It Begins in Betrayal

by Whishaw, Iona;

  “SERGEANT FRIPPS. HELLO. Ames here.”

  “Hello to you! How are things in Canada?” asked Fripps. Things were slow in Whitcombe.

  “Surprising. I think you’ll be surprised by what I’m about to tell you. Agatha Browning is alive.”

  Fripps was surprised. Gratifyingly so. “Come again? Then who is your body?”

  “I hope you’re sitting. It’s Mary Browning.”

  Fripps whistled. “No wonder she hasn’t come back. How do you know?”

  “Agatha Browning told me.”

  “Well, how did you people get the wrong end of the stick?”

  “Good question. Fair question. The thing is, the only Browning people here have known is Agatha, and she and her sister, while similar looking as younger women, were difficult to tell apart as they grew older. Agatha had been planning to go back and settle in Mary’s place over there, but realized, I think, that people would know immediately she was not Mary. Mary was pretty battered up, and no one thought for a minute that it wasn’t Agatha. In fact she’d lived here for over thirty years, and no one knew much about her. I found her back at the cabin, revisiting the scene, as it were. But she really had nowhere else to go, and I think it was just beginning to sink in that she was going to have to turn herself in.”

  “But what happened?”

  “She hasn’t told me everything yet. She was tired and hungry from hiding out, but she did say it was really a bit of an accident. We’ve taken an initial statement, but I’m giving her a couple of days to rest and eat a bit before I make her go through the whole thing. I did pick up that Mary turned up because she read in the paper that Agatha had been left a small fortune by someone. That’s how she discovered her sister wasn’t dead. Of course, Agatha was engaged in a war of sorts with a local mill and had taken to throwing all her official looking mail into the stove, so she never knew she was being left money. Knowing her she wouldn’t have wanted it anyway. Quite the pioneer.”

  “Poor old Mary! I don’t suppose there’d be many as would mourn for her except Tilly. I wonder what will happen to that big house? By all rights it should belong to the surviving daughter, unless she’s found guilty of having murdered its owner. You know, it occurs to me that I’ve not really asked Tilly for everything she knows. She might know a bit more about why Mary went out there in the first place. Would this help you?”

  “It would actually, thank you. I’ll keep you abreast of developments here. Kind of a sad end, really.”

  “It surely is,” agreed Fripps. “I’d better get on to poor Tilly right away.”

  “Three minutes are up,” said the operator.

  “Blast! Mum says hi!”

  “Say hi back!” Ames said. He hung up the phone, thinking about Mary finding out her sister, long thought dead, was alive, and making the decision to go in search of her. In that moment, Ames had a realization about himself. More than catching the perpetrator, more than stopping crime, more even than the adventure he expected when he had first thought of becoming a policeman, it was the what and the why. You could think of crime as being the sordid failure of people without imagination, or you could see that it was rooted in lives. It was these stories that interested him. God, he thought. I’m getting more and more like Darling.

  SIMS HAD LEFT, and Watson and Anthony sat at their kitchen table. It was nearing dinnertime, but neither had the desire to prepare dinner or even suggest an outing to the pub.

  “He seemed okay,” said Watson, speculatively.

  “I’m not sure how much that means,” Anthony replied. “I can see me on the witness stand now, telling them that I remembered that it was actually Jones that killed Evans, and being derided for that, and then being asked why I changed my story. It’s the crucial bit. It’s what everything hangs on. I’d be about to tell the world that the British government had forced me to lie by threatening to reveal that I am a homosexual. There’s not one single thing about that statement that isn’t a problem. Not one. No one will buy that the British government would blackmail someone, and I’d be exposed forever. Even if this policeman didn’t pursue us, it would be splashed across the papers, and I’d lose my job and be arrested by some other good citizen policeman looking to impress his superiors.”

  “We don’t really know that.”

  “You’re so bloody naïve, Adam!” Anthony said angrily. “What do you think is going to happen? We’re going to get the Boy Scout medal of honour? Are you forgetting that Salford possibly died over this?”

