Beware This Boy Page 15

  “This gentleman’s a police officer, Pat.”

  Tyler gave them what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I understand you’re thinking of coming out on strike.”

  Pat, clearly the leader, answered. “That’s right. We’re fed up with the treatment we’ve been getting.” She had a strong Irish brogue. “We’re still at the discussing stage, so you can’t object.”

  Mrs. Castleford’s husband had referred to her as a malcontent but that was not Tyler’s first impression. She didn’t seem “common as muck” either. Just a woman of conviction with a no-nonsense attitude.

  “I am here to find out what happened on Sunday,” he said. “Perhaps our two concerns will coincide. I’m sure nobody wants to delay production any longer than necessary, and we all want to make sure the factory is safe.”

  Pat appraised him with a skeptical I’ve heard blarney before look. Then she nodded. “Let them in, Frankie.”

  “Mr. Cudmore as well?”

  “Sure, why not. He’s a good bloke. He’ll tell the boss what we’re thinking. Right, Les?”

  “Quite right, Miss O’Callaghan.”

  The blonde opened the door and they entered the canteen. There were about two dozen workers seated at the tables. As far as Tyler could tell they were all women, but he noticed Mick Smith, the dillie man, standing against the far wall. There was one other man, a short, dark-haired bloke in an apron, behind the serving counter.

  Everyone went quiet as they entered and curious eyes gazed at him.

  “Come up,” said Pat. “You can sit at the head table.”

  There was a minuscule stage at the far end of the canteen and she led the way towards it.

  “Shove over, you lot,” she said to the women sitting there. “This is Detective Inspector Tyler. He wants to be part of our deliberations.”

  “Why should he?” demanded a woman at the far end. “We are not doing anything illegal.”

  She had a cultivated accent and a sallow, long-jawed face. Must be Mary with the hyphenated name that Mrs. Castleford had mentioned. Rather to his surprise, Tyler recognized her as the woman he’d passed on his way into the hospital yesterday. Whatever distress she had been experiencing then was no longer apparent. She looked sour and belligerent.

  “He’s investigating Sunday’s explosion,” answered Pat before Tyler could reply.

  “We are dealing with other matters at the moment.”

  “For God’s sake, Mary, we’ve got to get that sorted out. Women were killed, or didn’t you notice?” Pat’s voice was tart. She’d obviously had previous run-ins with Mary Ringwald-Brown.

  “Workers are dying every day and have for centuries. They will continue to do so unless we take steps to take control of the products of our own labour.”

  “Jesus love us,” exclaimed Pat. “Will you stop with the spouting? Let’s deal with one thing at a time.”

  One of the other girls looked up at Tyler. “You can share my chair if you like, Inspector.” She was what he’d call a smasher, fresh-faced and full-lipped, with an abundance of fair, curly hair. Many of the other women were still wearing their restrictive turbans. Not this one. She was a hair-tosser if ever he’d met one.

  He might have had no choice but to accept her offer, but Mr. Cudmore had already procured a spare chair.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walmsley,” he said briskly. “I think the inspector will be more comfortable on his own chair.”

  Tyler sat down.

  Pat had got up on the stage. “Quiet everybody. Quiet. Shut up. Now you all know Mr. Cudmore here. The gentleman with him is Inspector Tyler. He’s here to get to the bottom of what happened on Sunday.” She looked over at Tyler. “Do you want to say a few words?”

  Not really, thought Tyler. Public speaking wasn’t quite his forte. Nevertheless, he thought he should take advantage of the gathering. He got up and joined Pat on the stage.

  “First of all, I want to express my deepest regret that Audrey Sandilands has succumbed to her injuries. You are all doing a most important job and we don’t want anything like this to happen again.”

  “Too true,” called out Mary Ringwald-Brown in a loud voice. “The owners don’t want to lose their peasants.”

  Various groans greeted this. Tyler sympathized with them. The woman’s comments were tasteless, given the circumstances. She didn’t seem to have a lot of support among those same peasants.

