Dead Ground in Between

by Maureen Jennings

  “No, thanks. I feel like being by meself for a bit.”

  “But, John –”

  “Leave me be, will you, Susan? I just need a bit of time.”

  He shuffled off up the stairs, moving slowly, as if he had aged suddenly.

  Susan flushed at the reprimand, and Tyler could see she was on the verge of tears.

  “I’ll make that call first, Mrs. Cartwright, then I’m going to have a word with the laddies. I’d like to send them off home as soon as possible. They’ve had quite a shock.”

  “Haven’t we all,” whispered Susan.

  —

  Tyler was able to connect to the coroner’s office immediately. Dr. Murnaghan’s secretary, Winnie, said he was in the morgue doing some tests. Whatever he was up to, Winnie clearly didn’t approve. “It’s too cold down there,” she said. She agreed to fetch Murnaghan while Tyler waited on the line.

  When the coroner answered, Tyler explained the situation as succinctly as he could.

  “I can leave at once, Tom. Not doing anything important here. Give me directions.”

  Dr. Murnaghan was supposedly retired, but medical doctors were in short supply and Tyler knew he was only too happy to be called to a job. One of these days, Tyler imagined, he’d need the coroner and would find he was just too busy.

  He made one more call, to Sergeant Rowell, to tell him they’d located Jasper Cartwright’s body.

  —

  Agnes Mortimer had found a Boy’s Own Annual and she was reading to Jan and Pim when Tyler entered the parlour. Despite the circumstances, the boys were paying rapt attention. It seemed to be a story about Cavaliers and Roundheads.

  “Since the early days of October the Roundheads had shut us up in our own house. But we had kept them to the opposite bank of the moat, although…”

  She stopped and started to stand up, but Tyler gestured for her to stay where she was.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I just want to ask the boys a few questions.”

  “Miss already done that,” said Jan.

  Seeing their drawn faces, Tyler couldn’t help but recall what Mrs. Keogh had said about them. Unimaginable experiences. That was the term she’d used. Poor kiddies.

  He flashed what he hoped was a friendly smile. “I realize you’ve already given your story to Constable Mortimer, but let’s just go over it again, shall we?”

  Jan did all the talking, and he was polite enough. Just out for a ride to settle themselves down after being in court, he said. He paused there to see if there was any reaction from Tyler.

  “I know all about the court, son. Go on. It’s what happened just now that I’m most interested in.”

  No, the weather hadn’t really bothered them. No, they hadn’t been that way before. It was just chance they got off the bike where they did. No, they didn’t disturb anything. No, they didn’t touch the body.

  “You didn’t unbutton his coat, did you?”

  No. Absolutely not. He was dead. He weren’t going to touch no corpse. He and Pim just ran to the farmhouse fast as they could.

  Tyler wrote this all down. “Thanks, lads. You’ve been plucky chaps. Now I have to say something very serious to you. You must not tell anybody where you found Mr. Cartwright. Nobody. Not the other kids at school. Not even Mrs. Keogh. Nobody. It’s all right if you say you found him, but if they ask where, just say it was near his house.” He looked at their solemn faces. “Do I have your word? Scout’s honour?”

  Both boys nodded.

  “Let me see you swear, then. Scout’s honour.”

  They raised their hands in the Scout salute.

  “Good. Excellent. I’m asking you to do this for security reasons. We don’t want anybody becoming curious about that hideout. It’s a secret place. All right?”

  Again, solemn nods from both of them.

  “Now, I’m just going to have a word with Constable Mortimer, then she’s going to get you home.” He fished in his pocket and took out a sixpence. “Here. Buy yourself some sweeties.”

  Jan accepted the coin but didn’t relax his wariness. Tyler nodded to Agnes to join him in the hall. She closed the door behind them.

  “What’s your impression, Constable?” Tyler asked. He spoke quietly.

  “I don’t think they’re telling the whole truth,” said Agnes. “But for the life of me, I don’t know what they’re hiding. Maybe it’s just boys’ stuff.”

