by John Gardner
They reached the door of the hut and there was a little dance of indecision. Who should go first?
‘Please,’ a gesture, giving way to Suzie, then the realization that he should lead the way, so O’Dell opened the door and stomped in before Suzie, with Jamie Simnel bringing up the rear.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and a blast of hot air hit them together with a shouted chorus of ‘Shut that door!’ In one corner stood a Christmas tree with a model Spitfire instead of an angel at the top. Paper chains hung from the four corners of the room and there were big red tissue paper bells hanging from the light fitments. Four young men in flying kit had been reading, drinking coffee and sprawling in chairs. Now they stood and came to attention, and in performing the act of getting on to their feel they somehow managed to convey that they were doing it for Suzie’s sake and not for their superior officer.
‘Come on,’ said O’Dell. ‘Come into my office and get away from the riff-raff.’ He held back the door and let her pass, then closed it behind them.
From outside somebody sang loudly. ‘Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly,’ and there was raucous laughter.
‘Don’t mind them,’ O’Dell motioned for her to sit down on a high-backed stand chair, while he went behind his desk. ‘They get in a bit of a state when any new face comes down here. Some days, when it all gets too much for them, we have to make the Waafs go around with paper bags over their heads. Cut out slits for the eyes. That sort of thing.’
She found him delightful and realized why he was such a legendary hit with women. With his slight figure and the hungry look, any woman would want to mother him, enfold him in their arms to stave off the demons that must inhabit his head. Suzie wanted to do just that, so most women would follow the desire, and after mothering — she thought — comes the loving.
From behind his desk O’Dell asked what he could do for her. ‘I mean I know you’re here because of Joseph’s death, but is there anything special you want to ask me?’
‘Joseph?’
‘It’s what I used to call Jo. Joseph. She’d call me Freddie. It was a thing we did sometimes. You know, playing games.’ He actually blushed a little, avoiding her eyes.
Now, inside his office and sitting across front him. Suzie could see that the youthfulness had been an illusion. Fordham O’Dell had his full complement of worry lines and premature ageing. There were already traces of frosting in his hair and she noticed the distinct tremor of his hands. But it was the eyes and voice that gave most of it away. He looked bone tired, and deep in his eyes there were traces of severe weariness. When he spoke there was that tiny hint she had detected in Jamie Simnel. It fused together the same elements. The fear that was not quite terror and the desire for the whole business to be consummated.
If he completed the war in one piece, Fordham O’Dell would probably thank God and then, over the years, render the whole business down to a jolly, if hairy, game played in his youth in which some of his best friends had drifted away, lost for ever.
Suzie told him they were checking Jo Benton’s background. ‘You’re an essential for us, sir. You’ve known her longest. Since school.’
He passed a hand over his eyes. ‘Before then,’ he said. ‘We were mixed infants together. In the end I knew her in all possible ways and positions.’ His tired smile was the cheeky smirk of a schoolboy taking liberties. ‘I presume you know all about her tastes and way of life by now?’
‘Practically everything.’
‘We were two of a kind.’ It was the start of a flood of rather cold and matter-of-fact reminiscences. Neither of them had been faithful to the other; yes, he was her first lover; yes, he was a sexual obsessive just as she was; yes, they got up to all kinds of things together; over the years they had seen one another regularly — just as she had done with Gerald Vine, Suzie thought.
He was incredibly calm, unusually so and it quite unnerved her because under the placid exterior she could tell there was a well of grief.
‘I’m used to people getting killed,’ he said eventually. ‘They all go one at a time, like lemmings disappearing over a cliff. Everyone I joined the RAF with — except old Jamie Simnel. They’ve all bloody gone. Most of my year at school as well. But, dammit, I never expected old Joseph to get the chop like that. She was always there, you see. Both of us. We were indestructible. Thought sometimes maybe a bomb, but to have some bugger kill ...’ He stumbled for the first time. Then angrily — ‘For someone to rape and kill her.’
