The Spyglass File (The Forensic Genealogist Book 4)

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

  The answer—immediate—was unanimous: all three women shook their heads, the officer on the left confirming by saying a clear, ‘No.’

  ‘Then I have nothing to say,’ Elsie stated matter-of-factly.

  The lady in the centre shifted in her chair and glanced to each of the women beside her. ‘I’m afraid we have no choice but to serve a four-week prison sentence on you and summarily dismiss you from the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.’

  ‘You have also lost your right to use the rank of Squadron Officer from hereon in,’ the officer on the left added.

  Elsie nodded, accepting her fate.

  It was over. She was broken. She had lost everything.

  She stared at the floor, wondering how and when it had all gone so utterly wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  15th August 1940, Hawkinge, Kent

  ‘Everything okay?’ a voice suddenly called from outside.

  Elsie squirmed in silence, prising at the fingers that were braced around her mouth.

  ‘Yes, all good,’ William answered calmly.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Pilot Officer William Smith,’ he stated.

  ‘Just you in there?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And the bicycle?’

  ‘I borrowed it,’ William replied, without hesitation.

  Elsie cried out, but the words were trapped behind his fingers. The man—whoever he was—began to walk away, taking with him any hope of her being rescued.

  She forced her mouth open fractionally, just enough to bite down on his middle finger. As she sank her teeth in as deeply as she could, he quickly withdrew his hand. She just managed a muffled shout. ‘Help! Help me!’

  Quickened footsteps rushed inside the shelter. Then, confusion in the dark. She was pulled off William—or maybe pushed, she wasn’t sure. She fell to the ground. Beside her, punches were exchanged. Elsie clambered for the door and dragged herself out into the liberating daylight. Behind her came the two brawling pilots. It took a moment before she recognised who was pinning William to the floor: Susie’s fiancée, Daniel Winter.

  ‘Stop! Please!’ Elsie begged, reaching for Daniel’s arm.

  He obeyed and stood up, breathlessly. In that moment’s pause, William jumped up and ran into the aerodrome, clutching his bitten hand to his chest. To think that she had felt sorry for that man…

  ‘You’ll go up on a charge for this, Smith,’ Daniel yelled after him. ‘You’ll be in prison by the end of the day!’ He turned to Elsie, his demeanour shifting to one of kindliness. ‘Are you okay? He didn’t…’

  Elsie shook her head. ‘No, no. I’m fine—thank you.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go—we’ll be scrambled any second, I’m sure of it,’ Daniel said, looking around him. ‘Jerry’s on his way over.’

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ Elsie mumbled, straightening her blouse.

  ‘No,’ Daniel replied, suddenly becoming animated. ‘I feel guilty enough already—I should have warned you off him; taken it more seriously. I didn’t think he would ever…’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Elsie protested. ‘Really, I’ll be fine.’

  Daniel spotted someone emerging from one of the aerodrome buildings. ‘Woody!’ he shouted. ‘Over here!’

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ Elsie whispered. ‘Don’t tell him what just happened—please.’

  Woody sauntered over with his hands in his pockets, seemingly oblivious to the siren. ‘Hello again,’ he greeted. ‘Everything okay?’

  Elsie forced a smile. ‘Hello.’ She hadn’t seen him since the night of the Hawkinge dance last month and was still extremely embarrassed about the way that she had flaunted herself with William Smith in front of him. How stupid she had been.

  ‘Are you not flying?’ Daniel asked Woody.

  ‘My kite needs fixing, so I’m grounded for the time being.’

  ‘Could you do me a favour and look after Elsie here,’ Daniel asked. ‘She’s had a bit of a shock. Needs some cheering up.’

  Woody smiled—a genuine smile, Elsie thought. ‘Sure thing.’

  Daniel patted Woody’s arm. ‘Thank you.’ Then he faced Elsie. ‘Take care—you’re in safe hands.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Elsie answered, watching as he jogged towards the dispersal hut on the other side of the airfield.

  ‘So,’ Woody began. ‘Tea? You still owe me a drink, remember?’

  Elsie smiled. ‘Yes—I’ll buy you a tea. I didn’t get to finish my last one.’

