Under Cover

Chapter OneA scream pierced the air. Ruth Brown's head jerked up at the sound, halting her rush through London's lunchtime crowds on Old Street. There was a motion from above. A body hurtled to the ground from the brick building across the street. Her eyes widened, and a wave of nausea swept over her. She turned toward her best friend, Varis Gladstone, whose blue eyes bulged in her whitened face. Murmurs rose from the throng who pointed to the open window in the building, one of many manufacturing plants that had been converted to war-material production two years ago after Hitler declared war on England. A canvas shade flapped in the breeze. From amidst the mob, a shout rang out. “Is anyone a doctor? We need a doctor!” Ruth tugged at Varis's arm. “Come on. They need our help.” Varis pulled away. “No they don't. We're not medical professionals.” “Surely we can do something of value. I'm going over.” Ruth threaded her way through the mass of people. A lanky, dark-haired man bullied his way toward her. His shoulder slammed into hers, and he scowled when she stumbled. She glared at his retreating back then broke through the circle that had formed around the lifeless figure lying on the concrete walkway. Ruth froze at the sight of the familiar face and flowing red hair of her friend Amelia Harrell. A sob sounded from behind her, and Ruth turned. Varis stood with her arms wrapped around her middle, tears streaming down her cheeks. j A pair of helmeted bobbies cordoned off the accident scene with wooden barriers while several other officers corralled the surging mob of gawkers. Waiting to be interviewed, Ruth and Varis huddled near one of the police vehicles. Ruth's gaze strayed from the blanket-covered corpse on the ground to the ogling faces behind the barricade. She chewed on her lower lip and trembled when Varis's icy hands grabbed at her arm. How had Amelia fallen from the building? With her fear of heights, she wouldn't have intentionally stood so close to an open window. Maybe she didn't have a choice. Did anyone inside see it happen? Were there others in the room with her? Ruth's fists tightened, fingernails biting into her palms. “Varis, this is taking too long. I'm going inside to see what I can find out.” “Must you?” A sigh slipped from Ruth's lips at the wan expression on Varis's face. “No, I guess I can wait. Do you want to find somewhere to sit down?” Varis shook her head, silent tears trickling from her eyes. Ruth fumbled into her purse and drew out a handkerchief. She dabbed at the wetness on her friend's face. “We could go home. The police can come see us there. Would you like that?” “Miss?” Ruth turned toward the voice, and recognition dawned. “Sergeant Phillips. I haven't seen you since Detective Inspector Gelson and you solved the case about the skeleton found under my house. Has the murderer gone to trial yet?” A grim smile creased the man's face. “You have a good memory, Miss Brown. I'm afraid the wheels of justice move slowly. The trial hasn't started yet.” He looked at Varis. “Nice to see you, Miss Gladstone.” Varis nodded mutely. “Are you still chasing stories for the Associated Press, Miss Brown?” “Yes, keep your eye on The Times. I submitted an article this morning.” “Good for you.” Phillips jerked his head toward the cordoned-off area. “One of the folk I've already interviewed indicated you knew the deceased. Could you answer some questions? Either here or down at the station, if that would be more comfortable.” “Here is fine, and her name was Amelia Harrell,” Ruth said. “Ah, yes, of course. My apologies. How long did you know Miss Harrell?” Ruth's chin trembled. “About six months, I think. Sometimes it felt much longer. We clicked right away. Seemed to have a lot of the same interests.” Varis broke in with a tremulous grin. “And sense of humor. Amelia was a bit of a prankster, and so are you, Ruth.” “I must admit we did come up with some good ones.” Ruth swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. Phillips pushed his tan fedora back on his head. “Was Miss Harrell married, single? Did she go out much? I'll speak with her employer, but anything you could add would be helpful.” A warm breeze lifted Ruth's curls, and her purse slipped from her shoulder. She tucked her pocketbook under her arm and narrowed her eyes. “I'm not sure what I can tell you. We sort of lived in the moment. You know how it is. You get too close to someone, and the next thing you know they're gone. Lost in a bombing raid.” She scrubbed at her face. “I don't remember where she is...um...was from. Somewhere in the north, near Scotland. She was dating some guy for a while. She talked about him but never brought him around.” Phillips scribbled in the notebook engulfed in his large hand. “She wasn't seeing him currently? Did she ever mention his name?” “I think they broke up. His name is Owen, but she never gave us a last name.” “Wonder why not.” Varis colored. “A few of her coworkers had a theory, but we thought she simply wanted some privacy.” “A theory?” Ruth shrugged. “Married. Some of them thought he might be married, but Amelia wasn't like that. She was a good girl, very educated. In fact, she spoke several languages. I think her dad was an ambassador or with the Foreign Service, something like that. She didn't talk about him much. I gathered he was a bit overbearing when she was growing up.” “What was she like?” Phillips asked. Varis's face lit up. “Kind. Generous. She'd give you the shirt off her back. The life of the party, too. Quite chipper, knew how to make everyone laugh. Didn't seem to ever get upset or depressed. Even with the bombs coming every night like they do.” A frown wrinkled Phillips's forehead. “Then why would she kill herself?” Ruth's voice rose. “Kill herself?” Phillips pointed to the gaping window. “She jumped out the window. Perhaps she was distraught over this boyfriend. Or maybe it was her job. Women can't always take the pressure of being in the workforce. Maybe she should have stayed at home.” Ruth drew herself to her full height and met Phillips's eyes with a piercing stare. “And do what, Sergeant? Roll bandages? Knit hats for soldiers? There's real work to be done, and we women are quite capable to doing it. Besides, we just told you she didn't get depressed. To kill herself over a man she had been casually seeing? Her job? No. There are any number of reasons for her death. Maybe it was an accident, although I doubt it. Amelia hated heights and would have stood far from an open window. She wasn't 'distraught.' She liked her job and enjoyed her friends.” Phillips raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so Miss Harrell didn't kill herself. If it was an accident, then she should have been more careful.” “Are you always this callous when interviewing witnesses, Sergeant, or is it just when you're talking to me?” Ruth slung her purse back on her shoulder and crossed her arms. Phillips reddened. “I'm sorry, Miss Brown. I don't mean to be insensitive.” Ruth's voice faltered. “Amelia Harrell was neither careless nor suicidal. Do you think murder has found me again, Sergeant Phillips?”