Other way round, Suzie thought. Other way round, Fordy. Freddie.
She was raped after death. Male sperm in all the usual places. The cutting and the eyes were also post mortem. That’s the gist of it. That’s what she’d read to Shirley from the PM report.
‘Poor old Joseph.’ He sniffed and she saw his eyes were welling up, very close to tears. ‘Oh Lord, I’m sorry, this isn’t very dignified.’ He ran a handkerchief across his eyes, swallowing hard. ‘You can only afford to be undignified with your lover.’ Laugh. Sniff. ‘Not nice for you. Sorry. You see, I like lemmings. Love them.’ His voice cracked and he buried his head in his hands and wept, as Suzie had never seen a grown man weep.
It’s more than simply his grief for Jo Benton. This is for all his friends who’ve gone spiralling down the skies to flaming death.
She waited quietly until the tears subsided, a little embarrassed. Eventually he again said he was sorry. ‘You must have a shopping list of questions for me. What do I call you, by the way?’
‘Call me Suzie, sir.’
‘Cut out the sir, please. Makes me feel a hundred and two.’ A little more fussing with the handkerchief. From outside there was a roar as another Spitfire taxied out for take-off. Then from a long way off the barking of a dog.
‘With all this death, damage and disaster going on around us, it makes a murder seem a shade insignificant, eh?’
Suzie knew what he meant.
Finally he nodded, sitting up and looking pretty much pulled together.
‘Can you tell me the last time you saw her, sir?’ Sounded as calm as a millpond on a summer day. That’s good. Dandy Tom would be proud of you, heart. Suzie with a zed.
‘Yes, yes, I can. Last week in November. All leave was stopped on 30th November and we’ve been restricted until last Friday, what was that, 20th December? So I’ve been here since the end of November. Not been off the station between end of November until last Friday.’
‘And you last saw Miss Benton?’ she prompted.
‘Trying to get it right. Yes, was in town on November 25th and 26th. That’s it, clear as mud. Spent a lot of 25th with her. Not quite all night, but we managed. She was a great girl at managing —’ He was about to go off again and lose himself in memories, so she stepped in —
‘So, where’d you go on 25th November, then?’
Count of three while he got his thoughts in order. ‘Early dinner in a little place in Greek Street. That was good. Laugh a minute. Then we went to Derbyshire Mansions.’
‘Jo Benton’s flat? Two-twenty Derbyshire Mansions?’
‘Two hundred and twenty, yes. Jo Benton’s flat — no she’s not, she’s perfectly rounded. Joke we had. God, Suzie I can’t believe she’s gone. It’s like some of my friends in the squadron. Keep thinking I’ll see them come marching through the ante-room doors in the mess. Sometimes do see them.’
‘Derbyshire Mansions, you stayed there until when?’
He’d been on the brink of launching into another trip down maudlin memory lane. ‘Anyone else there?’ she stepped in smartish.
He had a wary look, eyes sliding towards the door and then back to her.
‘Emily?’ Suzie asked.
Dully he nodded. ‘Oh, you know about Emily then?’
‘Some,’ she said as though there was a lot more to it than she was letting on. ‘And Monica? Monica Parker?’
‘Who?’
‘Monica Parker. Wren. Leading Wren Parker. A little friend. Used to help o
ut Jo on special occasions.’
‘Never heard of her. No Monicas here.’ He tapped his head. She had a sudden terrible thought. ‘You do know what’s happened to Emily, I presume. In today’s papers.’
‘I haven’t seen the papers, but I heard it on yesterday’s news, yes. Same bastard?’
‘We don’t know.’
He nodded. Just a nod, and the vacuous stare.
Better try him on the whole gang, she decided. She told him she was going to run some names by him. ‘Daniel Flint. You know him, of course —’
‘From the cradle, yes. At school together, yes. With Joseph, yes.’
‘Did she mention him when you last saw her?’
A more natural laugh, as though he was drawing back from the grief.
‘Did she not talk about him?’ Suzie asked.
