Mortimer looked at him. “Shall I participate in the enquiries as well, sir?”
“Absolutely. Some of the folks might open up more readily if a woman is present. If the opposite seems to be true, leave and get one of the men to take over. The afternoon shift will be here by four o’clock. They will relieve you and I want you all to go home and get some rest. I want three men back here for the night watch. Swinfell, you’re excused as it is your rest day. You four reservists are also excused until tomorrow morning. You’ll be on standby. Do I have some volunteers for night shift?”
“Me, sir,” said Mady.
“I’ll do it too,” chimed in Biggs.
“Count me in,” said Chase almost simultaneously.
He surveyed the group. Except for Mady and Mortimer they were all over conscription age. But he thought they looked keen and alert, happy to be needed again.
“Thanks, lads. And miss. This place should be locked and barred like the Royal Mint, so I doubt you’ll encounter any intruders in or out, but I want one of you to be at the McHattie cottage at all times. Spell each other off. All right?”
The three constables nodded.
“Until the next shift arrives, I want you, Chase, and you, Biggs, to patrol the grounds. I’ll be in the almoner’s office if you need me.”
24.
DAI HUGHES WAS IN THE ORDERLIES’ SITTING ROOM about to light up when his brother burst in. Before the younger man could defend himself, Evan snatched away the cigarette, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him violently.
“What the fecking stupid game are you playing? You promised you wouldn’t go back there. But you did, didn’t you?”
Dai managed to slide out from his angry brother’s grip, landing on the floor.
“What are you blathering about?”
“I heard you go out and I heard you come in. That sodding gate shrieks like a rutting Tom cat. Which is what you are, aren’t you?”
He raised his hand, but Dai caught hold of it.
“I’m a big boy now, Evan. You can’t knock me around just because you feel like it. I was here all night. Ask Sister Ivy. She’ll vouch for me.”
“Bollocks. You’ve got all those spinsters wrapped around your little finger. She’d swear she saw you walking on water if you asked her to.”
“If I want to go for a bit of air, why shouldn’t I?”
Evan glowered down at him. “Because you’re supposed to be on fecking duty, that’s why. If anybody found out, you’d be given the shoot in a minute. And me with you, most likely.”
Dai glowered. “No, I wouldn’t. We’re priceless here. They couldn’t fill our jobs. Not these days.”
“Don’t be too cocky about that. There’s plenty more where we come from.”
“In that case, why can’t I sign up? I hate those blokes in town looking at me like I’m dirt. A shirker. And the women too. They despise me.”
“That why you pay for it?”
Dai flushed. “It’s not like that.”
“Ha. Let me guess. She loves you. You’re the best she’s ever had. Is that the story she’s been feeding you?”
“She’s a nice girl.”
Evan slapped his own forehead in exasperation. “Of course she’s a nice girl. All tarts are. As long as you’re opening your pockets, they’re very nice.”
“You sound like you’re an expert,” snapped Dai. “Can it be Ma’s golden-haired boy has done his own share of prowling?”
This time Evan reached him with his palm and gave a hard slap. “I told Ma I’d look after you, and look after you I will if it kills both of us. Now get your sorry arse off that bed and go and help with the patients. Everybody’s a fecking mess out there.”
Dai reached for his cigarette packet, which had fallen on the floor, but Evan kicked it away.
“Now. I said, now. And if you come home with the clap, I swear I’ll cut off your balls.”
25.
WHEN SISTER REBECCA ENTERED THE NUNS’ SITTING room, what she saw struck her like a blow. Perhaps it was the pathos of Charlie McHattie clinging to his mother like a primate might; perhaps it was Shirley McHattie, flipping through a women’s magazine and greedily smoking a cigarette. Rebecca wasn’t sure. Both things, probably. She felt like she could have marched over to the girl, snatched away both cigarette and magazine, and given her a good dressing down. Don’t you care about anything? But Rebecca Meade had struggled all her life to master her temper and she wasn’t going to succumb to it now. She also knew enough about human nature to not take Shirley’s behaviour completely at face value. People often did odd or apparently inappropriate things when they were in shock.
Mrs. McHattie’s eyes were dark with grief.
“I was wondering when the policeman is going to talk to me, Sister. I’d like to get it over with.”
“I’ll take you there now. He’s using my office.”
As Mrs. McHattie went to stand up, Charlie let out a howl and gripped her even more tightly. “No, Mummy, I don’t want you to go. No, please.”
“I won’t be long,” she said soothingly.
“No. You mustn’t.”
She addressed Rebecca over her son’s shoulder. “I haven’t even been able to go to the toilet without him going barmy.”
Shirley hauled herself out of the chair. “Tell you what, why don’t I go talk to the detective first? He’s going to want to talk to me anyway. By the time we’re finished, Charlie might be calmer. Maybe the sister can give him a sedative or something.”
“I can do that if you like, Mrs. McHattie.”
“Sedatives all round, I’d say,” chirped in Shirley.
Rebecca ignored her and went over to the mother and boy. She crouched down in front of them.
