Dick Barton and the Great Tobacco Conspiracy Read online

  Dick Barton - Special Agent

  THE GREAT

  TOBACCO CONSPIRACY

  Mike Dorrell

  CHIVERS

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available

  This eBook published by AudioGO Ltd, Bath, 2012.

  Published by arrangement with the Author

  Epub ISBN 9781471310232

  Copyright © Copyright © Demob Ltd 1978

  Copyright © Mike Dorrell 1978

  The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  All rights reserved

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

  Jacket illustration © iStockphoto.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter One

  Captain Richard Barton, M.C., and Sergeant George White, better known as ‘Snowey’, both now demobbed from the commandos, prepare for an evening out and come across more excitement than they bargain for.

  Now read on...

  The War was over. Hitler had spent his last days in the bunker, V.E. Day had come and gone. The new Labour Government had just come into power. The blackout had ended, but rationing continued. Lend Lease was ending and, as the Americans withdrew their money, it was slowly dawning upon some of the British people that the battle was not yet over.

  In the living room of a select flat in Chelsea, Snowey White, ex-commando, who had spent four years in full combat kit, was now struggling to fit himself into a full set of evening clothes. He was having trouble tying his bow tie. It was not an object that he was used to wearing. Etiquette had never been one of Snowey’s strong points. He had preferred to leave question like that to his superior officer, Captain Dick Barton.

  As Snowey struggled with the ends of the tie Barton came into the room.

  ‘Sir,’ said Snowey.

  Barton slipped easily into his dinner jacket. He donned urbanity as easily as he slipped into a landing craft on a dark night on a beach in Normandy.

  ‘What’s up, Snowey?’

  Snowey took his hands away from his collar in disgust. His hard face wrinkled. He would obviously have been happier with his muffler. ‘This blooming tie, sir. Or rather it ain’t up. I can’t do nothing with it. Peculiar sort of object.’

  Barton suppressed a slight grin. Snowey had his good points; more than once during their four years together he had proved his worth. But dressing up for an evening out had never been his forte. Unless it was going out on a night patrol.

  ‘Let’s give you a hand,’ Barton said. He crossed the room and deftly began to tie the knot in Snowey’s tie.

  ‘I mean it’s all very fine and large, sir,’ Snowey complained. ‘But I don’t see no call to go dressing ourselves up in monkey suits.’

  For a moment, Barton was silent. His face creased as he concentrated on the knot. Like everything he did, it had to be perfect.

  ‘We’re going on the town, Snowey. We’ve both been in the dumps, you know that, since we were demobbed.’

  Snowey thought about the wide lapelled pin-striped suit that he’d sold to his cousin down the street. About trying to settle down to his old job and finding that he couldn’t. ‘True enough, sir. Civvy Street seems a bit tame after four years in commandos.’

  ‘Right,’ Barton replied. He meant what he said. He was getting bored with hanging around his flat all day. Things had a jaded air about them. Excitement was lacking. ‘So, tonight we’re going to have a bit of excitement,’ he said. ‘Rex Marley’s singing at the Blue Parrot.’

  Snowey had trouble keeping still while Barton tied his tie. Didn’t even know what it was all about anyway. ‘Rex Marley, sir?’

  Barton stepped back for a moment. A frown creased his face. He spoke a little sharply. ‘I wish vou’d drop this “sir” business, Snowey. I’m not Captain Barton any longer – and you’re not Sergeant White.’

  Snowey remembered one particular dawn in a small village outside Paris. Barton had pulled him out of the middle of a minefield. He’d been chasing a chicken. ‘I keep forgetting,’ he muttered.

  Barton began work on the tie again. ‘You don’t forget Rex Marley, though, surely. You were quite a fan of his as I recall – had a couple of his records.’

  It had been before the War. Before things had changed. It seemed a long time ago. Before Glen Miller had gone missing.

  ‘Oh – Rex Marley, the crooner, sir. Sorry, I’ll never get used to not calling you sir, sir.’