‘Oh, she talked about him. Flint was not in her good books. Had a real down on him. Been spending quite a lot of time with him, I gathered. Talking about antiques. She was trying to get the BBC to let her do a series of radio shows about antiques, but they weren’t going to let it happen. She knew it. Didn’t have to be good with the crystal ball to see who’d get the blame.’
‘She blamed Flint for the BBC not showing an interest?’
‘Good old Joseph. I loved her to bits. Still do. Be in my memory all my life. Special place for her and all that kind of thing. But that doesn’t blind me to her faults. Joseph was never to blame for anything. Never took the blame, never accepted it. It was always someone else. Know the score?’
‘You’re telling me she rather messed up the antique show thing and Flint got the blame?’
‘The whole bag of worms, yes. Black mark if the BBC decided against the show. Black mark passed on to dear old Flint. Rode him out of town on a rail. I once had to listen to a fifteen-minute diatribe about how she had cut her finger. I was to blame. I wasn’t within a hundred miles of her, yet I was found guilty. And she doesn’t forget — didn’t forget. Six months after she cut her finger. Me, I was still guilty.’
The more she heard about Jo Benton the more she disliked her.
‘You were close to Flint, were you?’
‘School chums. Spent time in the woods together. Drank illegal hooch. Band of brothers, that kind of rot. Dan was a great man for the rut in his time.’
‘Ever meet Richard Webster?’
‘Agent. Yes, nice fellow. Had Jo’s welfare at heart. Bit of a woofter, but never hold that against a man as long as they don’t do it in the street, frighten the horses, that kind of thing. Really good at his job.’
‘Met a man called Joshua Dance?’
‘Yes. House lettings. Smart firm, Jewell something or other. Emily was supposed to be part of it, but never talked about the business.’
‘Never? Wouldn’t or couldn’t?’
‘Tell you the truth, I got the impression that she didn’t really know much about it — the business I mean.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Want a spot of lunch? The mess?’
‘When we’ve finished.’ She didn’t mean to sound harsh, but that’s how it came out.
He looked confused and babbled apologies. ‘Get so used to having my own way. Giving the orders. You know.’
She said she understood and asked where he’d met Dance.
‘His office, actually. Back in October, just after Jerry stopped nipping in every day. I was being shifted around the country. Publicity exercise for the old Air House. Whizzed me on to several airfields to talk to the chaps. Then they brought me into town for a couple of days. I did a BBC interview and some things for Movietone News, Gaumont British, that kind of thing. How we blasted the Hun. Tell you what, the filming and broadcasting was much more frightening than fighting Jerry. Felt totally exposed.’ He gave a great guffaw of laughter.
‘They recorded me for the BBC and some Yank radio stuff. Boffins had a special machine. Records your voice on wire. Amazing. But the film news people had to do their filming twice because I messed up. Talked about a Focke-Wolf ‘split-arseing across the sky’. They said the old ladies in Tunbridge Wells, and the vicars on Holy Island would object, and while I was at it, would I change the Focke-Wolf to a Messerschmitt, what? They had already had objections because they let some fellow say, ‘Give in to Hitler? Not Pygmalion likely.’ Can you credit that? Woman wrote in, said it wasn’t very nice.’
‘Joshua Dance?’ Nudging him back, not knowing where it could possibly go.
‘What? Oh. Oh, yes. You must think me a bit of a prune. All fingers and thumbs on the ground, wonder I can do my stuff aloft. Main thing really, isn’t it? Dance, yes. Other thing terrified me was being bombed. They were pasting London both nights I was up and old Joseph, well she didn’t turn a hair. Wouldn’t go down the shelter or anything. I was petrified. Couldn’t get Percy pointing north for most of the night. Very difficult situation.’
She must have looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he tried the cheeky schoolboy look again.
‘You met Dance in his office?’