“You know, Mrs. McHattie, some years ago my nephew went through a bad period in his life. He couldn’t sleep and nothing seemed to help him. Then one night, when I was minding him, I started to tell a story in which he was the hero. I hardly remember what it was now, but it was something I took from a fairy tale. Andy was the noble prince who had to deal with trouble in his kingdom. He succeeded, of course. I told a different story night after night and gradually he calmed down. In his life, he had no control over what happened around him. But in the story, he became all-powerful and conquered all difficulties.”
Mrs. McHattie was looking at her with some bewilderment. “I don’t know if I’m up to telling stories at the moment.”
Rebecca felt a wave of embarrassment. She had been too personal. The bad time she alluded to was when her younger sister had decided motherhood was too much for her. She filled her pockets with stones and walked into the river and drowned herself. The pithy note she left behind was addressed to her husband. “Can’t take it. Andy is all yours.”
There was definitely something about Shirley McHattie that reminded Rebecca of Paulina. The fear and desolation in the eyes of young Charlie also looked all too familiar.
Impulsively, she reached out and smoothed his hair. He made no response.
“I quite understand, Mrs. McHattie. Let me take your daughter to my office, then I’ll come right back with something to help him sleep.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Shirley was already waiting at the door. Her mother nodded at her. “Don’t run off at the mouth, Shirle. Just answer the questions as he puts them.”
“Of course. What do you take me for?”
26.
GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, TYLER WAS A LITTLE surprised at the care Shirley had taken with her appearance. Her smooth brown hair was curled into a fashionable pageboy, she had recently applied lipstick, and her pencilled-in eyebrows were well defined.
He indicated a chair that he’d pulled up to the desk. “Please sit down, Miss McHattie. I tell you frankly, at the moment we’re stumped as to why your father was killed. I’m almost certain Ben was a secondary casualty, probably killed because he came in on the killer.”
There was a sudden rush of tears into her eyes, and
Tyler waited while she wiped them away.
“It would help us immensely if we had any understanding of why your father was a target.”
Shirley shrugged. “Probably some crackpot. We’ve got enough of them in this place.”
“Possibly. But if it was not a random act of insanity, is there any other reason that you can think of?”
“None.”
Tyler tried to be tactful. “Miss McHattie, you are expecting a baby …”
“I’d say that was obvious, Inspector.”
“You are not married.”
“So what?” She looked at him defiantly.
“What I mean is … I wondered if your, er, your pregnancy might have anything to do with this case.”
“Why would it?”
“I understand your parents were unhappy about the situation.”
She shoved her hair back from her face. “They didn’t approve, that’s for certain. But then they never liked Rudy from the start. I should never have taken him to meet them.” She turned her head away from him and stared at the floor. In spite of her swollen belly, she suddenly looked about fifteen.
“Why didn’t you marry before he left?” Tyler asked. “Many couples have found themselves in the same predicament and got a special marriage licence.”
She was fighting hard not to cry. “Rudy didn’t want to. He was afraid he’d be kept back if he said his girl had a bun in the oven.”
“That was his name, Rudy?”
“Yes.”
“Surname?”
She ducked her head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Excuse me, Miss McHattie, but am I to believe you have conceived a child with a man whose surname you don’t even know?”
Her expression was sulky. “He was on a special mission. Very hush-hush. He wasn’t allowed to tell me.”
“Where was he stationed?”
“He couldn’t say. But it was near us.”
“When you were in Scotland, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“Miss McHattie, I don’t need to tell you there is a war on and many relationships are entered into on impulse. A man is away from his wife, for instance. He’s lonely. He meets a pretty young woman. He makes up a story to ease her conscience.”
“No!” she burst out. “It wasn’t like that. Rudy wasn’t married. I was the first true sweetheart he’d ever had. He told me that.”
“And you believed him?”
“Of course I did.”
Shirley looked so miserable that Tyler felt sorry for her.
“Have you heard from Rudy since he left?”
“I got a couple of postcards. He told me they had to write them before they left. Somebody else would post them, but as long as I kept getting them I’d know he was alive at least.”
“When was the last time you received one?”
“The middle of May. It was postmarked somewhere in Sussex, but I know that’s not where he is. He’d have come to see me if he was there, war or no war, I’m sure of it.”
Tyler wished he could have offered her some comfort, but there was none he could give. “When is your baby due?” he asked.
“Not for three more weeks, but I feel like a whale. I think I could pop at any moment.”
He smiled at her. “I’ve had two kiddies and that’s what my wife said each time. Didn’t happen though. They both came right when they were supposed to.”
She shrugged.
“Just one more thing, Miss McHattie. Could you describe Rudy to me?”
“What do you mean?”
What Tyler meant was that in cases of desertion, the wronged lawful wife could file a charge with the police. This included some description of the missing man. He might be on a list. Also, if any of the locals had seen a man acting suspiciously the previous night, Tyler wanted to know if it might be the elusive and secretive Rudy.