  Barton grinned. He knew what Snowey meant. In the years they had been together they had become a team. It seemed impossible that their relationship should change. ‘We saw him a couple of times with ENSA,’ Barton said.

  ‘Every night something awful,’ Snowey said. He meant it. Give him a good line of chorus girls any day. Even Vera Lynn or Anne Shelton, before some of the routines they’d passed off on them as entertainment.

  ‘They did a good job, Snowey, and don’t you forget it,’ Barton said as he put the finishing touches to the knot. The result was a perfect bow with the knot exactly centred. ‘Even if some of them weren’t up to West End standards. But Rex Marley’s in a class of his own. There,’ He finished: and as the job was completed, he stepped back.

  Snowey walked over to the mirror to examine the new image. He looked as if he still wasn’t sure that he approved.

  Barton spoke to his ex-Sergeant as he watched him making faces at himself in the mirror.

  ‘So just slip on your jacket and we’ll be off for the night of our lives!’

  A discreet blue neon light in the shape of a parrot shone at the end of the Mayfair mews. Parked on the cobbles underneath the light was the sleek shape of Dick Barton’s Riley. The engine ticked over slowly underneath the reflection of the Blue Parrot. It had the soft purr that indicated perfect maintenance.

  Inside, sitting on the soft leather front seat, Snowey White fiddled with his bow-tie as he waited for Dick Barton to speak. He had just asked his ex-captain about how he happened to know the crooner, Rex Marley.

  ‘Of course, I knew Rex before the war,’ Barton replied. Before he became a crooner, even. His father owns International Engineering, the firm I worked for, and poor old Rex had been stuck in the drawing office. But it was never for him. Eventually, he broke away and did what he really wanted to do.’

  ‘This crooning?’ Snowey began to open the car door.

  ‘Right.’ Barton switched off the ignition and the Riley’s engine died. ‘One of the best, though, old Rex.’

  They walked towards the Blue Parrot in silence. Their footsteps echoed across the street. The entrance was a small blue door that opened on to a steep flight of steps. The recessed lighting showed them the way down.

  The main room was small, with tables scattered around three sides of the tiny dance floor. Through the dim light and the suggestion of a smoke haze, Barton could see a trio consisting of bass, piano and guitar. They were playing ‘I Fall in Love Too Easily’ – the Frank Sinatra hit from Anchors Away.

  Luigi, the head waiter, whom Barton had known in the pre-war years, crossed the floor towards them. He said good evening deferentially. Then, as Barton nodded, he led them to a table just in front of the small stage.

  ‘There, Mr Barton. The best tab
le in the house for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Luigi.’

  Barton settled into one of the chairs at the table. Snowey followed more slowly. The ex-sergeant, on his first visit to a Mayfair night spot, looked around the Blue Parrot. He was impressed.

  ‘This is a bit of all right, sir.’

  ‘Not bad, eh?’ Dick Barton smiled. He looked up on the stage but there was no sign of Rex yet. He thought he could detect a slight tremor of nervousness in the way they played. Almost as if they were making the number last too long. But it was nothing.

  ‘Young Dick Barton, by all that’s holy!’

  The interruption startled the ex-captain. He had not expected the familiar voice in these surroundings. He turned around to see the distinguished looking gentleman advancing on them. He had no difficulty in recognising his employer, Sir Richard Marley.

  ‘Sir Richard. This is a pleasant surprise,’ Barton said as he took his boss’s hand.

  The older man gripped Barton’s hand warmly. There was a firmness about his grip and yet Barton thought he was looking for something. Perhaps it was confirmation.

  ‘Mutual, I assure you.’ Sir Richard’s deep voice echoed around the room. ‘I don’t think you know my daughter Virginia?’

  Barton had to admit his attention had been wandering during the handshake. He couldn’t help but admire the tall, attractive girl that had stood silent behind his former employer.

  “I remember a schoolgirl in a panama hat and a gym-slip of that name.’ His gallantry didn’t fail him.

