In sympathy, Poppy patted Catherine’s hand. “Oh, my dearest, I’m so sorry. Jonathan still weighs on you, I know that, and it’s to be expected, since there was never a resolution in his case. Like you, I’ve always wondered what happened. And now Arthur wants to know and wishes to help you. He should be commended for that.”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “God knows Jonnie’s case has nearly driven me mad with questions at times. I’ve had nightmares ever since. How often have I dreamt of him leaving the pub in a daze, seeing things that weren’t really there, and then ending up in a ditch somewhere, or in the Thames? I thought they were over, but I had terrible dreams again the other night. It’s awful, just awful, not knowing.” Her voice caught and tears threatened. She swallowed hard, pushing back her emotions. “Poor Jonnie. This is still so difficult for me. If I only had an answer to the mystery. If only I could be certain he was all right, or at least that he hadn’t suffered.”
Poppy reached for Catherine’s hand once more, this time not letting go. “I’m so sorry, and I understand completely. Such things take time. It took me months to overcome my nightmares after the bombing. Even now, I have them occasionally.”
“Oh, dear. You are so brave.”
“I don’t feel brave,” Poppy admitted, withdrawing her hand and waving it in the air. “God, sometimes I’m a mess! We have to remember it takes time for such things to fade. The wounds can be both physical and mental.” Poppy touched her brow. “I think it’s easier to heal the physical scars.”
Catherine vividly remembered her friend’s suffering and put a hand over hers in sympathy. “If only I could be like you. Sometimes I wonder if I shall ever feel normal again.”
“Oh, my dearest, you will! I’m so sorry I pressed you about Jonnie. Perhaps we should speak of something else.”
“No, please, let me go on,” Catherine said as she swiped at her tears. “I do need to talk about it. I know I can confide in you.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Poppy said, “but have you told Arthur of Jonnie’s suffering—his hallucinations?”
“No, I haven’t. I can’t tell Arthur about them. Only a few people were privy to his troubles. His father, you, his friend Angus, who I eventually told—I don’t think anyone else knew, including his physicians. He did go to a psychiatrist off base, but I don’t think Jonnie even gave his real name. I’ve held back with Arthur because I don’t want him to think Jonnie was going mad when he wasn’t. In fact, he seemed so much better in the months before…” Catherine’s voice faded to a sigh.
“Yes, I know,” Poppy said quietly. “Before he left us.”
…
Arthur rose from his desk as Mrs. Philips ushered Detective Wakefield into his office. She asked if she could get them tea, but when Clive declined, she left, shutting the door behind her.
They shook hands and then Arthur indicated a chair across from him. “So, what have you turned up?”
Clive unbuttoned his jacket and sat. “Well, it’s much as I thought, although there are a few strange twists I came across as well.”
Arthur felt his interest pique. “Do tell,” he said as he took his seat.
“It’s a muddy case, to be sure. You see, there have been other missing persons’ cases in that very area. A disappearance at The Crook some sixty years before the Brandon case, and also something tantamount to that in Ely Court.”
“Were there any eyewitnesses? Did anyone see something akin to what Tom Lloyd described?” Arthur asked.
“If you’ll bear with me, I’d like to come back to that later. I talked to the detective who interviewed Mr. Lloyd back in ’45. His conclusion was the man must’ve been imbibing that day, perhaps for several days, taking more than a nip or two from his own stock.”
“Hmm. That’s not what Lloyd told me. He said there were those who called him a lunatic. He never mentioned being accused of going on a bender.”
Clive frowned. “Yes, well, those who drink too much usually don’t admit to it, even to themselves, now do they?”
Arthur nodded, recalling that Clive was a bit of a teetotaler, only allowing himself the occasional lager.
“The Brandon investigation is still technically ongoing, yet it is not active,” Clive said. “The unit assigned to it handles murders, many of them unsolved. There have been several dozen disappearances and murders in the area in the past century.”
“What about at The Crook?”
“It’s difficult to say what happened there long ago, and there’ve been rumors of disappearances since the seventeenth century. With the exception of the documented missing person case of a man who supposedly vanished from the Crook in 1889, and the Brandon case, we just can’t say with any certainty what happened. Since the latter part of the nineteenth century, deaths in the vicinity have been caused by rather mundane things—if murder can ever really be classified as mundane—things like domestic disputes or pub brawls that ended badly. In the past two years there’ve been three very troubling unsolved murders in the area, a worrisome statistic given the perpetrator has not yet been caught.”
“They’re certain there’s only one killer?”
“Yes, based on the evidence. If you take into account Brandon disappeared just before the most recent spate of incidences occurred, there’s only one logical conclusion as to what happened to him. He was one of the first, if not the very first victim. The perpetrator may be a kind of Jack the Ripper. He appears to use a knife.”
“Appears?”
“Yes. I’ll explain in a moment. Unlike the Ripper, this bloke doesn’t deliberately court infamy, in that he doesn’t dissect the bodies or leave them lying about. He nabs his victims, kills them, and then disposes of the corpses by weighing them down and dumping them into the Thames. By happenstance, three have been discovered washed up on shore, one body, or what was left of it, found after the heavy storms of last winter, the other two found in the past month. All were badly decomposed, and it was difficult to determine the exact cause of death, although forensics recently discovered what appear to be knife wounds on the two most recent finds.”
