Murray did find the oratory given by Duncan Malloy quite entertaining, even if he disagreed with its seditious inferences. At his most honest level, Murray could appreciate there was unequal footing of opportunity throughout the land. Though he knew his loyalties were to uphold the Crown’s interests. Still, it unsettled him to see a brilliant man about to be cut down in the prime of life.
Thousands of approving voices rose to song when Malloy completed his speech. As was his custom, he allowed a brief intermission while onstage before announcing how to show local support for their movement. Here was the time Winston-Hall would perform his macabre mission’s final objective.
Murray waited while Malloy spoke with his colleagues onstage, pausing intermittently to receive the deafening applause which rose from everywhere. When ten minutes had passed with Malloy still talking on stage unharmed, Murray knew something had gone amiss.
Officer Murray pushed through the crowd to gain a closer look at Winston-Hall’s position. By now, every member of the teeming audience was so engrossed they paid little attention to anything else. Looking towards his position, Murray could see no signs of Winston-Hall. He had no choice but to ascertain his whereabouts.
Walking towards the sheltered area, Murray began to wonder if Winston-Hall had simply lost his nerve and fled the scene. It would not be the first time an assassin cracked. Perhaps his doubts overcame him?
As he drew closer, Officer Murray felt a touch guilty for questioning Winston-Hall’s resolve. Right before him laid the assassin, with no signs of life.
Confused and fearful, Officer Murray still retained enough discipline to follow routine procedure in these circumstances. He removed the rifle which had fallen by Winston-Hall’s prone body. Next, Murray removed any contents from his person, noting blood from a bullet wound in the process. Finally, he wiped the hands of Winston-Hall for any visible traces of residue.
Making sure his presence was unnoticed, Officer Murray fled the scene. He hastily made way towards headquarters for the British Security Force in Ireland. The plot had failed under unexplained circumstances. Officer Murray could offer no reason. Noting the words of Major Thurston from time ago, his career was about to meet an unfavorable demise.
Murray crashed through the main doors of headquarters. Once inside, he nearly rammed Sergeant Wilson from his path. Realizing this, he stopped to brief him on the unfortunate turn of events.
Before Murray could stammer out his first words, Wilson knew there was a serious issue. For starters, Roland Winston-Hall was nowhere to be seen. Eyeing the officer’s profuse sweating, Sergeant Wilson braced to receive unwelcome news.
“Sergeant Wilson, I have to pass on the most dreadful report,” sputtered Officer Murray. “Roland Winston-Hall has been shot. Duncan Malloy is still alive, and the police will soon be alerted. We now find ourselves in quite the predicament!”
Wilson glared angrily at Officer Murray. He recalled the countless hours of preparation down to minute detail which had now appeared wasted. Not only was the target alive, which he had been prepared to hear Murray say. But there was collateral damage, with an officer down in the field.
In Wilson’s mind, there was no doubt a particular level of incompetence involved. With Roland Winston-Hall a seasoned professional, blame rested solely on the man before him. He had no choice but to deal forcefully with his charge.
“Please pull your act together officer! How in the hell could this happen? Have you any idea who could have shot Winston-Hall, who has performed countless assignments with no previous adversities? Well officer, let’s hear it straight!”
“Sergeant Wilson, let me begin by saying everything unfolded according to plan until the point I left Winston-Hall’s side. He chose an excellent vantage point to perform his assignment. When ten minutes had passed from the agreed time of execution, I went to seek him out for the cause of his delay. Only then did I learn of Winston-Hall’s sorry fate.
“As per protocol, I secured the site with no witness to this affair. No clues were available to identify who fired the fatal shot. And it appeared there were no signs of struggle. I accept the consequences of failure, though I assure you it was none of my doing.”
Wilson could discern Murray told the complete truth. Despite his furry over the lack of results, Officer Murray did perform accordingly. Somehow, sheer chance showed its random face to stop the best laid plans. All they could do was report to Major Thurston and conduct the investigation of finding Winston-Hall’s killer. Yet in the absence of a witness, it would be near impossible to apprehend a suspect.
“Follow me Murray,” growled the sergeant. “Major Thurston must be apprised of the situation immediately.”
Both men turned with hesitancy in the direction of Major Thurston’s office. Neither could stop thinking of the grave repercussions which would follow these events at Wheatstone Fields
Officer Murray cowered as Sergeant Wilson rapped with urgency on Major Thurston’s door. Time was of supreme essence, given the sudden turn of events.
“Please come in,” bellowed the authoritative voice from inside.
“Major Thurston!” barked out Sergeant Wilson while Murray followed behind. “I have some terrible news to relate concerning the operation. He’s dead; Roland Winston-Hall was killed while preparing to eliminate our target!”
Thurston smashed a hard meaty fist onto his desk. “How could this have happened Sergeant Wilson? Your team gave me complete assurance this would be a small issue to succeed! Do you realize the dire consequences of what you have just said?”
“Sir, please bear with me! Here are the details thus far. The operation unfolded exactly as planned. But right before execution someone prevented Winston-Hall from firing, striking him down with a single shot.