  ‘Hello, Mr Barton.’ Virginia smiled at him. It was a straightforward gesture.

  Barton looked keenly at the girl. For once he had to admit that his memory had played tricks on him. It was unusual.

  ‘You’ve grown up,’ he said. They looked at each other, exchanging confidences.

  His interest was too much for Virginia. She blushed. Barton thought it was becoming.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said demurely.

  Barton turned to Snowey who was already rising from his seat at the small table. ‘This is my friend Mr White.’

  Dick Barton made the introductions with his usual aplomb. But he had never been one to miss out on the urgency behind the apparent social graces and he was therefore not surprised when Sir Richard said: ‘Still not made up your mind, Dick? About coming back to your old job?’

  It was an inevitable question. One which Barton had not delayed asking himself. His only trouble was with the answer. Frankly he couldn’t see himself returning to International Engineering. Not after the war he’d had. Civvy Street didn’t seem to be his line any more. ‘I’d like a week or two, sir, to think about it.’

  Sir Richard had enough respect for his former – and potential – employee not to press the point. ‘Well ... I’m keeping it open for you.’ He gestured towards his daughter who had been standing beside him, and, it seemed to Barton, becoming increasingly agitated as the moments passed. ‘Come along, Virginia, better get to our table before your brother starts his turn. A prospect I view, I must admit, with mixed emotions.’

  As Sir Richard, owner of International Engineering, and a regular attender at the House, started to move away, his daughter lingered. One look into her eyes told Barton that she was troubled, that she was not stopping to arrange a tête a tête with him. Whatever it was, was far more important.

  ‘Mr Barton,’ Virginia whispered. Her voice was urgent. ‘I must talk to you. It’s about Rex. I’m dreadfully worried about him.’

  A frown crossed Barton’s intelligent face, though he tried to keep the expression from his voice. To maintain a neutral tone in the face of possible trouble.

  ‘Worried, why?’

  Virginia glanced towards her retreating father. He was waiting for her. ‘I’ll tell you when we can talk,’ she replied. ‘It’s difficult here.’ Her tone became even more anxious. ‘Can I come and see you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Barton kept his voice casual. ‘I’m in the book.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  And so Virginia Marley, ex-schoolgirl who had graduated to evening dress in a smokey West End club, hurried after her father. Barton sat down again.

  ‘She seems in a right old two-and-eight, sir.’

  Snowey echoed what had been precisely Barton’s thoughts a minute or two earlier. That was why they had made a good team. And still had the potential. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, she does, doesn’t she?’

  Even as he spoke there was a roll of drums from onstage. The sound filled the small room. The cymbals crashed, and the manager, in evening dress, appeared in the spotlight that had been focused on the centre of the stage.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s cabaret time at the Blue Parrot. For one week only we’ve been fortunate enough to secure the services of that star of stage, screen and radio, Mr Rex Marley.’

  The manager looked expectantly towards the wings and began to clap his hands in spontaneous applause with the rest of the audience. The trio had struck up the opening bars of Marley’s signature tune. They added a few more bars. The crooner failed to appear. Slowly, the applause petered out. In the embarrassed silence, Barton glanced across the table to Snowey. His former sergeant shrugged.

  ‘Mr Rex Marley.’ This time the manager’s voice was obviously anxious.

  Across the room, Barton could see that Virginia was on her feet. Her face had a ghastly pallor. Her hand was at her mouth, and she was staring intently at the stage.

  The moments ticked by. Virginia’s increasing concern was noticeable. At last, Rex Marley appeared from the wings. But, even as he took his first hesitant steps across the small platform, Barton could tell that everything was far from normal. There was a glazed look in the crooner’s eyes, he walked as if he was at one remove from himself, in a kind of dream. And, as the applause started up again, Marley looked towards the audience. Startled, as if he didn’t expect them to be there.

  Softly, Barton said, ‘There’s something seriously amiss here, Snowey.’

