‘You’d have to talk to John about that. Sometimes he plays his cards close to his chest, even with me.’ She tried to keep her voice light, to make it all seem ordinary, as if she knew nothing.
‘I hope he finds his murderer.’
‘I’m sure he will.’
Another ten minutes of idle talk. She steered the subject back to Seattle and saw how his eyes lit up as he talked about the mountains and the water near his home.
‘You know, I promised myself, when I make police captain, I’d buy a house right down on the shore. Then I’ll be able to sit on the porch every night and listen to the waves.’
‘It sounds like heaven.’
‘You could come and visit.’
Lottie smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s a lovely thought. But I can’t see myself going all the way to Seattle for a holiday.’
The farthest she’d ever been was to Torquay for a week in 1936. That had seemed a real distance; America was the ends of the earth.
‘Never say never.’ He shrugged. ‘Del Vecchio was back at HQ this afternoon.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve never seen him so mad. He had two of the girls in tears.’
‘Why?’
‘No idea.’ He chuckled. ‘John hasn’t been after him again, has he?’
If he was trying to be subtle, it wasn’t working. ‘Not this time.’
‘I guess I’ll find out sooner or later.’ He smiled and stood. ‘Or maybe I won’t. I’d better get going.’
At the door he kissed her lightly on the cheek. A kiss of friendship. She listened to the snick of the catch on the front gate, then the sound of the Jeep’s engine as he disappeared down the road.
In the kitchen she washed the cups, wondering. Later, settled in bed, she was still thinking.
McMillan was dressed in his sober court suit, dark grey, with a maroon tie.
‘Johnson’s up before the magistrate this morning,’ he explained. ‘We’ll get him into Armley. The case is serious enough to warrant a crown court hearing. It’ll give us time to question him properly.’
‘What’s he told you?’
‘Not enough. He’s tough.’ Absently, he rubbed his knuckles; they were scraped and grazed.
‘Anything about Hilliard?’
‘He did admit that Hilliard had stayed for a few nights. Then he went out and never came back. The next thing Johnson knew was the story in the papers.’
‘Do you think that’s the truth?’
‘I don’t know.’ The frustration was right there in his eyes. ‘I’m not even sure what the truth is any more.’
‘Do the Americans know we have him?’
‘I haven’t said a word.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Why?’
‘I had a visitor last night.’
By the time she finished the tale he was pacing around the office.
‘Did it seem like he was fishing?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She’d spent hours thinking about it, awake until two, going over every single word Ellison said, examining it for meaning. ‘It did. He was trying to be casual with his questions.’
‘What he said about del Vecchio is interesting.’
‘If it’s true.’
McMillan dipped his head in acknowledgement. If. He glanced at the clock on the wall.
‘I need to go. Keep thinking about it.’
She heard him stamping up the stairs. Standing in her doorway, he had a face like thunder.
‘You’re positive you never said a word to Ellison about Johnson?’
‘Of course I am.’ Lottie started to rise from her chair. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘The bloody Yanks turned up mob-handed. A bunch of army lawyers. They’re claiming jurisdiction because he’s one of theirs. Brought boxes of paperwork to back it all up. They must have had their clerks working all night.’
‘But how—?’
‘I don’t know. What’s worse is the bloody magistrate let them take him. Some guff about co-operation and precedent.’ He slammed his fist against the door jamb. ‘You should have seen Johnson’s face when the Yank MPs led him out. Smirking to beat the band.’
‘What now?’ she asked.
‘There isn’t anything.’ His voice rose. ‘The Americans just took him. That’s it. All done.’ He started towards his own office. ‘Get Ellison on the phone, will you? I want to see him as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Captain Ellison’s out.’ The American voice at the other end of the line was polite but firm.
‘When will he be back?’
‘No idea, ma’am. Do you want to leave a message for him?’
He’d be more likely to ring back if he thought it was something personal.
‘Yes please, if you don’t mind. Can you tell him Mrs Armstrong would like to speak to him?’
‘I’ll see the Captain gets this when he comes in, ma’am.’
Lottie replaced the receiver gently. ‘He’s out,’ she told McMillan. ‘I left a message asking him to ring me.’
‘We could just go out there.’ He was prowling restlessly, still fuelled by all the anger inside.
‘What good will that do?’ she asked. ‘We can’t just barge our way through to his office and see if he’s around.’
McMillan pursed his lips, took another Four Square from the packet and lit it. ‘What are we supposed to do, then? Sit here and twiddle our thumbs and hope he deigns to pick up the phone? How in God’s name did they even know we had Johnson? Why would they care that much about a deserter? Something’s going on.’
‘And you think it’s connected to Hilliard?’