‘Yes, well, Joseph wanted to go and see him because they’d just invalided him out of his regiment. Damned unfair, I thought. He could’ve stayed on and shuffled the bumf for the adj or something. Anyway, we went into this smart office somewhere off “the Dilly”. Frightfully nice bloke. Crutches. Got on like the old house afire. Old Joseph seemed quite taken with him.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, I could see she was trying to map out his future for him.’
‘And did she?’
‘No idea.’
‘And that was the only time you met him, Dance?’
‘Only the once. Cross me heart. Don’t do the rest of that one. Bloody bad luck, I reckon.’
Okay, Suzie thought let’s try. ‘Barry Forbes?’ she asked. ‘Know him, heard of him?’
‘Heard of him, never met him. Met his brother Frank: bit of a wet, two years below us at school. Joseph knew Barry, though. Aware of that.’
‘Boyfriend of Emily’s, yes?’
‘Boyfriend of Emily’s? Don’t think so.’
‘You sure?’
‘Think I’d have heard if the great financial wizard, Barry Forbes, had been playing footsie with Em.’
‘But you never met him? Not even at a party at the house in Coram Cross Road.’
‘Never.’
‘Fermin?’ she asked.
‘Fellow she was going to marry? No, never met him.’ Brusque. A mite cool.
‘What’d you think about her getting married?’
‘Her business. Told me she was going to change her way of life. Didn’t believe her, mind you.’
‘So you weren’t jealous?’
‘What’s the point?’
‘You didn’t have any rows about it?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Well?’
‘Yes, we had quite a few words about it. I strongly disapproved of the way she was dealing with it. I don’t mind her saying they were saving it all until they became husband and wife, but in her case it was a totally hypocritical thing. I told her and she knew how I felt. I’m told he’s a perfectly nice fellow who cares greatly for her — cared, I keep forgetting. Please, can we go and get some lunch in the mess?’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m a sergeant.’
‘I know, but I’m putting my blind eye to the telescope and saying, “I see no stripes.” Come on.’
‘And after that last time with Jo Benton, at Derbyshire Mansions, what did you do?’
He sighed, as if to say it’s none of your business, but ... ‘Got into a cab with her at five o’clock in the morning and went for the ride back to her place in Camford. She gave me bacon and eggs, fried potatoes, a sausage and fried bread. I had brought her some coffee that I’d got hold of on the q.t. from a ferry pilot. She ground it and I had a couple of slices of toast with Oxford Marmalade. Then I kissed her goodbye at the door and, well, one thing led to another and eventually she went off like a factory whistle, which was good. Serge
ant, I’ve been over it in my mind a thousand times.’
You should always treasure each moment you’re with someone you care for, he told Suzie. ‘Because you never know if it’s going to be your last. I know everything about that night. I can recite every stitch of clothing she wore, and almost every word she said. Her last words to me were, ‘Freddie, be careful and I’ll see you again before Christmas.’ I said, ‘Bottoms up,’ and that was that. Less than a month and she was dead. Happens every day in a place like this, but she wasn’t in a place like this. Let’s go and get some food.’
The car still waited outside for her, so they rode to the officers’ mess in style and she told him that her superior would probably want to talk to him. She didn’t give him the name of her superior. She’d mentioned Harvey to most of the others, but now she knew it was going to be different.
She didn’t particularly like the officers’ mess. There were other women there, but they were in uniform and they were officers — except the Waafs who served the food, and presumably cooked it. Even with other women there, she felt it was a male preserve and that there was some hostility. There was also quite a lot of noise. Like a boarding school’s dining room.
The food was passable. Not up to the Ritz standard, but she could’ve easily got drunk. O’Dell ordered a bottle of red wine — she knew nothing of wines — and drank most of it. ‘Not flying again until Boxing Day,’ he said, intimating that he was dreaming of a blank Christmas.
As he was showing her out, she had a sudden brainwave. ‘Can I show you something?’ she asked, opening her handbag and taking out the three-by-four black and white print Dandy Tom had given to her. The photograph of Emily Baccus. She handed it to him, saying nothing.
‘Who is it?’ he asked and she waited some twenty seconds before she spoke.