  “I’m not speaking for any owner,” said Tyler. “I’m a police officer. It’s my job. Any and all equivocal deaths have to be investigated. I’d like to be able to count on your help.”

  At that moment the canteen door opened and a man tiptoed in. He was carrying a camera and a tripod. He was trying to be unobtrusive but that only served to draw glances in his direction. He looked familiar but Tyler couldn’t place him.

  Pat drew their attention back to the matter in hand. “What would help you the most from us, Inspector?”

  “I’d like to hear your opinions concerning safety in the factory,” said Tyler. He nodded at the secretary. “Mr. Cudmore will take notes and what seems relevant, I promise, will be presented to Mr. Endicott. My job is not only to determine what happened on Sunday but to make sure there is no recurrence.”

  “Here, here,” Mick Smith called out.

  One of the women in the front row raised her hand. Tyler nodded at her.

  “Go ahead, Miss …”

  “Lipton. June Lipton. I think I am speaking for all of us here when I say we want to do our bit for the war effort. My fiancé is overseas and I want him to come back in one piece, and soon.”

  There was a murmur of sympathy from the others. “The problem to my mind is that we are too rushed,” she continued. “Too much is expected of us. We’re not machines.”

  That brought a burst of clapping. Somebody else, not waiting to be acknowledged, called out, “We need more break time.”

  “Inspector?” The blonde girl who’d been keeping the door waved at him. “We all get tired at the end of our shift. That’s when accidents happen. We’d like to have some music to keep us awake. We could pipe in the BBC.”

  More agreement from the other workers. They were all livening up. Cudmore recorded it in his notebook. Tyler could see that the latecomer was setting up his camera in a corner of the room. Pat noticed at the same time.

  “Oi, you. What do you think you’re doing?”

  He smiled at her. “I’m here from the ministry to make a film about the factory.”

  Suddenly Tyler realized who he was. The Yank. The man in the fog.

  Mary Ringwald-Brown sprang to her feet. “We cannot allow this. We have not approved this man. What is the purpose of this film?”

  “He is quite legitimate,” interjected Cudmore. “The request to film footage of the factory came in before the dreadful tragedy occurred, but Mr. Kaplan has assured me he will be very sensitive as to what he photographs.”

  Mary was still standing. She virtually shook her fist at Cudmore. “The government doesn’t give a fig about us. We’re just fodder for the cannons.” She addressed Kaplan. “You want us all to be smiling and cheerful, don’t you. You want the lie.”

  “I apologize,” said Kaplan and he immediately removed his camera from the tripod. “I had no intention of doing anything other than record what you have to say. As the inspector has pointed out, we must make sure this factory is a safe place to work.”

  Mary looked as if she wanted to continue the fight, but Pat took charge again. “Let’s get back to it then. Just don’t take any photos right now, mister.” She scanned the crowd. “What else do people have to say?”

  “Management treats us like children half the time,” said a woman at the back of the room. She was a Liverpool lass, a good, tough Scouser, tall and curvaceous in her snug overalls. A smattering of applause to that. “Women aren’t men,” she continued.

  “Thank goodness for that, look you,” called out the man behind the counter. Some laughter.

  “I’m
serious, Taffy. For instance, we women have, on occasion, a need to go to the wc quite suddenly. We can’t wait for tea break and we don’t want to have to get special permission to leave our stations.”

  That received a big ovation. Cudmore did his I have no idea what you’re referring to head duck. Tyler could see the women around him casting covert glances in his direction to see if he understood what Scouse was talking about. He did.

  Frankie spoke up next. “I agree with Lily. So what if we stay a few minutes longer in the lavatory?”

  “We need better towels, by the way,” interrupted the Scouser. “The ones that are provided are a disgrace.”

  “And the water is never hot,” said the smasher beside Tyler.

  The door at the rear opened again and a woman in a nurse’s white formal uniform entered.

  “Hold on a minute, you lot,” Pat called out. “Miss Abbott has just come in. Let’s give her a seat.”

  Frankie stood up. “Over here, Sister.”