  “Might not be anything,” said Tyler. “They’ve just had a run-in with the authorities. That might be making them extra cautious. Keep your eyes and ears open, regardless.”

  “You don’t think there’s anything suspicious about Mr. Cartwright’s death, do you, sir?”

  “Being a copper gives you a suspicious nature, Constable. What the hell was he doing in that bunker? I didn’t detect any obvious signs of foul play, but we’ll see what Dr. Murnaghan has to say.”

  “Yes, sir. Shall I come back here after I’ve dropped the boys off?”

  “Yes, we might need you.”

  “Not to just make a pot of tea, I hope, sir.”

  Tyler stared at her for a moment, not sure if she was joking or not. She wasn’t.

  “Why’d you say that?”

  “That seems to be the role women police officers are assigned, sir. It’s not that I mind, exactly, but I do prefer something more challenging in the line of police work.”

  “Point taken, Constable. I shall keep that in mind. In the meantime I hope you don’t object to taking those boys back home. Not too demeaning just being a driver, is it?”

  “No, sir. Not at all.”

  “That’s a relief. They’re billeted with a Mrs. Keogh. She lives at number two River Close. It’s off Lower Broad Street. Tell her I’ll come to the house later on. You’ll have to say something about the death, but keep it to a minimum.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As she turned to go back into the parlour, Tyler spoke again.

  “Constable Mortimer. Good work. I’m glad you joined the police force.”

  He was a little surprised when she turned bright red. His compliment obviously meant something to her.

  “Thank you, sir. I am too.”

  —

  When Tyler got back to the kitchen, Ned Weaver had returned and was sitting at the table with a young woman who Tyler assumed was the Land Girl. She was dark-haired, very pretty, and dressed in the Land Army uniform: dark-green jersey, beige shirt, corduroy breeches.

  Susan Cartwright was at the stove stirring a large pot. The air was fragrant with whatever it was she was cooking. Stew of some kind. John was not present.

  Tyler addressed the girl.

  “Hello. I’m Detective Inspector Tyler, Shropshire constabulary. I take it you are Miss Edith Walpole?”

  “That’s right, she is,” said Susan. “We’ve told her what’s happened.”

  “Poor Mr. Cartwright,” said the girl softly.

  “We were wondering what to do about the POW,” said Susan to Tyler. “Somebody should inform him, I suppose.”

  “Nowt to do with him, is it?” burst out Ned.

  “He knows Mr. Cartwright was missing,” said Edie. “It’s only fair not to leave him hanging.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having a word with him myself,” said Tyler. “He might be able to fill in some of the blanks.”

  Susan frowned. “Blanks? What blanks?”

  “What time your father-in-law left the house, for one thing.”

  “Angelo wouldn’t have heard anything,” said Edie. “He was down in the barn.”

  Tyler didn’t respond. She was probably right. On the other hand, he’d meant it when he said he wanted to fill in some of the blanks.

  “How’s his grasp of English?”

  Edie answered. “Not bad, considering. He’s been studying all summer.”

  “You can say that again,” said Ned with a wink. “We’re not supposed to talk to them any more than necessary but he loves to practise. Seizes every chance he gets to ask Edie quest
ions. She has the patience of Job. Not me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I help him when I can? What if I wanted to learn Italian?”

  “Italian?” said Susan. “Whatever for?”

  Tyler intervened. “Where is he now?” he asked Ned.

  “In the barn. At least that’s where he’s supposed to be.”

  “Did you want to ask me anything?” Edie piped up.

  “The inspector wants to know if you heard John’s pa going out the door last night,” Susan Cartwright answered for her. “Perhaps he thinks you would have just ignored it. You know, who cares if a senile old man goes outside to catch his death of cold? Obviously that’s the way of this household. John and I didn’t give a toss.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t have let Mr. Cartwright go out on such a night,” said Edie. She appeared genuinely upset.

  “Mrs. Cartwright, I have said no such thing,” said Tyler. “I’d like to determine exactly what happened. Please understand this is part of my job.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  Tyler turned to the girl. “Miss Walpole, did you hear anything out of the ordinary at all last night?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. None of us knew Mr. Cartwright was even out until we came for our midday break.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears. “I’m so sorry. It’s dreadful that he would die that way.”

