Last Out From Roaring Water Bay

by Joe Lane

  Deveron was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “You’re perspiring, Deveron. I didn’t think it was that warm in this room.”

  “To be accused of enticing murder does inevitably raise one’s blood pressure.”

  “Or more like you’re finding it difficult to come clean.”

  Deveron sighed heavily and put his glass down. His head dropped into his hands, his fingertips sinking into the sagging skin on his thin face. He raised his head slowly and his watery eyes stared into mine.

  “It’s no use me pretending nothing happened, Mister Speed. If I’m to die, I want to die in peace and with a clear conscience. I suppose the time for confession is now appropriate. But please believe me when I say I had nothing to do with the murder of your friends. I never ordered anyone to commit a crime of murder against anybody and that includes the farmer and photographer. The first time I heard your name mentioned was three days ago. I acted quickly. I just couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by; the plane’s discovery; the intrepid discoverer in arms reach. I had to have them”

  I relented. “Okay, maybe you didn’t have my friends murdered. But there’s still the matter of Craven which you can’t escape from so easily.”

  “This will be kept between us whatever I tell you?”

  “I didn’t bring a voice recorder if that’s what you’re asking..”

  Deveron swallowed excess saliva. “I suppose for you to fully understand my actions I’d better start from my humble beginnings as a young teenage tearaway.” He cleared his dry throat with a rattled cough. “Dublin was an impoverished place in the thirties. You’d to scratch for every penny possible; tighten your trouser belt to beat the hunger. I looked for a solution instead; a solution that would drag me from the gutters of human poverty. I found it in the brutal ranks of the IRA. I was a raw recruit with high ambitions and I was easily absorbed into the fascinating world of violence. Yes, Mister Speed, I too became a terrorist and without bragging I became an experienced campaigner with a list of atrocities behind me. It got me recognition within the ranks of the IRA. I wanted to stand high amongst the Irish people in the same way Michael Collins raised to infamous notoriety. I dreamed of being the hero. Desperate for the adulation and to have my fellow freedom fighters worship my achievement.”

  “It’s all very poetic, Deveron. But you’re forgetting that Michael Collins was executed for his troubles in 1922. Not the infamous notoriety I’d have craved.”

  “Nevertheless, Mister Speed, I’d already begun my ascent to power, only for it to be spoilt by the interference of the war. From there I had two choices: sit back all snug and safe just because Eire had declared neutrality or take up arms against the Germans on the assumption that Hitler would imminently threaten Irish shores anyway. Rather pointless Irish factions fighting the British to have a free Ireland, only for the Germans to suffocate us with fascism. I made my choice and with great reluctance I decided to join the fight against the Nazis. Naturally with fighting British ground troops for two years I declined the chance of joining the British army as a foot soldier. I signed the dotted line, took my shilling and joined the R.A.F. I’d plenty of flying time under my belt. My uncle taught me to fly in a First World War Bi-plane and the RAF was desperate for pilots with flying skills.”

  Deveron was beginning to bore me senseless. I needed to move things along. “I’m not interested how you sneaked your way into the air force. I want to know what happened on the day Craven went missing.”

  “You’re not exactly renowned for a man of patience, are you, Mister Speed?”

  “I know a professor who has the same opinion as you. His criticism I don’t mind taking; yours is on the verge of making me erupt violently. So I’d appreciate if you got on with the tale!”

  Deveron disapproved with my attitude with the shake of his head “Such deep ingrained hostility you have, Mister Speed. I have to confess you’re making me a little uncomfortable.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Does that make you feel better? Now what happened with Craven?”

  He coughed twice. It annoyed me. If he’d have coughed a third time my fist would have followed his tongue back down his throat. “It was a routine reconnaissance flight to search for a Japanese submarine supposedly operating off the shores of England. It was difficult to absorb such a tale during briefing; a Japanese sub near our shores would never have occurred. All the pilots were of the same conclusion. That it was a clever piece of propaganda by the Japanese and Germans, especially when there were whispers of the submarine carrying gold. Orders were orders and you have to follow them. Craven flew his reconnaissance Spitfire and since there was still the threat of a marauding German Messerschmitt operating in the skies, I was his wing protection escort.