‘I’m bloody certain it is.’
She went through the list once more, all the items they’d found at Johnson’s hideaway. McMillan had been right about one thing: taking this off the street would put a real crimp in the black market in Leeds. These weren’t small backstreet bargains or whispers in the pub. The sheer amount and variety of items meant it was carefully organised. It was a business, and someone was making very good money off it. Someone who was powerful enough to know what was happening and to pull plenty of strings.
There were two possibilities. And either one could fit the bill.
The harsh ring of the phone pulled her out of her thoughts.
‘WAPC Armstrong.’
‘You left a message for me to call you.’ He sounded worried. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ Hearing his voice, she wanted to believe he was a good man. But wanting was one thing; reality was another. And she didn’t know which was the truth.
‘Good.’ She heard him chuckle. ‘You know, it took me a minute to figure out who Mrs Armstrong was.’
‘I think you know why I wanted to speak to you,’ Lottie said. It needed to come into the open; better now than later.
He was silent, long enough for her to hear the faint crackles of the line.
‘Yeah.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘For now. Can you meet me in an hour?’
‘All right,’ she agreed.
‘Just you. Please.’
‘No,’ Lottie told him.
He sighed. ‘OK.’
‘Ellison rang me back.’
‘Really?’ He couldn’t hide his astonishment.
‘We’re meeting in an hour.’
‘Who’s “we”?’
‘The three of us,’ Lottie said.
McMillan nodded his approval. ‘Where?’
‘I suggested by Thwaite’s mill in Hunslet. It’s quiet there, out of the way.’
‘It has to be him or del Vecchio,’ McMillan said quietly. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
They arrived early, the Humber bumping down the unpaved lane and over a bridge built for horses and carts, not cars and lorries. She could see people moving around between the buildings of the mill, hefting sacks or standing and talking.
‘I don�
�t even know what they make out here,’ Lottie said.
‘Putty,’ he answered. ‘Plenty of need for it, all those windows broken by German bombs.’
She parked with two wheels on the grass, looking out over the canal. To the other side, the River Aire crashed over a small weir to turn a pair of water wheels. 1944 and they were still using water power for machines.
For some reason the song popped into her mind again. Imagination. Dancing to it on Sunday, smelling him so close, feeling his arms around her.
It was history now. The past.
McMillan sat and smoked. Lottie looked at the time. Five minutes to one. Without thinking she wound her watch, then sat back with a sigh. They didn’t try to talk – what was there to say?
Maybe in a few minutes they’d learn what was happening. Or perhaps they’d hear another pack of lies. How would they even know if he told them the truth? Maybe Ellison had made up all the parts of his life he’d told her. But even as she thought it, Lottie knew he’d been honest about Seattle. That was obvious from his face.
She heard a sound and looked in the mirror. A Jeep was approaching, the white stencilled star of the US Army on the bonnet.
‘I think it’s time.’
HIS brown shoes hardly seemed to make a sound as the three of them walked to stand beside the canal. Although the water hardly seemed to move, the surface smooth and even, Lottie could feel the cold and the wind blowing along the valley. She pulled up the collar of her greatcoat and glanced at Ellison.
‘Jimmy Johnson,’ McMillan began.
‘I knew about him.’ His voice was hoarse and dry.
‘I see.’
‘I was under orders not to do anything.’ He stared at the ground, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. ‘He wasn’t my man,’ he said, as if that explained it all.
‘Were you under orders not to do anything about the stolen guns, too?’
‘Not orders,’ he said. ‘Pressure. Until one was used for murder.’
‘Whose orders? Who applied the pressure?’
Ellison gave a long, sad sigh. ‘People at the top. Plenty of them are making money off the black market.’
‘Who?’ McMillan pressed.
‘One-star generals. Majors.’ He paused for a fraction of a second. ‘Colonels.’
‘You mean del Vecchio?’ Lottie asked.
He turned to face her. ‘Yes. He’s the one who organised it all.’
The sharp scratch of a match and she smelled tobacco as McMillan lit a cigarette.
‘But you went along with everything,’ he said.
‘I didn’t have a choice. Not when they outrank me. What would you do?’
McMillan ignored the question. ‘Hilliard? Who killed him?’
‘I don’t know. Not for sure, anyway,’ he added. ‘But I’d guess it was del Vecchio.’
‘How much do you really know?’ Lottie asked. When he didn’t answer, she repeated, ‘How much, Cliff?’
‘Not a lot. I tried to keep my distance.’
‘Tried to ignore it?’ There was acid in the chief super’s voice.
‘If that’s what you want to think.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I was a good cop in Seattle. I enjoyed it. I like keeping order. But this is different. When the people who are giving you orders every day are the bad guys, what can you do?’