  Ned reached across the table and put his hand over hers. “Don’t cry, Edie, there’s a girl. I’ve heard dying from the cold is a peaceful kind of death.”

  “Is it, really?” None too gently, she extricated her hand from his.

  So that’s the lie of the land is it? thought Tyler.

  “Why don’t you take the inspector down to the barn, Ned,” said Susan, “seeing as how he’s keen to have a chinwag with the Itie.” She returned to tending the stew. Her back was stiff with anger.

  Tyler got his hat and coat from the hook and followed Ned out into the chill wind.

  —

  The inside of the barn was gloomy, only a single oil lamp burning. There was a warm, musty smell of animals and hay.

  “Hello? Hello? Angelo?” called Ned.

  Tyler saw a young man at the far end of the barn. He was mucking out one of the stalls. He turned but didn’t move toward them.

  “Hello,” said Ned again. “Can you come over here for a minute?” He beckoned. “Over here.”

  The Italian was wearing the obligatory brown overalls of the Italian prisoners of war, with the two distinguishing orange patches on the legs of the trousers. He was fair-haired with pale skin, probably in his early twenties, medium build, wiry and fit-looking.

  “This is Angelo,” said Ned. “Don’t ask me for his last name because I can’t pronounce it.”

  Tyler had already got the surname from John Cartwright. It was Iaquinta. Not that hard, really.

  Ned pointed. “This, Inspector Tyler,” he said in a loud voice. “He wants to ask you questions. Comprende? Questions. About Mr. Cartwright, senior. The old man. We’ve found his body.”

  Angelo froze. “His body? Mr. Cartwright is dead?”

  “Yeah. We just discovered him about an hour ago.”

  The only places to sit were the hay bales stacked against one wall of the barn. Tyler went and sat down.

  “Join me,” he said, emphasizing his words with a gesture.

  Angelo leaned his pitchfork against a stall and came over. Behind them one of the cows mooed loudly.

  “I am very sorrowful that Mr. Cartwright is dead,” said the Italian. “Please accept our best wishes.”

  Ned didn’t even try to hide his guffaw.

  “He was found in the area of the north field, not too far from the barn,” said Tyler. “I am trying to determine – to find out – how he got there.” He paused. “All right so far?”

  Ned jumped in. “Comprende? Do you comprende what inspector say?”

  The Italian nodded, although Tyler thought Ned’s mangling of both languages might be difficult to follow.

  He continued. “Did you see or hear Mr. Cartwright at any time last night?”

  “No. I was – were – locked into the barn for the night. After supper. Perhaps half past nine o’clock.”

  “That’s right,” said Ned. “I brought him over myself. Barred and shuttered, as we’re supposed to do with these fellows. Don’t want them running around the countryside wild and free, do we? Who knows what they might get up to? No woman would be safe, would they? Not with them Italians.”

  Angelo’s hands clenched. Tyler could see that the man was taking in everything Ned Weaver said.

  “Private Iaquinta, when did you know that Mr. Cartwright was missing?”

  “When I went to house for meal. A discovery was made that he not in room. Not in his room.” His English was almost better than Ned’s.

  “You speak English very well,” said Tyler.

  “Thank you, sir. I am studying since I am a prisoner. No, I should say I have been studying, should I not?”

  “Hmm. I suppose that is correct. And there was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary last night?”

  To his surprise, his question seemed to bring a rush of colour to the man’s face. His fair skin couldn’t hide it.

  “It was not usual for me to spend the night here. Only occasional. But weather was very bad. Too bad to bike. Other than that, there was nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “All right then.” Tyler got to his feet. “Continue with what you were doing.”

  Angelo addressed Ned. “I shall assume you will need me on tomorrow?”

  “There’s always work to be done,” answered Ned. “Cows won’t milk themselves, will they? So you’d better be here. Or somebody should be.”

  “Thank you, and again I must say I am most sorry at the news of Mr. Cartwright.”