  He gently placed his hand in the small of her back and led them out through the gates.

  ‘Here again?’ Annie said.

  ‘I can’t keep away,’ Elsie murmured. ‘Two teas, please.’

  As Annie spun around to make the drinks, he leant in towards her. ‘Do you want to talk about it—whatever your shock was?’

  Elsie thought for a moment. ‘Do you mind if we don’t?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he answered.

  ‘Here you go,’ Annie said, handing out two cups.

  Elsie took the drinks and paid. ‘Shall we go and sit on the bank?’

  Woody nodded and they made their way to the grass verge. In the distance, barely audible under the air raid siren, was a more high-pitched, jangling alarm.

  ‘Oh dear, they’re being scrambled again,’ Woody commented, craning his neck to see into the airfield.

  ‘How does it feel to not be with them?’ Elsie asked, sitting beside him on the bank.

  Woody released a drawn-out groan, the aerodrome still holding his gaze. ‘You know what, it’s a real mixture of emotions. I feel guilty that I’m not helping them—even if all twelve of us are flying, we’re still severely outnumbered; one less plane up there could spell disaster for the others.’ He met her eyes and paused. ‘I also feel helpless—there’s nothing at all I can do for them down here. And, as awful as it is to admit it, I feel ashamed because I’m a bit grateful to have an excuse not to fly.’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ Elsie said.

  ‘Mainly, though—I’m feeling happy to be sat here with you.’

  ‘Corny,’ she said with a laugh. It felt entirely different to be sitting here beside Woody than it had been sitting beside William. It was peculiar how relaxed in Woody’s company she felt. ‘I’m sorry for the way I treated you at the dance.’

  Woody grinned. ‘It’s okay—I like a woman with some guts.’

  She knew what he meant, but she didn’t feel as though she had any guts right now. Her mind and body had only just stopped trembling from the experience inside the shelter.

  ‘There they go!’ Woody exclaimed.

  Elsie matched his eye-line and watched as eleven Hurricanes climbed into the pale blue skies, heading out over Capel-le-Ferne towards the channel.

  They watched in silence as the planes dissolved into the thin ribbons of cloud that lingered over the sea.

  Then Woody faced her. ‘So, when I sort of walked you home after the dance,’ he began, ‘you said that you were billeted with your mother-in-law. How’s that working out?’

  Elsie scoffed outwardly. ‘Terribly. My husband and his family are just ghastly…’ She stopped herself. She had said too much, speaking to Woody as though he were one of the girls. And speaking so appallingly of her dead husband, it just wasn’t right.

  ‘Oh?’ he said, a note of intrigue in his voice.

  ‘Long story.’

  Woody shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got about twenty hours before another plane is brought in. Is the story longer than that?’

  Elsie laughed. Would it hurt, to tell him everything? She couldn’t think why it should. And so, she found herself once again retelling the story of how she had ended up married to a man whom she didn’t love and of how she had been widowed, all within a few short months.

  Woody listened attentively until the story was over. ‘It sounds like it’s a good thing the WAAF are packing up and moving on. Will you write to me with your new address?’

&
nbsp; ‘Yes, of course,’ Elsie agreed.

  Woody leapt up, spilling some of his tea. ‘Here we go! Quick, we need to get into the shelter,’ he gasped, offering her his hand.

  Elsie stood up. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Heinkels and Dorniers—heading our way. We need to get into the shelter.’

  Elsie refused. ‘No—I’m staying here.’

  Woody looked confused. ‘Why, what’s the problem?’

  Elsie began to sob. ‘I can’t—I just can’t. Leave me here—you go.’

  Woody pulled his arms around her. ‘I’m not going to leave you out here, don’t be silly.’

  They stood huddled together, watching as the twenty Luftwaffe planes descended low towards the aerodrome.

  ‘Come on!’ Woody shouted. ‘Open up the anti-aircraft guns, for God’s sake!’

  Seconds later, as if they had managed to hear Woody’s instructions over the din of the siren and the droning of twenty looming aircraft, there came the loud booms of the four Bofor guns that were the aerodrome’s only remaining defence. Black palls of smoke thumped into the sky, each of them falling short of the looming target.