“I remember reading about some bodies washing up, but I don’t recall the papers linking the corpses to a murder spree.”
“You’re correct. The details have been kept from the public pending further investigation.”
“So, you believe Brandon was murdered by this bloke?”
Clive shrugged. “Perhaps, but I can’t draw a definitive conclusion until the body is found.”
“Definitive would be nice and tidy, but you mentioned strange twists?”
“Yes, I did.” Clive glanced away, drummed his fingertips against the desk for a moment, then resumed eye contact. “First off, let me make this clear—I’ve never believed in the supernatural. I always thought it was stuff and nonsense. But now I’m not so sure.”
Arthur leaned forward. “First Lloyd, now you suggesting the supernatural. What the hell is going on?”
Clive nodded. “Quite so. Lloyd may be closer to the mark than we thought. You see, I came across reports of ghosts fading in and out of view in London, as witnessed by several credible persons, including two members of the Metropolitan Police. That case happened near St. Etheldreda’s, not too long after Brandon disappeared, and it did remind me of what Lloyd told you. The bobbies were off duty and there for a service with their families, but it made me wonder what they bloody well saw.”
He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket, withdrew a card, and handed it to Arthur, who quickly perused it, reading, James Findley, Detective. Criminal Investigation Department. New Scotland Yard.
Clive continued, “Findley is with CID now. He said he would speak to you. He has a rather interesting theory as to what happened to Brandon. Give him a ring. He said he’d like to meet you at Ely Court, near the chapel, at the very spot where he saw…something. Coincidentally, he was involved in the Brandon case at the outset. I think a meeting with him would be well worth your time.”
�
��
Late afternoon was walk time. With her terrier in tow, Catherine made it back home before impending rain and nightfall ruined their outing. Duffy was not terribly fond of walking in the dark.
She was in the process of unlocking the front door when she heard the telephone ring in the foyer. She quickly got inside, unhooked the lead from the dog’s collar, and then grabbed the phone’s receiver.
“Hastings residence,” she said, hoping whoever was on the line hadn’t rung off.
“Catherine, good. You’re home,” Arthur said. “Would you be able to meet me tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, I know it’s a bit of a bother being so last minute,” he said, then added, “Give me a moment, will you? I need to take care of something. Please stay on the line.”
It was clear he’d put his hand over the receiver’s mouthpiece, because Catherine could hear the muffled sounds of conversation. While she waited, she speculated as to what his plans were for tonight. Despite his reassurances during their most recent phone conversation, her thoughts were mired in self-recrimination, and she felt the fool. The Palace had been an utter fiasco she would never live down.
Was this the end? Had he a change of heart? Was this why he wanted to meet her tonight?
How I ruined what should have been one of the happiest days in my life!
“Catherine, are you still there?”
She nodded, then realized her foolishness in doing this and found her voice, “Yes.”
“I’ve got some news I’d rather tell you in person. News from Scotland Yard.”
She took a deep breath. So, this was not a change of heart—it was obvious the news concerned Jonnie. Any relief she felt was instantly suspended, though, replaced by a stab of fear. Had they found his body?
“Are you there, love?”
“Yes, uh… Do you wish to come here, or shall I meet you in London?”
“Do you know St. Etheldreda’s?”
“Er, yes. It’s near The Bishop’s Crook.”
“Will you accompany me there?”
“No, I can’t go there, Arthur. Surely you understand—”
“Catherine, you misunderstand. Will you come with me to Ely Court and then to St. Etheldreda’s? I’ll meet you at Chancery Station at six tonight. If your parents wish to join us, please extend the invitation to them as well. I’ll buy supper.”
Supper? Catherine considered this. She didn’t think Arthur would extend such an invitation had he discovered dire news about Jonnie.
She said, “Oh, no. You see, Dad closed his office a bit early today. He and Mummy have gone shopping, then they made plans to have supper with some friends.”
“Yes, well, come alone then. I hesitate to get our hopes up, but I’m meeting someone at Ely Court who might have information about Brandon’s disappearance. From what I’ve heard, he seems a credible source.”
So, her instincts were correct. Jonnie’s body hadn’t been found. But someone did have information.
“Catherine, it promises to be a good lead, though I think not an answer, as yet. I would very much like you there with me tonight.”
“Oh, my. All right,” she said nervously. “Thank you, Arthur.”
Her hand shook as she hung up the phone. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly 4:50. She scrambled to feed Duffy and write her parents a note as to her whereabouts. She grabbed her coat and handbag and then headed out the door.
The ride into London was uneventful, the train empty but for an older man buried in his newspaper and a young couple still in their teens. She watched as the couple began to touch and snuggle, then turned away in embarrassment when they started necking.
Her mind betrayed her, and she closed her eyes, her imagination gone wild as she recalled kissing Arthur.
She felt his mouth on hers, his kiss hungry with need. Their lips parted and their tongues touched, then she heard him moan—she felt tingles below and sat bolt upright. She glanced back at the couple. They were watching her. She looked beyond them to the man. He was staring at her, too, with a most disapproving look. Oh God, why…? Her eyes widened in horror. Had she moaned out loud?