  “During our flight my Spitfire developed engine trouble, miss-firing. It slowed me down. As for Craven he didn’t hang around just for me to limp along. He was off like a rampaging bull with wings. Anyone with a decent enough engine would have had trouble flying alongside his craft, his Spitfire being lighter because a reconnaissance craft required speed and agility and all nonessential equipment was stripped out for more speed. The RAF turned the damned Spitfire into a shell; a flying coffin. It needed a courageous man to fly such a machine over occupied territory. Some pilots failed to return. Craven always did. He seemed invincible. His exceptional flying skills always guided him through the barrage of hostilities.”

  “You sound as if you were bitter towards him?”

  “I admit I was jealous of his popularity, Mister Speed.”

  “So you killed him?”

  “It wasn’t premeditated.”

  “It certainly wasn’t an accident.”

  “If you allow me to explain a little more, you may come to understand my fall from grace, Mister Speed.”

  I expressed his continuation with a slight wave of my hand. “Please do, Deveron. This should be interesting.”

  “As I was saying, I’d lost contact with Craven because of his Maverick flying. We had no air-wave communication between us, Craven’s communication equipment having been removed to lighten his Spitfire. When I finally located him, he was on his way back to the airfield, all smiles, giving me the thumbs up. I realized then that he’d located the submarine, actually seen the damn contraption and he’d captured it all on film. We’d developed hand signals to communicate between ourselves and Craven verified my assumption and signalled that the submarine had been crippled and was sinking. He just didn’t say where it lay or what had caused the submarine to start sinking.

  “At that moment something inside me snapped. Craven was ahead of my wing. All of a sudden I found myself in a different world; in a different time warp. All I saw in front of my gun sights was enemy aircraft carrying important information that I wanted. I suddenly hated Craven for being the hero he would be once he returned to Duxford. My thoughts switched to the counties of Ireland and the freedom my brothers in arms yearned for. I was thinking of another war and not the one we were presently engaged in. My mind had wandered back to Ireland. I thought of the gold bullion aboard the Japanese submarine and how it could be used to ensure our battle to free Ireland from British occupation once the war had finished.”

  “You couldn’t possibly have known then that British soldiers would have been redeployed back in Ireland after the war.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I thought at the time. It happened. In that moment of sheer madness my mind was possessed with sheer hatred. Right there in front of me was my dream of greatness and I had to stop it reaching enemy hands. I opened both guns on Craven’s Spitfire. I couldn’t stop myself. I remember being mesmerised by the perfect line of tracers as the bullets rattled out in cohesion. (By his expression I guessed Deveron was reliving the moment.) I hit Craven’s plane with everything I had. I watched his Spitfire go into a dive; watched him struggle to control his plane, a wisp of black smoke trailing behind him. I’d intended to follow his plane down to pinpoint the crash site, and then lan
d, so I could retrieve the cameras from Craven’s plane. Alas fate played its part. My Spit’s engine began playing up again. I had to deviate and quickly find somewhere suitable to land safely should the engine fail. It was pointless me crashing too. By the time my engine had recovered its capabilities, Craven had disappeared from sight. I searched for the crash site but with the night closing in fast, I had to abandon the search. The rest is history and I’ve wasted a lifetime searching for him since.”

  Deveron hung his head in shame.

  I had the same amount of pity for Deveron as I would have had for a wasp that had just stung me; I’d have flattened the insect, ripped its wings off and thrown it into the nearest spider’s web. I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. I said, harshly. “People had crazy ideas during the war but yours was the bottom of the shit pile, Deveron.”

