, took a side street back towards Shaftesbury Avenue, turned the corner.
A siren started up. Cook looked at the sky. Heavy clouds. Impossible for a bomber to aim.
Burton followed his gaze.
‘I don’t think they’re aiming any more,’ he said, reading Cook’s mind. ‘Just follow the river if they can see it then drop their bombs anywhere on the city.’
An ARP warden hurried past them, blowing a whistle.
‘Everyone to the shelter,’ he shouted. Shoppers turned to each other, unsure whether to carry on or obey. Nobody wanted to be the first to give in to the fear.
The ARP warden turned the corner and Cook heard his whistle again. He doubted the doorman would be persuaded to abandon his post. Probably considered himself immune, now he’d already been bombed.
‘Now what?’ Burton asked.
‘Back to the island,’ Cook said. ‘See if Gracie’s heard anything.’
‘I can’t go back there,’ Burton said. ‘The military police have been sniffing round.’
‘Keep an eye on the hotel, then,’ Cook said. ‘I’ll go to the island, let them know what we found out.’
Cook heard heavy footsteps. Somebody running. Others heard it. Soon everyone on the street was hurrying one way or another, ducking into buildings, following painted signs on brickwork, finding the nearest shelter.
The doorman rounded the corner. He slowed when he saw Cook.
‘I remembered,’ he said. ‘The word on the car. It wasn’t a word. It was letters.’
‘What was it?’ Burton asked.
‘ARP,’ the doorman said.