The London Blitz Murders by Max Allan Collins

taken that client up to her flat last night…. Excuse me.”
    And Agatha went quickly down the street and out into the bracing air, where she drew in deep breaths, exhaling plumes.
    Emerging behind her from the stairwell door, Inspector Greeno said, almost irritably, “Mrs. Mallowan, what are you saying?”
    Without really knowing where she was going, Agatha clip-clopped down the street with the inspector tagging after. She ducked into a small cafe and ordered coffee while the perplexed if intrigued inspector took a seat across from her at a little table.
    Finally Agatha cast her gaze upon him, and, smiling a little, albeit in a most melancholy manner, said, “She landed an understudy role just yesterday—she’d have been informed today. I saw her try out at the St. James Theatre, afternoon last… where she used the stage name Nita Ward.”

FIVE

PRIVACY IN A PUBLIC HOUSE

    A GATHA HERSELF MADE THE SUGGESTION that those who’d witnessed Nita Ward’s audition yesterday afternoon be interviewed today.
    “I do not see them as suspects,” Agatha told Inspector Greeno, as the pair sat in the tiny cafe, having coffee and tea respectively. She felt strangely self-conscious using the term “suspects” outside of the pages of fiction. “But at least one of my colleagues knew the poor girl prior to the audition, and the rest had direct contact with her.”
    “I’d like you to accompany me,” the inspector said.
    “I’m not sure that’s wise—would my friends be as frank in front of me?”
    Inspector Greeno twitched a humorless half-smile. “That’s a good point, Mrs. Mallowan.”
    “I do wish you’d call me Agatha.”
    The grin had warmth and width that turned the bulldog face into something attractive. “Agatha it is—if you’ll do me the honor of calling me Ted.”
    “Ted… what a wonderful designation… or should I say ‘moniker,’ out of respect for your trade? Such a cheery name for a homicide detective.”
    The inspector leaned forward, eyes narrow. “Here’s my view of it—initially, they’ll loosen up around you. Your presence will be a kind of reassuring factor. Then, after each interview, we’ll exchange notes, so to speak….”
    She nodded. “I believe I understand. If at some point, my presence turns from comforting to inhibiting…”
    “Then I’ll question them again, at a later date, on my own. Rather more officially.”
    “These interviews, then, will be conducted unofficially. Informally.”
    “Absolutely, Agatha.” He grinned again, though warmth wasn’t part of it, this time. “We don’t really think one of your theater people is the new Jack the Ripper, do we?”
    “We don’t. Particularly not the ladies.”
    Inspector Greeno raised an eyebrow. “Well, one never knows.”
    She frowned at him, curiously. “Aren’t these sexually motivated murders?”
    “Not necessarily. In all three, robbery has been at least a partial purpose—the previous victim gave up some eighty pounds to her slayer.”
    Agatha kept pressing. “But the savagery of the mutilation, in the region of Miss Ward’s sexual organs…”
    “A jealous woman could easily accomplish such a task.”
    The mystery writer’s eyes flared. “I don’t know about ‘easily’…. What does Sir Bernard say about signs of sexual assault?”
    “The first victim showed signs of sexual activity, but not the bruising and such usually associated with rape…. May I speak this frankly, Agatha?”
    “You may. I will be insulted if you do not.”
    He waved a waitress over to request another cup of tea, and, once the girl had been dispatched, he said, “We have three victims, all female. The second one, our air-raid shelter schoolteacher, did not show signs of having had recent sexual activity. My guess is that Sir Bernard’s examination of Miss Ward… Mrs. Oatley… will show that she did.”
    Agatha was nodding again, very slowly now. “I believe I follow you, Inspector.”
    “Ted.”
    “… Ted. The first