  “I know that, Mister Speed. If I could have been spared a second chance to relive the moment I might have gone in a different direction. But it happened. I can’t change that now. Yet there is one important point I wish to state here and now though it probably sounds rather trivial. In my capacity as a high ranking officer in the British military, I never once passed on information to the IRA, or any other terrorist group that could have jeopardized the lives of any man, woman or child or military personal. I could have quite easily done the deed but I refrained from doing so with good reason. I soon heard about the influx of over ambitious Irish warlords who decided that terrorism was a very lucrative business: extortion, robberies, prostitution. Feuding factions fought over control of the cities; not surprising since there were no peace keeping forces controlling the streets. No, Mister Speed, I wasn’t going to feed gangsters with information so they could enhance their wealth by resorting to kidnap and blackmail and the unnecessary murder of good Irish people.”

  “How noble of you Deveron, although a little too late for redemption, don’t you think?” My tone was hard but he deserved the full delivery.

  “Dreams of greatness, Mister Speed, that was my guilt. Young, proud, I wanted to be one of the great ambassadors of Ireland, a respected hero to the Irish people, to grace the same pedestal as my peers did. I wanted even greater credibility. To be remembered as the greatest fighter of Irish freedom. Gold would have achieved me that status. But world events changed those idealistic views. I changed. The older I got; the wiser I got. Wars and killings solved nothing. I only wish that I could have changed my mistake; turn back the clock.”

  “You kept looking for Craven’s Spitfire regardless?”

  “It was my intention to put the record straight and bring Craven home.”

  “And did that include finding the gold?”

  “You’ve got me wrong, Mister Speed. Finding Craven became my only priority.”

  “If you’d felt that guilty then owning up at the time would have been more honourable than hiding behind a military rank. With more help you might have found Craven earlier.”

  “And face the hangman’s noose for what I did in 1944?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Think about it, Mister Speed. A Spitfire riddled with bullet holes from the bullets from another Spitfire; the aviation authorities would have put the pieces together. I’d have stood trial. Owning up to my treachery would be a little foolhardy don’t you think, Mister Speed? I was sorry for what I did but I certainly wasn’t prepared to die for it.”

  “You’d have probably wrangled your way out of a death penalty.”

  “That may be so, but I would have expected to be sentenced to thirty years stuck in a military prison. No thank you, Mister Speed, I kept my mouth shut, and after the war I kept on looking for Craven’s Spitfire during my time in office. Alas the years passed and faded, as did my dream of finally finding his plane, almost forgotten until Shayna brought the memories flooding back into my senile world when she told me the story of the intrepid Shackleton Speed and the discovered Spitfire.

  “But I wasn’t satisfied that he’d been found, Mister Speed. I killed Craven on an assumption, now I want to know if the reason for my actions would have been justified when I shot him from the skies.”

  “You want to prove to yourself that you were right with what you did?”

  “Is there something wrong with that, Mister Speed?”

  “It sounds as if you’re incredibly stupid or we’re back to you wanting to find the gold?”

  “The gold as well, for reasons of self satisfaction, not wealth, Mister Speed.”

  “Well jolly good show to you, Deveron! Only you gained nothing by shooting down Craven’s Spitfire. If you’re expecting to find the submarine, then forget it! Not that we can forget that you murdered Craven for nothing. There’s no gold. There never was. You fell for a piece of speculative bullshit from an unknown source in another part of the world; how pathetic is that!”

  Deveron smirked. “I’ll lay you a pound to the penny that you’re wrong about there being no gold, Mister Speed.”

  The crafty bastard was on the counterattack, I concluded. He obviously knew something I didn’t, but then I assume that was Deveron all over and he always had a get out clause hidden somewhere up his sleeve.

  “I’d probably loose the bet, Deveron.”

  “You would indeed, Mister Speed. I have a distinguished guest arriving later for dinner. We are old acquaintances during my final years at the ministry. He is an attaché at the Japanese embassy in London. I’ve persuaded him, and his lovely wife, to spend some prime time in Ireland. They arrive today. I would very much like you to meet him, Mister Speed. The conversation that will aspire should be quite riveting and should reveal some interesting facts concerning the I-52. It will be exhilarating to examine the comparisons of information you both have. You will, of course, stay for the remainder of the day, dinner in the evening, and I wouldn’t dream of sending a guest hurrying across Ireland in the middle of the night. Therefore, a room is being prepared for you. I hope that is to your satisfaction?”