Mortified, she felt heat blossom on her face. “I…I’ve a terrible backache,” she stammered. “I should walk.” She got up and hurried to the other end of the train car, then sat.
Pulling her hood down almost to the bridge of her nose, she hid from the unwanted scrutiny. She let her gaze go unfocused and tried to imagine Arthur waiting for her at the station. A smart dresser, he would look debonair in his coat and hat. They’d stroll together down the streets to Ely Place, through the alleyway, and toward The Crook. She forced her mind to move on to Ely Court and the chapel, and made a mental list of what she knew about St. Etheldreda’s.
It was a medieval church which had survived Henry VIII’s Reformation, the Great Fire of 1666, and the Blitz. A true relic. Few spots in London were as ancient. It was even older than The Crook—
Why does my mind always come back to that damnable place? Stop it, you hear? Think of something else!
Her life had changed forever because of what happened to Jonnie in there. She’d considered it a wonderful place before his disappearance, their special place. But now it held only dark, terrible imaginings for her.
Her thoughts veered back to the day Jonnie stood in the doorway of The Crook, just before he gifted her with Duffy. Major Jonathan Brandon was resplendent in his RAF uniform. Handsome beyond compare, his black hair gleamed in the sun. She saw his beautiful blue eyes staring at her with such love and devotion.
And…desire.
No! You mustn’t! He’s gone. It’s over. Arthur is your future!
But was he? What if Jonnie wasn’t dead? What would she do if—?
Noooo! You can’t play these maddening games!
The train pulled into St. Paul’s Station, one stop from Arthur.
Arthur, I’m so sorry! I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you badly. You’d be better off without me. She leapt to her feet and rushed off.
She went outside. It started to mist, and she pulled her hood close about her and walked on, with no idea of where she was going.
What have I done?
She was stricken with the realization Arthur was waiting for her, still waiting at Chancery Lane Station.
…
Arthur waited for a half hour at the train station before worry took hold. He went out into a light rain to find a telephone call box and rang Catherine’s house. No answer.
Her parents obviously weren’t home yet. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost half six. Where was Catherine? Concerned, he looked at his watch again and pondered the time—6:27. He’d set it up to meet the policeman at St. Etheldreda’s tonight, and he wanted Catherine there as well. The meeting was to begin at 7:00 sharp.
Arthur had no idea what to do. Night had fallen, and it had begun to rain hard. Bucket down, he thought, knowing he was going to get drenched. The streets were nearly empty of vehicles and foot traffic. London after dark on a stormy night was no place for a lone, pretty twenty-one-year-old.
Catherine, where are you?
He looked back at the station entrance. He couldn’t imagine what had delayed her and hoped to God she was all right. He’d just have to miss the appointment with Detective Finley and apologize later.
The only logical choice was to go inside and wait for Catherine.
But first, he would try calling her parents’ home one more time.
…
Everything was gray and gloomy. So, when Catherine spotted the bright red call box, she decided to ring up her mum and dad and let them know she would be coming home. This would work to reassure Arthur, too, should he call her parents to ask her whereabouts. But what excuse could she give for the change in plans?
A migraine. Yes. She’d plead a bad one. That would do the trick. Everyone would accept her need to return home. No one would question or blame her for not meeting Arthur.
God forgiv
e me. I’m not only going crazy, I’m becoming quite the competent liar.
With a grim smile and a grimmer resolve, she entered the call box and dialed the operator.
“Number, please.”
Catherine gave her home phone number and then put a few pence in the slot.
Taking a deep breath, she readied her mind for the lie and vowed she would become a better person tomorrow.
…
Arthur got a busy signal, which meant someone was home at the Hastings residence. He hung up, waited a minute, and then tried again.
“Hello?” Lily answered.
“It’s Arthur—”
“Oh, my word! I’m glad you called. Catherine just rang us. She pleaded a headache and told us she’s coming home.”
Arthur frowned with concern. “Where is she, Lily? I’d be happy to meet her and see her safely to your doorstep.”
“She’s in London, but I didn’t think to ask where, since she said she would be home straightaway. I’m sorry for your inconvenience, Arthur. She did request, should you call us, that we pass a message to you.”
“Yes?”
“She said please go ahead and meet your gentleman friend at Ely Court. She also asked that you ring her up tomorrow. She has something important to tell you.”
He hesitated, sensing doom. What did Catherine want? Was all this talk of Jonnie making her rethink their budding relationship?
He swallowed and asked, “Important?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Lily calmly replied. “She hasn’t been feeling well, but she’s young and strong and much better now. If I may say so, you’ve been good for her. Both George and I believe this very strongly.”
By the way the conversation was going, Arthur guessed Lily knew nothing about what happened at The Palace.
He thanked her and said good-bye, then hung up and left for Ely Court, wondering about Catherine’s plans for tomorrow.
He hadn’t the foggiest idea what he would do if she wanted to end what he sensed was theirs for the taking—a shared destiny of love and marriage.
Begun by Time Page 13