  Elsie clung tighter to Woody.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to shelter?’ he called. ‘It’s pretty dangerous out here.’

  ‘Certain,’ Elsie replied.

  The planes circled just above the rooftops of the hangars and, one after another, opened their bomb doors and released their deadly cargo.

  One deafening explosion after another tore through the aerodrome. Great clods of earth exploded into the sky. Office buildings were split open, their contents ejected upwards before being ravaged by fire. Horrified screams erupted from somewhere nearby. More angry retaliation came from the anti-aircraft guns.

  The Luftwaffe’s job was done. As quickly as they had arrived, so they left.

  As the planes retreated over the coast, Elsie released her grip on Woody.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  The all-clear sounded, followed immediately by an eerie silence. Nothing stirred. Nothing moved. Seconds passed. Then, on the horizon, came the first of the Hurricanes from 32 Squadron.

  Woody stiffened. With a hand raised to shelter his eyes from the sun, he counted the aircraft preparing to land. ‘Nine,’ he breathed. ‘Two missing. I need to see who hasn’t returned. Do you want to come over with me?’

  She understood why he needed to go in there, but there was no way on earth that she was going to be confronted by William Smith. ‘No, you go,’ she said.

  ‘Will you wait here for me?’ he asked. ‘We could go down into Folkestone to the Odeon and watch The Grapes of Wrath, if you fancy? Maybe a drink in Bobby’s afterwards?’

  Elsie smiled. ‘Lovely.’ She watched him jog across the airfield to the dispersal hut. She saw some discussion with one of the pilots—Daniel, possibly—then Woody strode back over to her.

  ‘Barker and Smith,’ he revealed sombrely.

  ‘What about them?’ Elsie asked, her heart beginning to thump.

  ‘Barker’s kite was shot-up in mid-air and Smith hasn’t returned. Nobody seems to know what happened to him yet. He may have bailed out or have landed at another aerodrome. God, that could have been me.’

  Elsie took his hand in hers and tried to stifle her tears. Her heart was heavy and she couldn’t make sense of her feelings about William’s failure to return. Right now, she hated him and never wanted to see him again…but dead? She wasn’t sure she wanted that.

  ‘Come on,’ Woody said, still holding her hand.

  They left the Odeon Cinema on Sandgate Road arm in arm.

  ‘Did you like the film, really?’ Woody asked. ‘Was a film about The Great American Depression dismal enough for you?’

  Elsie laughed. ‘Well, sometimes it helps to see people less fortunate, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,’ Woody agreed. ‘I think we’ve earned ourselves a drink.’

  They walked along the street to Bobby & Co.’s—a vast department store with a large restaurant. They took a glass-topped table overlooking the dance floor, which was packed every evening with servicemen and women dancing to the tunes of Don Sesta and His Gaucho Band.

  ‘A pint of beer, a large gin and lemon and two plates of eggs on toast with bacon, sausage and tomato, please,’ Woody ordered. When the waitress had taken their order and gone off to the kitchen, he lowered his voice and leant across the table, holding her left hand in his. ‘Elsie, can I ask—do you think you’ll ever marry again?’

  Elsie’s gaze flitted between her wedding band and his earnest eyes. It was a question that had never even crossed her mind before now. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I think I need to see this war out first and find out what happened to Laurie.’ She began to consider a future, after the war. ‘I mean—what happens next? Does he get a funeral? A death certificate? Can I just get married again?’

  Woody squeezed her hand. ‘I can try and find out for you, if you like.’

  The waitress arrived with their drinks.

  ‘Cheers,’ Woody said, raising his glass.

  ‘Cheers,’ Elsie responded, taking a sip from her gin and lemon. ‘What about you, Woody—I don’t even know your real name?’

  Woody grinned. ‘I don’t have a real name.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Elsie countered. ‘So, I’m guessing that you’re embarrassed about it, which must mean that it’s truly ghastly. I’m guessing that Woody is somehow connected to it?’

  Woody nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m not telling you how.’