“Tell me; who could have anticipated the random action of someone in that crowd sighting Winston-Hall as he prepared to fire? It was surely an improbable coincidence. Our next course…”
Major Thurston interrupted the seargent. “Listen to me Wilson! I am the man in charge of this detachment. Any orders will be initiated from my lips only.
“Now, did you secure the rifle on Winston-Hall? There must be no trace of evidence out there. If anything remotely suggests our involvement, you know who would be sacrificed to offer accountability.” Thurston’s thinly veiled threat shattered the nerves of both men.
“Yes Major Thurston, I made the location clear and secure,” Officer Murray answered confidently. “Just a shame Winston-Hall’s murderer left no trail to trace.”
Seargent Wilson cleared his throat before confirming Murray’s response. “We were able to do so immediately after he was shot. There will be one witness our man was armed. His assailant of course.”
“Well then,” replied Thurston while pondering the facts. “That means we have two reasons to find his assailant. The first would be to bring Winston-Hall’s killer to justice. The second would be to eliminate any witnesses to this operation. We must make haste in preparing our plan to apprehend this man.”
Sergeant Wilson gave the major a look of slight concern. “May I say one thing with all due respect Major Thurston? We currently face a charged political situation in Dublin and throughout the country. The Common Man Movement has grown by thousands in support from even a few weeks ago.
“So if we apprehend this man do we not risk calling even greater attention to the rally at Wheatstone Fields? People have become hardened to death in Ireland, with all the misery from famine and disease. One unidentified corpse will draw no ire. Now if reporters wax on about the scale of audience and Malloy’s brilliant oratory, they will gain a major advantage indeed.”
Thurston spat back in contained rage. “Do you suggest we declare open season on all officers serving the British Security Force in Ireland? We are the ultimate protecting power in this land, continuing to uphold order at all costs. That includes crushing any oppositio
n to the stated order of things. We can never allow rabble to rouse and rise; less they build a foundation to challenge our authority in opposition. Do you understand?”
Sergeant Wilson backed away from his supposition. “I was merely pointing out the complexities of the situation. Of course we will handle this matter with due haste. It is only us who know this man’s true identity, so it would hardly declare open season on our ranks!”
Major Thurston acknowledged Wilson’s compliance, changing to a more conciliatory tone. “I fully appreciate what we are up against sergeant. Now let’s not waste any more time arguing against each other. The enemy is out there, and we need to stop him. What information do we have at the moment about our assailant?”
“We have nothing at the moment,” Wilson replied. “The only chance we have to learn more is if these local police gain any further knowledge from interrogations. With your access we shall hear their results before evening. Though I do have another idea to present if I may Major Thurston?”
“Go ahead Seargent Wilson, let’s hear it.”
“Surely with thousands of people about there must have been someone who witnessed a man using a firearm? Malloy’s speech had concluded, so most of this crowd’s attention was away from the podium.
“I’m willing to bet that human nature will not fail us. If the police interrogations bear no fruit, we shall appeal to more base instinct. Let us offer money to seek out those reluctant to aid our efforts otherwise. Surely that will not hurt our chances! Only then will we have exhausted every avenue available.”
Major Thurston held no objection. “Seargent, I’m glad you know this is not an organization which lets petty moralities block real progress! Every minute this murderer goes free mocks all we stand for, sullying the memory of our fellow officer. Take Murray and go to Wheatstone Fields at once. Here is hoping one potential witness can still be found.”
Officer Murray and Seargent Wilson sprinted from the office. Immediately Major Thurston prepared to visit the local police. Soon he would have to answer very powerful interests concerning the events at Wheatstone Fields. Before then he would muster all his resources to find a breakthrough.
When Thurston entered Metropolitan Police quarters it was alive with activity. Besides the usual flavor of arrests and inquiries, he could sense a note of further urgency. Major Thurston strode towards the admittance desk.
“Good day to you,” he sung out. “I am Major Thurston, wishing to see the man in charge of interrogations at Wheatstone Fields.”
“Nasty business isn’t it sir,” replied the duty man. “He is very busy, though for you I am sure some time can be spared. He is down the hall, second door on your left.”
Thurston nodded in appreciation and proceeded to the office. He knocked to gain entrance.
“Please come in,” said a preoccupied voice inside.
Thurston entered with a cherry smile pasted on his face. “Good afternoon Montague. Looks like you’ve been busy with the mess up at Wheatstone Fields today. Have you had any progress so far?”
Montague looked up from the scattered papers littered on his desk. “Well, I was not expecting to be graced with your presence today. Just a little curious to know why a routine murder has caught the attention of our Security Force. It is hardly front page news these days…Hold on a second, do you think that rally is connected to the killing?”
“Our mutual cooperation is cherished at headquarters. I’ve come merely to offer any assistance in your efforts. Look upon it as a gesture of goodwill, though I am sure you have plenty of leads to follow at this juncture.”
Montague’s face turned a touch bothered. “Unfortunately that is not the case. My men have been conducting mass interrogations for the last couple of hours. Would you believe they have found not one witness to the shooting?
“I know the police are hardly a prized ally of these people, though we do not even know who that poor man is! No suspect, no identity and no witnesses. Sounds like our men have reached an impasse so far.”