  Looking slightly discomfited by the attention, the woman made her way to the front and slipped into the chair. She had a good face for a nurse, Tyler thought, intelligent and kind. Their eyes met briefly as she sat down. Like everybody else she was curious about him, but he thought for a moment he caught an expression of anxiety.

  “We’re just getting things off our chest,” Pat said.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Mary was still standing. “May I point out that Miss Abbott is part of management? I don’t think she should be allowed in the meeting.”

  “This is not an official union meeting, Mary,” replied Pat. “We don’t even have a bloody union. Miss Abbott has gone to bat for us many times. I’m not turfing her out.”

  “Let’s put it to a vote,” said the other woman.

  “No, we will not,” answered Pat in exasperation. “We were talking about important things and this is the first time we’ve had the opportunity. Let’s go on.”

  “Why do the men earn more money than us when we do the same work?” asked June in a rather timid voice.

  “Good question, ducks,” called out Smith. “If you can do what we do, you should get the same.”

  “You’ve got a point, June,” said Pat. “But for now we’re probably better off concentrating on the issue of safety. We can’t change the whole world in one go.”

  “Tell Mr. Endicott we don’t appreciate the lav doors being locked on us,” said Frankie.

  Cudmore looked up. “There was no such directive issued by management.”

  “So why were they locked on Sunday, then? It put the next shift in such a rush.”

  “They probably hurried too much,” interjected Lily. “That’s why the accident happened.”

  Tyler could see how disturbing this notion was to the women around him.

  “The bloody doors didn’t lock themselves, Mr. Cudmore,” continued Frankie. “If you weren’t the one who gave the order, who did?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” answered the secretary.

  The Welshman stepped out from behind the counter. “Beg pardon, ladies, but I’m after wondering if there’s any point to this question. Shouldn’t you be talking about the state of some of the machines, for instance? They’ve been here since the factory was making muskets, if you ask me. Mr. Endicott should cough up and have them replaced.”

  “If you don’t mind another bloke putting in his tuppenceworth,” said Smith, “I’m in agreement with Taffy ’ere. And while we’re at it, why can’t we get the stoves updated? No offence, Taffy, but the food here leaves something to be desired.”

  “I know it, look you. And I’m the one gets the blame.”

  Lily called out, “That’s all very well, but the men’s loo wasn’t locked. Why not?”

  Pat turned to Tyler. “Any ideas, Inspector? You’re the detective here.”

  Tyler shrugged. “I took a peek at the change-room doors yesterday and they can only be locked with a key. As I understand it there was no key in the door when the Blue shift arrived,” said Tyler. “Mrs. Castleford had to send for one.”

  “Mr. Cudmore?” asked Lily. “You should know the answer to that. Who has the bloody keys?”

  “I have a set, Miss Johnson. As does the caretaker. I have already explained this to the inspector. My keys are kept on a board near my desk. Mr. Riley knows this, and he picked up the one for the change room.”

  “I can’t see Phil messing about with locking doors and whatnot,” said Frankie. “Why would he? Why would anybody?”

  Tyler didn’t particularly like what he was about to say, but he felt he had to. “It has been suggested to me that perhaps somebody on the first shift deliberately caused a delay so that the second shift would be late getting to work.”

  “Because of the bonus?” said Pat.

  Tyler nodded.

  The room was suddenly silent. One of the women at the back started to weep. They all understood the implications if such a thing had occurred. The nurse was staring down at her hands. Tyler had the sense that she, like Cudmore, had been opposed to the introduction of a bonus.

  Pat’s expression was grim. “If that was indeed the case, we need to get to the bottom of what happened so we don’t lose anybody else.”

  All eyes were on Tyler. “As far as I can figure it out, the only time somebody could have locked the doors was in the fifteen-minute period between the first shifts from Sections A and B leaving and the second shifts arriving.” He took out the sheet of paper that the ever-helpful secretary had given him. “I have a list of who was working in those sections. I’ll read the names of those who have come in to work this morning.” He did so. Four of them were sitting at the head table. “Am I missing anybody?”

  Silence.