  “We don’t know that. It was a suicide. That’s what they said. Look, I know you only flew with Darling the one time. But I was a part of his crew. He was loyal to us. For God’s sake, he saved us that day! I can’t let him down, Nev, I can’t. I keep thinking that the worst thing that can happen to me is I’ll lose my job and get some time in jail, but he could be hanged. Hanged, Neville! On a lie! A man like him! It’s just not right.”

  “It’s not up to you, though, is it? It’s not just you that has to get up there and be destroyed in a public court. I’m going out.” Neville Anthony got up and pulled his blazer off the back of his chair, put his right arm into the sleeve, and then stopped. Watson was sitting in front of him, a picture of utter misery. Neville was running away from what was right, and he knew it. He took his coat off and went around to kiss the top of Watson’s head, and then resumed his seat. He folded his hands together on the table in front of him and took a deep breath.

  “Of course I’ll do it. Of course I will. I’m just frightened,” he said in a whisper.

  THE NEXT MORNING Watson and Anthony were ushered into Higgins’s office, and now sat like bookends, Higgins thought, with their hats on their laps. “Gentlemen,” he said.

  “I’ve decided I will speak up if I’m put on the stand,” said Anthony. “We’ve come to tell you.”

  Higgins sighed. He could have used this the day before. “Very good of you, of course. Top hole. But I’ve been instructed by my client that you are not to testify.”

  “What do you mean? Then how is he to be protected?” asked Watson.

  “As I told you the last time we spoke, we will go for creating doubt. I will probably put Darling on the stand to tell us what happened. He’s very personable. He’s bound to win a few over. Sims is no longer convinced of his guilt. I believe he can be induced to say that much at least on the stand. I’m not sure what the government will throw back, but it might be enough.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m willing to tell the truth. I don’t know how you can stop me.” Having screwed up his courage, Anthony was now furious at being opposed.

  “Very easily, I’m afraid, Mr. Anthony. By simply not calling you as a witness. Darling is right, in any case. I doubt it would do his case any good if the government lawyers were able to tear you to pieces on the stand. Your way of life, your truthfulness, your hidden motives, or whatever else they would like to suggest would all become fodder for them. I’m very much afraid that your disintegration would blow back onto my client. I think it is best that we keep it simple, don’t you?”

  THE DIRECTOR PUT down the phone. It was done. She was across and delivered to the Russian side, to a hard-boiled longtime operative called Viktor Aptekar. Dunn did not doubt that her loyalty to Darling and to her word would keep her on track. She was to offer herself as a disgruntled British citizen who wanted to spy on behalf of the Soviets. Feeling a deep and undignified thrill of satisfaction at Darling’s defeat in the matter of Lane, the director reluctantly began to think about whether he ought to honour his promise to get Darling out of prison and out of the country. He’d have to come up with a way to smooth the whole business away, of course, but he had no real interest in seeing Darling hang. He wasn’t an absolute savage, after all. It was likely that his initial idea, which was to provide a scapegoat should any of the business get out, was perhaps no longer necessary. The party who had seen his operative in Paris was dead, bit of providence there, to be sure, and the others were frightened enough that th
ey would not talk. Anyway, he had what he wanted. He was lighting a self-congratulatory pipe when there was a knock at his door.

  “Come!”

  The secretary put his head around the door and said, “Someone to see you, sir, from the Yard.”

  Now what? “All right, all right. Send him in.”

  Inspector Sims came in and stood before the director’s desk.

  “Who are you?” asked the director, putting his pipe in the ashtray.

  “Inspector Sims, sir. From the basement. I don’t imagine you get down there much.”

  Suspecting a touch of hostility, the director said, “What do you want?”

  “I understand you are the puppetmaster, so I came to tell you that as the investigating officer, I find there is only a very weak case to made against Flight Lieutenant Darling, and I shall be recommending such to the judge.”