Montague’s comments continued Thurston’s frustrations. At most he could hold off informing his London contact another few hours. Barring a significant turn of fate, he would have even more pressing decisions to make.
“Look here, no reason for you to fret already. Your men are a solid unit with good knowledge of the local crowd. Results should soon appear at your desk. In any event, if our assistance is required, please be in touch. And if any clues need a second set of eyes to examine, you know where we are. Good day Montague.”
Major Thurston returned to his quarters with one last hand to play. Officer Murray and Seargent Wilson had been central to this sorry mess in his view. Their only chance to right this wrong would be to find the required information. No other options existed for exoneration from their supreme dereliction of duty.
Watching precious seconds tick away on the face of his cherished gold pocket watch, he could feel a clenching pain around his chest. Perhaps overbearing stress would find him in the grave before his London overseer’s judgment of culpability?
Plausible doubt began to play with frayed reason even further. Was he making a monumental error by placing his trust in those two men?
Suddenly the unthinkable flashed before his conscious. Two hours still left ample time for a head start to the Continent. Besides a lifelong mark for desertion under improper conduct, he would at least be alive for the rest of his days. Otherwise, his watch would continue to count time towards a possible final sentence.
Major Thurston decided to hedge his odds. He began to gather important documents needed to aid a quick departure. Sensitive papers were collected in another pile to be destroyed later. Thurston determined another forty five minutes was all he could afford before committing the ultimate betrayal.
Sweated palms stained the edges of routine reports he scrutinized to pass away time. Then, glancing towards his pocket watch, he spied fifteen minutes before his hand was forced. Returning to the briefs he was reading, Thurston soon became aware of heavy footfall approaching his office. Anxious hopes for his men’s return rushed his racing heart ever more.
Just outside his door the brisk walking came to a halt. Loud rapping immediately broke the temporary silence. Major Thurston replied hastily.
“Yes, yes, come right in,” he managed to blurt out in reply.
Seargent Wilson marched straight towards Thurston’s desk with Officer Murray at his heels. He had never been so excited to see the pair.
“Well men, it has been a while. I can only anticipate your time was spent productively.”
Seargent Wilson answered. “Major, when Murray and I approached Wheatstone Fields the authorities were already making their leave. Officer Murray quickly identified himself and asked if any developments had been gleaned. Noting their brisk manner we could anticipate the answer. They were angry with the complete lack of cooperation and decided to call it a day.”
Thurston glanced at the two piles he made in front of himself. “Fair enough, though I would like to hear more from the local Metropolitan Police quarters. Talk to each person involved in the interrogations. They may have persons of interest to follow up on later.”
“Major Thurston, don’t you want to hear what happened to us?” queried a perplexed Officer Murray.
Thurston prepared to receive the final disappointment in a horrific day. “Certainly Officer Murray. Please continue.”
“After the police left we began noticing quite a number of people still milling about. Much gossiping and secreted exchanges were taking place throughout the area. Seargent Wilson and I, not being in formal attire like the police, decided we may have a better chance chatting with these people.
“Instead of bearing down on the crowd like they had, we pretended to be just regular lads curious about goings on. For the longest while we heard nothing except how wonderful Duncan Malloy was and how his movement wou
ld change things for common folk.”
“Then it happened,” interrupted a smiling Wilson. “Thinking our time may be better spent conducting a more thorough search of the shooting site, we prepared to leave. At that very instant a man walks straight up to us. He looked very excited and kept looking over his shoulder.”
Major Thurston’s ears pricked up. “Go on then Wilson. What was he all about?”
“Let me begin by saying it would not be a stretch to see why the police would miss interrogating this man. He was, how can I say? He looked to be of a transient nature. I was a tad alarmed when he came our way, bearing the appearance of a wild vagrant. Both Murray and I prepared to fend off any request for alms.
“To our complete astonishment, he claimed to notice us milling about for information on the shooting! Said he noticed from the moment we set foot on Wheatstone Fields. Furthermore, had we been police we would not have made his acquaintance. The man said it was the callous indifference of this wretched administration which allowed his former good standing to transform into a life of beggary.”
“Time is wasting sergeant,” interjected an impatient Thurston. “We have little more before my London contact demands a report on our progress!”
Wilson promptly abbreviated the chain of events. “Our vagrant said he possessed knowledge no one else could possibly have. Why? He lived in a makeshift spot close to a remote location on Wheatstone Field. And if we wanted to hear more, it would cost us. Of course we met his demand and learned some great information.
“The vagrant knew nothing about the victim or why he was in that area. He rose from his makeshift plot immediately upon hearing what he took for a gunshot. With all the noise that afternoon he was fortunate to hear it.
“The beggar then claimed to have glimpsed the oddest two things of his life. Before he would tell us, a dirty open palm stretched towards me for more money. Again I obliged.
“That was when the clouds of mystery started to part. He told us in a brief instant of looking towards the cause of this sound he caught sight of a trembling, frightened man. The beggar watched him quickly lower an arm which held what appeared to be a small firearm. The vagrant emphasized he could not be too sure, though it looked to be a weapon.”
The Watchman's Grace Page 41