  “Does anybody know who was the last to leave the change room at the end of the first shift?” Tyler asked.

  Mrs. Walmsley, the smasher, pointed towards Pat. “You were. You and Francine. I distinctly remember. I was going to the canteen and asked if you’d like to have a cuppa but you said Frankie had lost her scarf and you were going to look for it.”

  “Me mum give it to me, and she’d kill me if she thought I’d lost it,” said Frankie in agitation.

  “As it turned out,” said Pat, “it was under the bench.”

  Tyler spoke to Pat. “So you and Miss Tomlin were the last women to leave?”

  “I suppose we were. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “And obviously the door wasn’t locked or you wouldn’t have been able to get out.”

  “No, it was bloody not,” said Frankie with some indignation. “And neither me nor Pat has a bloody key. There was nobody else in the room. It was empty. We didn’t touch nothing. Just got me scarf which belonged to me and then we went to clock out.”

  Miss Abbott spoke up. “If you think this is important, Inspector, you can check the time sheet.”

  A burst of talk, and Tyler could see that his communist friend, who had been quiet during the back-and-forth, was flushed with rage. She glared directly at him. “You are trying to turn us against each other. Worker against worker. Those other women are our comrades. You are working for management. You’re trying to shift the blame on us in the most insidious way. Typical.”

  Bedlam erupted. Some girls were yelling at Mary to be quiet and others were calling out agreement. As far as Tyler could tell the two men were staying out of it, as was the Yank.

  He held up his hands. “Ladies, please. I realize my line of enquiry is distasteful to you but we might as well settle it once and for all. The fewer loose ends, the better. Mr. Cudmore, could you get the time sheet from yesterday for us?”

  Cudmore hurried away.

  Frankie had been looking very agitated during this exchange. She turned to Mary. “You were going to work a double on Sunday, weren’t you?”

  “I decided I was too tired and I changed my mind.”

  “Lucky thing, that.”

  “It’s appalling what you are insinuating
.”

  “Just asking,” said Frankie.

  “Hold on,” said Lily. “Mary normally belongs to the Blue shift. She wouldn’t want them to fall behind. Wouldn’t do her no good to slow them down.”

  “Precisely. Thank you, Lily.”

  Pat was still on the stage but she looked scared. Tyler addressed the women.

  “While we’re all waiting for Mr. Cudmore, why don’t you get a refill. And more buns. It’s on me. All right with you, Taffy?”

  “Come and get it, my lassies,” said the Welshman.

  There was a hustle and bustle as they availed themselves of Tyler’s offer.

  “I’ll get one for you, Inspector,” said the smasher with a captivating smile. She brushed against him as she went by.

  In the midst of all the activity, Kaplan came over to the table. He held out his hand. “Inspector, good to see you again. Recognized you right away.”

  “You seem recovered, Mr. Kaplan.”

  He beamed at her. “I’m swell, thanks. My shoulder had popped out but Miss Abbott put it right back.”

  “Only too happy to oblige, Mr. Kaplan.”

  “Cor blimey,” said Lily, who had returned with a tray of cups of tea. “I can’t see how filming this cock-up is going to help recruit new workers. If it was me, I wouldn’t touch this place with a barge pole … locked doors, missed counts, fatal explosions – blimey.”

  Cudmore re-entered the canteen carrying a bundle of time sheets. He handed them to Tyler, who riffled through them. He waited a bit longer for the tea to be gulped down, then went back to the stage. He didn’t have to ask for attention. There was silence immediately.

  “All right, then. According to what I have here, the first person to leave from Section B was Miss Johnson, who clocked out at a half past two.”

  “I had to get home,” said Lily. “I live with me mum and she was poorly.”

  Tyler checked the list and read out loud, “At two forty, Miss Francine Tomlin clocked off, and at two forty-one, Miss O’Callaghan.”

  He paused. The last name was a bit of a surprise. Aware of the possible consequences, he rechecked the list. No, it wasn’t a mistake.

  “At two forty-five, the last person working on the shift clocked out. That was Miss Mary Ringwald-Brown.”