  ‘Then I shall I have to guess.’ Elsie drank more of her drink, the alcohol rippling through her empty stomach and making her light-headed. ‘Edward?’

  Woody smiled. ‘That’s my middle name—where I take the Woody from.’

  Elsie feigned shock. ‘Which means your first name must be really dreadful.’

  ‘It is.’

  The waitress returned with their food.

  ‘Can I have another gin and lemon, please,’ Elsie ordered. ‘And another beer for my friend, Angus here.’

  Woody tried not to laugh. ‘Angus?’

  ‘Adolf?’ Elsie speculated.

  ‘Definitely not that one,’ Woody laughed.

  Elsie began to eat her food, as she stared at her handsome dinner partner.

  ‘What?’ he asked, when he realised that she was staring at him.

  ‘I was just wondering—have you ever been married? Or been in love?’ she asked.

  Woody set down his knife and fork. ‘Never been married—’

  ‘—Because no woman can put up with your odd name?’ Elsie interrupted.

  Woody grinned. ‘You might be right, actually. As for being in love—well, I hadn’t been in love until I met a stroppy girl at a dance in Hawkinge last month.’

  Elsie pulled a face of mock displeasure. ‘That was very corny, Horace.’

  ‘Corny, but possibly true.’ He took a sip of his beer and looked her in the eyes. ‘I really wish this war were over.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s going to happen anytime soon,’ Elsie answered. ‘Come on, stop the maudlin. Drink up—I’m ready for another, Arthur.’

  ‘My brother’s called Arthur!’ Woody protested.

  ‘Tell me about him—and the rest of your family, Harold,’ Elsie requested.

  Over the course of their meal and two further drinks, Woody proceeded to tell Elsie about his background, where he grew up and details of his close family.

  ‘And here we are—thrown together by war,’ Elsie concluded. ‘Tomorrow I’m going one way and you’re going another.’

  ‘You make it sound so horribly final.’

  Maybe it is, Elsie thought, losing herself in his eyes. Maybe we’ll never meet again.

  ‘We’ve still got the rest of the evening to enjoy; come on,’ Woody said.

  ‘Okay, Kenneth.’

  They disembarked from the bus in
Hawkinge and walked hand-in-hand along the dusky aerodrome perimeter. Night was falling fast and yet the airfield was still a veritable hive of activity; squadrons were back up in the air moments after having landed and refuelled.

  ‘The Luftwaffe really are punishing us today,’ Woody lamented.

  ‘I’m glad you weren’t up there,’ Elsie whispered, gently squeezing his hand.

  ‘Me too.’

  They reached the aerodrome gates and stopped.

  ‘I’ll just get my bicycle, then I’ll be off,’ Elsie murmured. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want the day to end. She didn’t want to accept the possibility of never seeing him again. She turned towards him, their faces just inches apart, then kissed him.

  It was a long, impassioned kiss—something for which, Elsie hadn’t realised until now, that she had deeply craved. She broke the kiss and silenced the barrage of internal interrogations that leapt into her mind, saying, ‘Do you have somewhere we can go?’

  Woody stroked the back of her hair. ‘The officers’ quarters…but, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, very,’ Elsie breathed.

  Her body had told her reliably each and every month for as long as she could remember when it was ripe for producing a baby; she had vowed never to give that gift to Laurie ever again. Today, she was fertile. Ready. She wanted to have Woody’s baby.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Morton opened his eyes. His right cheek was swollen, crusted with blood and felt like it was on fire. He went to touch it, but realised that his hands were tied behind his back. He sat up and looked around him. He was in a small room with a single bed. The curtains were drawn against the early evening. He stood and poked his head between the join of the curtains, the view telling him precisely where he was. ‘I’m okay,’ he murmured.

  He tried the door but, as he had expected, it was locked. He tried to pull his wrists apart, but there was no movement from the thick sausage of rope binding them together.

  Sitting back down on the bed, he sought to comprehend his situation.

  The last thing that he remembered was being bundled into the back of a transit van in central London. Shaohao Chen had then punched him hard in the face, presumably knocking him out cold.