  Ned shrugged. “He was old. He’d lived his life. We’ve all got to go sometime.”

  Tyler walked with Ned back to the farmhouse. He was tempted to give the young man a dressing-down about his treatment of the Italian but he didn’t think it would do much good. He guessed it wasn’t just the fact that Angelo was Italian that was riling Ned. A pretty girl was in the mix somewhere.

  In spite of the delicious odours emanating from the stove, the atmosphere in the kitchen was as cold as the weather.

  “How was Angelo?” asked Edie as soon as they entered.

  “Fine, I think,” said Tyler. “He sent his condolences to you, Mrs. Cartwright.”

  Susan didn’t answer and Tyler wasn’t sure she’d even heard.

  He headed for the door. “I’ll get out of your way and wait for the ambulance in the parlour.”

  Edie called out to him. “There’s a paraffin heater in there, Inspector. You should probably turn it on. That room can get very cold.”

  Susan focused on her stirring.

  The parlour was indeed decidedly chilly but Tyler didn’t light the heater. He could tough it out as good as any farmer.

  Perhaps for a previous generation this room would have been fairly grand, with its big, heavy furniture, flocked wallpaper, two or three ornately framed oil paintings on the walls. Ancestors? Hard to tell. There were a couple of hooked rugs on the wooden floor. Placed across the far corner was a wooden screen, the kind modest Victorian ladies used to dress behind while their lascivious husbands waited impatiently in the marriage bed. There was a towel hanging over the top of it, and Tyler guessed this corner was where Edie slept. It was certainly neither luxurious nor particularly private.

  Rubbing his hands hard to get some circulation going, he walked over to the settee and sat down. It was as uncomfortable as it looked, but at least there was a colourful wool throw draped across the back. He tucked it around his knees, feeling decidedly octogenarian.

  Mortimer had left the book that she’d been reading to the boys on the side table, and he reached for it. There was a marker at the place where she’d left off. The story was called “Cavalier Christmas.” Lots of plucky action involvi
ng plucky young lads of the age likely to be reading the annual. It was all romantic claptrap, really, but in spite of himself, he was getting quite absorbed when he heard the sound of a vehicle arriving. He left the Cavaliers eating roasted boar’s head washed down with tankards of ale and went out to meet Dr. Murnaghan.

  —

  It was about three-quarters of an hour later when Tyler returned to the house. They’d lit more oil lamps against the gloom. Susan was once more at the kitchen counter, and Edie was at the table, darning a sock. Ned was nowhere to be seen. John Cartwright looked up from the large book he was reading, and Tyler realized it was a Bible.

  “Have they taken him?” John asked.

  “Yes, they have.”

  “When will we be able to bury him?”

  “There’ll be a post-mortem, and the body will be released to you after that.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. We’d better start making arrangements.”

  “I should be getting back to the station. I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.”

  Edie put her darning into a basket by her side. “Shall I drive the inspector back to Ludlow, Mrs. Cartwright?”

  Susan nodded.

  “I’d appreciate that, if you really don’t mind,” said Tyler. He was being a trifle insincere. Unless he requisitioned the horse, he actually had no other way to get back to Ludlow except on foot. Constable Mortimer had already left on the motorcycle, with the boys in the sidecar, and Biggs had followed after them on the boys’ bicycle.

  Edie pushed back her chair. “I’ll get my things.”

  She left the room and the heavy silence descended again.

  Then John said, his voice low, “Just last week, Pa said he wanted to be buried in the old cemetery in Bitterley. My ma is laid to rest there, and my granddad and grandma. Strange he should be talking about it so recently.”

  Susan made a scoffing noise. “Your pa was always talking about dying. Where he wanted to be buried. Who he was leaving his money to. Not me, for sure. He never stopped. Every second day, he’d bring it up. ‘Now when I go, I want a proper funeral, good pine coffin. And I want to be put in the family plot. Right beside my Grace. If you don’t put me right beside her she’ll follow me beyond the grave to nag me.’ Come on, John. You know how he was.”