“Just a general physical description.”
“Well, he’s medium height, brown hair and brown eyes. Dark. His eyes are dark brown. He’s muscular.”
“Anything distinctive? Scars? Moles?”
“No. He speaks English with a bit of an accent.”
“Oh, does he? Where is he from?”
She looked away. “He couldn’t tell me. Somewhere in Europe is all I know. He got out before Hitler invaded his country and came here to join the forces.”
“RAF?”
“I think so, but he never talked about it.” She wriggled on the chair. “I have to use the toilet. Are we finished?”
“Certainly.” Tyler stood up. “You have been most helpful, Miss McHattie. If anything else comes to you, let me know.”
She got out of the chair awkwardly.
“I know what you’ve been getting at, but you’re wrong.”
“In what way?”
“Rudy loves me, and when the war is over we’re going to go back to his country and make a life for ourselves. I’m going to give the baby up for adoption when it’s born, but we can have more. Be better when I’m older anyway.”
Tyler had no response to that. He saw her to the door.
He returned to the desk. The case was like trying to put a puzzle together but with no idea what the picture on the box was – and the nagging feeling that several pieces had gone missing. He couldn’t connect anything to anything else.
There was a knock on the door. It was Sister Rebecca, holding an envelope.
“Inspector, I thought I’d better bring this to you right away. It was in the post bag and it’s addressed to you.”
“How strange. Let me see.”
She handed him the envelope. It was addressed inspector tyler, c/o st. Anne’s Hospital, LUDLOW, SHROPSHIRE. Across one corner was the word urgENT. What gave Tyler pause was the familiarity of the printing. Neat, tight block letters, black ink. He took the piece of paper he’d extricated from the pigeon’s leg band and compared the two. The writing was identical. Cautiously, he felt the envelope, but he could detect no bulges or lumps. He sniffed at it. There was no unusual smell.
“There isn’t a postmark,” he said to the almoner, who was regarding him anxiously.
“I noticed that. Somebody from here must have personally dropped it into the hospital post bag.”
“When could they have done that?”
“Anytime in the last hour or so. We have a delivery once a day. With so many residents, the postman finds it easier just to deposit the sack inside the front door. What with everything going on, I didn’t have time to sort it until just now.”
Tyler slit open the envelope and removed the sheet of paper. This was typed, not handwritten like the envelope. He read it through.
“What is it, Inspector?” asked Sister Rebecca.
Tyler handed her the letter. “Have a read yourself.”
After the tenth line of executions the soldiers get a rest and a slug of schnapps for their nerves. The bodies remain where they have fallen, ten men in each line, seven more lines to come. The stench of blood, guts, and brains, all with a seasoning of cordite from the machine gun, is thick in the air. The soldiers have to move back from the carpet of bodies which is creeping slowly towards them.
The next group is led in from the barn. They are mostly silent, some from defiance, some from sheer shock. All of them in their working clothes, baggy pants, cotton shirts made by wives they will never see again.
There is a young boy who must have officially turned sixteen but whose body is still that of a child. He is small, blond, and tanned from being outdoors. He has put his hand in that of the man beside him, his father probably, but when they line up the captain yells at him to let go. It would have made no difference to the killing, but the captain is edgy, already half drunk. The boy wraps his arms around himself for comfort.
Mattresses have been leaned against the stone wall of the barn so the bullets won’t ricochet. All of them are now splashed and stained with blood. Around them apple trees would have been fragrant with blossoms, except no
perfume can withstand the stench of death. One of the men in the new line is grey-haired and stooped. He leans on a stick. In spite of his slowness he is dignified, a man who will not give them the satisfaction of dying a coward’s death.
Earlier the captain has said that any soldier who didn’t want to continue could step down without reprisal, but no one really believes him. They know what punishment can be meted out to the disloyal. Astonishingly, in fact, three men put down their rifles. They are excused. What has become of them, these ones who refused? Do they now weep?
At a command from one of the guards, the new line of villagers take their places in front of the wall. The NCO has already walked around and shot each previous victim in the head to make sure. The old priest comes over to give the men a blessing and comfort them. Most accept his attentions, but the captain becomes impatient. Hurry up, let’s get on with this.
Does he know that he is now condemned for eternity? That they are all condemned?
Sister Rebecca put the sheet of paper down on the desk. Her hand was shaking.
“Inspector, what does it mean? Why has somebody sent you this?”
“I don’t know.”
Tyler held the sheet of paper up to the light. Nothing revealed itself. It was ordinary stationery.
“You said that anybody here at St. Anne’s could have dropped it into the post bag?”
“That’s right. The bag just stays in the foyer until I collect it. The delivery is usually about nine o’clock. Does the letter have to do with the murders?”
Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
The almoner sat down abruptly. “Do you think the letter is referring to a particular incident?”
“It could be,” said Tyler. “Regrettably, I suspect it could also be a compilation of several incidents. An account of helpless victims being shot for some crime, not specified. The Nazis’ favourite weapon of fear. Reprisal.”
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