  ‘He doesn’t look none too grand, does he sir?’

  Carefully, the crooner walked towards the microphone, and the band began to play his signature tune. The manager, after glancing worriedly at the singer, hurried into the wings. The few bars of the introduction over, Rex Marley missed his cue. He came in too late. Worse was to follow; though his voice was confident enough at the beginning, he was soon badly out of tune.

  Across the room, Dick Barton saw Virginia get up hurriedly from the table and holding a handkerchief to her mouth, she hurried across the room. Her brother was still faltering on stage, as with one last glance at the singer, Barton got up and went after Virginia.

  He found her, face to the wall, sobbing into her handkerchief, in a small corridor outside the main room of the club. As he walked towards her, she seemed not to notice him. He stood there silently. The moments passed.

  ‘Virginia.’

  She whirled around, startled. Her face was even whiter than it had seemed a few minutes earlier. She threw herself into his arms, her sobbing grew worse.

  ‘Oh, Mr Barton.’

  Once more, he kept his voice as reassuring as possible. ‘Now then young lady – what’s all this about, eh?’

  The words came between the tears. Her distress was evident. ‘I don’t know. That’s the awful thing, I just don’t know.’

  Virginia released her arms from around him. She was still holding the handkerchief. She started to dab her face. Tears had stained her make-up. ‘It all seemed to start when he came back from his last tour.’

  Barton’s reply was quick and incisive. ‘Where was he touring?’

  Slowly, Virginia began to recover her composure. She had stopped sobbing. Her voice recovered some of its former steadiness. ‘The Middle East. Egypt, Aden, Palestine.’ She paused. ‘When he came back he was – I don’t know – different.’

  ‘In what way?’ Barton asked.

  Virginia was an intelligent girl. She could take his questioning.

/>   ‘Well.’ He saw the trace of a smile on her face as she remembered old times. ‘You know what a jolly man he was, Mr Barton.’

  ‘Indeed I do.’

  Virginia’s voice grew more serious. “He seems depressed all the time now – no, depressed is the wrong word – it’s as if he’s in a dream all the time.’

  Barton had a grave expression on his face. ‘I see.’

  ‘He sleeps all day,’ the girl continued. ‘Sometimes he gets into terrible rages ... I don’t know.’

  ‘Not drinking at all, is he?’ Everything had to be considered.

  Virginia was suddenly adamant. Her loyalty to her brother was strong, whatever he might have become involved in. ‘He never touches strong drink. Never!’

  As she finished speaking, the door into the corridor opened and Snowey came out. From inside the club, Marley’s voice could just be heard above a series of boos and catcalls from the audience. For Virginia’s sake, Barton was glad to see that Snowey had shut the door quickly.

  ‘What’s happening in there?’ Barton asked his companion.

  ‘You heard for yourself.’ Snowey, as always, was matter of fact. ‘They’re giving him a fair old pasting and no error begging your pardon, Miss Marley.’

  ‘Leave this to me,’ Barton said crisply as he strode down the corridor, and pushed open the swing doors at the end. Virginia turned to Snowey. Her expression was one of alarm.

  ‘Never you mind, Miss.’ His cockney commonsense came through. His confidence in his ex-captain was apparent. ‘Mr Barton’ll straighten this out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, never you fear.’

  As he opened the door which led to the backstage of the Blue Parrot Dick Barton heard Sam, the manager, shouting angrily at the crooner. From the stage itself came the sound of the trio playing a fast, loud number. He didn’t recognise it. He was more interested in what Sam was saying. He crossed the small space.

  ‘... You think I pay you a fortune for you to come here and make me a laughing stock? You’re fired, Marley – do you hear? Fired.’

  ‘All right Sam,’ Barton said, as he saw that Rex Marley could hardly stand. He had one arm outstretched in front of him to brace himself against the far wall. But he was still swaying. His face was tight and drawn. ‘Can’t you see that he’s a sick man?’ Barton finished.