  “Who the devil let you in here?” the director said angrily. He was not used to being readily available, or thwarted.

  Inspector Sims winked and could not resist the cliché of touching the side of his nose. “Oh, you aren’t the only one that knows people, sir. Or things, for that matter. I’ve come as a courtesy, really. I find that you, or someone here, blackmailed a British citizen into lying, which is inadmissible in court. We’ll just leave it at that, shall we? I shouldn’t think of going any further with this. You already have one body that I’m not, if I’m honest, one hundred percent convinced is a suicide. I shouldn’t recommend you tally up any more. Well then. I’ll wish you good day. I’ll show myself out.” Ha, Sims thought as he put on his hat. They won’t be dragging me away from the Yard to slave in the basement of the War Office anytime soon!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  RELIEVED THAT THERE WOULD BE no need to travel to Potsdam, Lane settled into the hotel room she had been provided by, she presumed, Aptekar. It suited his old world, continental style. How a hotel with this level of luxury had survived the war, she had no idea. Perhaps it had been quickly refurbished to meet the needs of high-level party apparatchiks, who would no doubt scorn the more practical lodgings of ordinary people.

  She had drawn a hot bath, ostensibly to prepare for the dinner Aptekar was taking her to in the hotel dining room, but in her heart she knew she wanted to wash away all the stink of what she was doing, all the memory of being undercover. It was not for her, and she rebelled at the idea that her intelligence, grasp of languages, and wartime experience only fitted her out for this sordid, underhanded life.

  In the bath, she closed her eyes and became aware of a persistent ache in her heart: for King’s Cove, for the clean, fresh air of an honest life, for Darling. What had become of him? She didn’t know that she trusted Angus Dunn to do what he promised. Her whole relationship with him had been founded on lies. When she was young, he had skillfully engaged her deepest feelings and woven his dishonesty so thoroughly through them that she had not seen through him at all. She sat up, her eyes open. She had handed Dunn another means of hurting her. He knew that she loved Darling.

  Wrapped in the bathrobe the hotel provided, she sat in the dark and looked into the street below, where the street lighting was intermittent and few cars were going by. Hardly any people were walking there, as if citizens knew it was best to be indoors after dark. In London, the end of the war sent people back out into the streets at night—undaunted by the continued shortages, stepping cheerfully over the wreckage to go to restaurants and the-atres. Here she could only feel a pall of dark caution. She must put her mind to saving herself, praying that Dunn had honoured his promise. And if he had not? Could she learn anything from Aptekar, who was clearly bent on sweeping her into his orbit by indulging her, on the basis, he had said, of his great regard for her father? She didn’t know what the conditions were for real, everyday people engaged in espionage, but she was certain it would not involve the luxury she was being shown now. Would he indulge her questions as well? She would have to try. Everything depended on it.

  JONES SAT IN the café, a glass of schnapps in front of him. He wasn’t inclined to self-reflection, but he was inclined to self-protection, and he needed to think carefully through his next moves. His East German handler had been angry about the business in England. Chief among his complaints was not so much that he’d killed the bloody fellow, but that he’d jeopardized his ability to move about England freely. The Paris incident was bad enough, but it couldn’t be helped. That sort of thing can happen, he’d said. He’d been dismissed angrily like a child told to go to his room. Jones fumed about this now. After all he’d done, all the risks he’d taken.

  He drank the fiery liquid without watering it down and banged his glass on the table to get another. Revenge seemed futile. He could not expose his keepers without exposing himself. The director in London at least had not suspected him. When they met in the tenth arrondissement, Dunn believed Jones had been in Paris the whole time. The director had been angry about his being recognized and warned him off any precipitate action, but Jones could not take the risk. He knew those men. They were as thick as thieves. And now that blasted woman. He was certain when he tailed her that she’d lead him to the others, but she’d given him the slip. Well, she didn’t know Berlin like he did. Then he’d go back and mop up in London. He had been certain that Salford would be telling someone in no time. And he’d been right. He’d found the letter on Salford’s desk. He’d go after Anthony, but for the first time in his memory, Jones was feeling a touch of fear. He knew that if his attempts to tidy up were discovered, he’d alienate the director as well and be finished as an East German asset. He’d have to be careful. He sat looking morosely out at the street. The problem with the letter, he knew, was that it was clear from the wording that Salford had written an earlier one as well. Well, that didn’t matter. They’d arrested the man it was written to for murder, thank you, good Herr director. Jones mentally saluted.

