The Wolf at the Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

a Londoner named Ernest Pool, who served in the army, was wounded in April ’forty-five, and received a medical discharge plus pension. They moved to 15 Green Street, Kilburn.”
    “He must have got down to work sharpish, old Ernest, for the baby to be produced in 1946.”
    “The bad news is, he died of a stroke two years later,” Roper said. “The wound had been in the head.”
    “Poor sod,” Tony said.
    “The mother never remarried. According to her Social Security records, she continued as a cook until her late sixties. Died four years ago, aged eighty. Lung cancer.”
    “And Henry?”
    “Worked as a driver of some sort, delivery vans, trucks, was a black-cab driver for years, then started being referred to as ‘a chauffeur. ’ Continued to live at the same address through all the years.”
    “Wife . . . family?”
    “No evidence of a marriage.”
    “It sounds like a bad play, if you ask me,” Tony said. “The old woman, widowed all those years, and the son—a right cozy couple, just like Norman Bates and his mum in the movie.”
    “Could be.” Roper’s fingers moved over the keys again. “So he’s been in the private-hire business for twelve years. On the Ministry’s approved list for the last six. Owned a first-class Amara limousine, approved by the Cabinet Office at Grade A level.”
    “Which explains somebody as important as the General getting him.”
    “And yet it just doesn’t add up. How long have you been in the military police, Tony?”
    “Seventeen years, you know that.”
    “Well, you don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes . . . What’s the most interesting thing here?”
    “Yes, tell us, Sergeant.” They both glanced around and found Ferguson leaning in the doorway.
    “Aside from the cards, the nature of the targets,” Doyle said. “Blake Johnson, Major Miller, and you, General—you’ve all worked together on some very rough cases in the past.”
    “I agree, which means, Major,” Ferguson said to Roper, “we need to take a look at the various matters we’ve been involved in recently.”
    “As you say, General. I’m still intrigued by the religious element in the prayer cards, though, and the IRA element.”
    His fingers moved over the keys again. The borough of Kilburn appeared on the screen, drifted into an enlargement. “There we are, Green Street,” Roper said. “And the nearest Roman Catholic church would appear to be Holy Name, only three streets away, the priest in charge, Monsignor James Murphy. I think we should pay him a visit. It might be rewarding.”
    “In what way?” said Ferguson.
    “Pool would have been a parishioner at this Holy Name place. The priest might be able to tell us where he comes into it.”
    “All right, go talk to him, but you know what Catholic priests are like. Seal of the Confessional and all that stuff. He’ll never tell you anything.”
    “True,” Roper said, “but he might talk to a fellow Irishman.”
    “Dillon? Yes, as I recall, he lived in Kilburn for a while in his youth, didn’t he? Have you spoken to him about what you just found out about Pool?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Well, get on with it, for heaven’s sake.” Ferguson turned to Doyle. “Lead on to the kitchen, Sergeant. I need a pot of coffee, very hot and very strong.”
    “As you say, General.”
    They went out and Roper sat there thinking about it, then called Dillon, who answered at once. “Any progress to report?”
    “I’m afraid you’ve got enemy action,” Roper said. “Ferguson found a prayer card in the driver Pool’s wallet.”
    Dillon reached over and shook Miller awake. “You’d better listen to this.”
    Miller came awake instantly and listened to the call on speaker. “Can you explain anything more? I mean, the driver and so on.”
    Roper went straight into Henry Pool, his background, the facts as known. When he was finished, Dillon said, “This notion you have about seeing the priest at Holy Name, I’ll handle that. I agree it could be