  I hadn’t planned to stay longer than I needed to. Yet the chance to exchange information with the Japanese dignitary had me hooked.

  I said, “I’ve always been a sucker for a free dinner.”

  Deveron almost broke into smile. “I have one of the best cooks in Ireland, Mister Speed.”

  “I can’t refuse then.”

  “I was always confident you would stay.”

  “Don’t be too over confident. I might decide to leave early.”

  “And miss the highlight of the evening, a man of your endeavour? You’re not the type to dismiss such an opportunity. You’re a treasure hunter hiding under the banner of metal detector enthusiast. You sell what you find to the highest bidder with a total disregard to the treasure trove act. This is going to be a treasure hunt you can’t ignore. You might get lucky.”

  “What? Aiding and abetting a criminal is lucky?”

  “Come now, Mister Speed, you’re as much a criminal as I, only I’ve retired. I know you’re intrigued to hear the story of the I-52 that never was because if you hadn’t been I would have expected the Garda arriving at my door instead of you, Mister Speed.”

  The crafty old goat, I thought. He had me sussed. Was I that predictable?

  In reality, Deveron had done me no harm personally, providing he wasn’t frigging lying about not being involved in endangering my life and messing up my affairs. I also thought of something else or rather I thought of someone else in particular.

  “Is Shayna joining us tonight?” I asked casually.

  Deveron smiled. “She wouldn’t want to miss the occasion, Mister Speed. It was her idea to contact you so we could have this discussion today.”

  “She likes to dominate men, I can vouch for that.”

  “She’s something special; such a beautiful woman, don’t you agree?”

  I’d no argument about her beauty but she was no Cinderella in my eyes. I still had the wounds to show from our last get-together and I still hadn’t reverted from calling her a bitch! And after dinne
r I’ll listen to their pack of lies.

  The door of the study opened and a nurse entered.

  Deveron said, “All this excitement has rather worn me out. You must excuse me, Mister Speed. This wonderful creature has just arrived with my afternoon medication. Please, feel free to wander anywhere about the house, I’ve nothing to hide. Examine my wonderful collection of old library masterpieces: works from all the great literary writers of our times. Feel free to roam the gardens. They are full, absorbing, tranquil, and most importantly, help yourself to the drinks. Dinner will be served at seven.” He paused and looked at me seriously. “There is one more thing I need to ask you, Mister Speed?”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I was the man responsible for the demise of your friends, would you have carried out your threat?”

  I expressed my gunslingers stare, the squinted eyes, and said coolly, “Without hesitation.”

  Deveron nodded. “I do believe you would have, Mister Speed.”

  The nurse aided Deveron to his feet.

  I watched them leave the study. I still hadn’t acquired any sympathy towards Deveron despite his obvious health problems. I still felt that he owed me something other than dinner and a bed for the night. The moment the door closed behind them I rose and went to the bar, poured a good helping of straight dark rum and swallowed the alcohol in one swig. I twisted the empty tumbler back and forth between my fingers and thumb and thought about my next move. In five seconds flat I knew that I didn’t have a next move to consider? I was here now and I could do nothing until somebody else made the wrong move first.

  I left the study by the French windows and wandered out into the gardens for some fresh air, as the stagnant atmosphere of doubtfulness had stifled my lungs. The walk would give me the time to reflect on my brief encounter with Dillon Deveron the war-time murderer.

  I’d no planned route for my walk I just followed my shadow cast by the mid afternoon sun. The pathway guided me down to the shoreline of a large lake and that was about as far as I could go unless I wanted to follow the shoreline to who knows where. I turned to retrace my steps and that’s when I heard splashing coming from the lake.