  Maybe it was time to get out. He would change his name and move into the house in Leipzig he’d inherited from his mother. She, at least, had not lived to see her country and her husband’s go to war a second time. His drink came and he nodded at the waiter. Who was he fooling? He’d go mad. Best swallow the drink, the humiliation, and get back to work. He was good at it. He’d go back to Paris. He liked Paris. He felt safe there. But first the loose ends. He put some coins on the table and touched his hat toward the bar.

  “Good night,” said the barman.

  Jones didn’t see the movement in the kitchen as he was leaving.

  AGATHA BROWNING SAT very still, watching as Ames wrote things down.

  “Can you explain to me exactly how your sister came to die?” he asked.

  “I didn’t mean to kill her. We got into a violent argument. She seemed shocked that I didn’t know Lucy had died and began shouting and knocking things about and then came after me. Accused me of living off her money. I would never have guessed she had that sort of rage in her. But of course, I don’t know what’s happened to her over the last forty years. I honestly thought if I got out, disappeared, everything would go back to the way it should be. I was shocked to learn I was being left money. I could not understand why he wouldn’t leave all his money to his widow and children. Of course I would have said no immediately. But I burned the lawyer’s letter and forgot about it until Mary turned up at my door.”

  Ames scribbled something and then said, “Can you just take me through what happened. She came after you, how?”

  “She seemed to want to throttle me. We ended up by the sink, and she must have grabbed a knife. I was really frightened now, and I ran outside and wanted to hide in the privy. But she was right there behind me. I managed to wrestle the knife out of her hand, and she sort of lunged at me and I struck out. I honestly didn’t think I’d hurt her badly, but I was sort of in shock. I dropped the knife, and she started through the garden and up the hill. I collapsed for a moment, and I think it all came to me at once. Lucy dead of a suicide, my father of a broken heart. I felt bereft. I know they�
�d been dead all these years, but for me it was fresh. I felt such anger at Mary, that she’d let it happen. I still do, if I’m truthful. Anger at myself too. I caused it all in the first place. I ran after her. She was standing in the trees, exhausted I suppose, and I came up behind her and shoved. It wasn’t till then that I realized what I’d done. I went back and got the knife and threw it into the lake.” Agatha stopped and looked at her hands. “I think it was the most dishonourable thing I’ve ever done. Even stealing my sister’s man, I might excuse as youthful passion, but I felt certain I’d expiated it by leaving them all behind forever. But throwing that knife into the lake. Trying to cover up what I’d done. That was when I felt shame. You cannot know me, Constable Ames, but I have always been forthright. Unfortunately ruled by passion, yes, but not dishonest.”

  Ames put his pencil down and rubbed his eyes. O’Brien had been sitting with his arms crossed behind the prisoner, and from time to time had shaken his head in wonder. “Be that as it may, Miss Browning,” Ames said. “Laws are meant to keep people from acting on passions. I am formally charging you with the murder of Mary Browning. If you are unable to afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you.” He nodded at O’Brien, who got up to escort Agatha Browning back to her cell.

  “Oh, by the way, how did the cabin get into such a mess?” He wasn’t sure at this point that it was relevant, but he thought Darling might ask it, and he was curious about it himself.

  Agatha paused at the door and then looked back at him. “Me flying into a passion again, I’m afraid—this time against myself. I wanted to destroy everything I had. I wanted to run away again, like I had all those years ago. It took me only a little time to realize I’d destroyed everything I had the minute I left my home to meet that man in London.”