‘Hobson’s choice,’ McMillan said.
‘Yeah. A rock and a hard place.’ He turned towards Lottie. ‘Just because I’m a captain doesn’t mean I have any power. I’d been told to keep my nose out of things.’
‘Told?’ she asked.
‘Told.’
‘I want del Vecchio,’ McMillan said. ‘I want to question him properly, down at the station.’
Ellison shook his head. ‘It won’t happen. They won’t allow it. The people right at the top, I mean. He really is a spy and he’s good. We’ll all be heading over to France pretty soon; they need him. The way I hear it, he already has a network in place over there. It doesn’t matter how greedy he is, they’re not going to sacrifice him.’
‘So he walks away from everything? Scot free?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Last night…’ Lottie began. Ellison looked at her, confused.
‘What about it?’
‘You were asking me what we’d been doing.’
‘I was making conversation. You know why I came over.’
‘I thought I did.’
‘Look, the first I heard about Johnson being arrested was this morning. The colonel had guys working all night.’
She wanted to believe him. It should have made her feel better to know he wasn’t behind it all. Yet somehow it seemed to make no difference at all. Truth, lies; they were all a tangle. A pair of swans glided by, regal and aloof, not even noticing the people.
‘So he’ll go home richer and not a stain on his character?’ McMillan asked.
‘Just like the general and the major.’
‘Couldn’t you report them?’ Lottie asked.
‘Who to? They’re my senior officers. Even if I found someone who’d listen, it’s my word against theirs. I’m the one with the lowest rank.’ He shrugged. ‘Who do you think people are going to believe?’
‘Then what do we do now?’ McMillan wondered. He took a last drag from his cigarette and tossed it into the canal.
‘We all walk away,’ Ellison told him. ‘I know,’ he continued before the super could object. ‘It’s not right. But your murderer’s dead. You’ve broken up their little ring. They won’t be starting another one here – we won’t be around long enough. Isn’t that something?’
‘No. It’s not enough. I still have too many questions.’
‘Then you’d better ask them while you have the chance.’
They all turned. He was ten yards away, hands pushed into the pockets of his greatcoat. None of them had heard him approach.
Lottie’s mouth felt dry. She stared at del Vecchio, seeing the arrogant smile on his lips, the mole dark on his cheek. He was cocky, he was the winner. Nothing could touch him.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘How did you know we’d be here?’ she asked. She was the one who’d chosen the place.
‘Your boyfriend needs to check his mirror when he’s driving.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought you were better than that, Captain.’
‘Hilliard,’ McMillan said. Over at the mill an engine started with a grinding of gears, then a deep, repetitive thrum like a muffled drumbeat.
‘I met him at Johnson’s place. He was small-time.’ He made the man sound like nothing. ‘But he knew Leeds, I figured I could use him here and there.’
‘And Pamela Dixon?’ Lottie asked. Hers was the death that didn’t make any sense at all.
‘The lady speaks.’ He gave her a small, mocking bow and she had the urge to slap his face. ‘I met her in a pub. She’d come up here with her boyfriend, they had a row and she stormed out.’
‘Shire Oak Road?’ she continued.
‘I told you, I’d been looking at it as a billet. We went up there, fooled around a bit and had a couple of drinks. She passed out. Johnson’s place was pretty close. Hilliard was there. He said he’d see she got back to her hotel.’ For a short moment his voice became fragile. ‘I didn’t know he was planning to kill her. Or the others.’
‘And how easy was it to kill him, Colonel?’ McMillan said.
‘Simple enough.’ He shrugged. ‘He was a murderer. You’d have caught him sooner or later.’
‘And you didn’t want to risk the house of cards falling down?’
She caught a movement from the corner of her eye. A blur. By the time she focused, McMillan had the Webley in his hand, pointing at del Vecchio.
‘I’m arresting you for the murder of George Hilliard. You’ve admitted it in front of witnesses.’
The Colonel didn’t move. His expression didn’t even change.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not. You’ve had your explanation. Now th
e party’s over and your case is closed. It’s time to go. Do you understand, Chief Superintendent?’
McMillan pulled back the hammer. The sharp click seemed very loud.
‘Don’t,’ del Vecchio said. His voice was still calm, no sign of fear in his eyes. ‘No arrests. Nothing.’
‘Put your hands out for the cuffs.’ The gun was steady in his hand.
For a second the men stared at each other. Then, very slowly, the colonel started to bring his hands from his coat pockets. She couldn’t believe it. Was he giving up?
The shot exploded. It made her ears ring. Beside her, McMillan seemed to fall in slow motion. The revolver tumbled out of his hand.
She was screaming, already on her knees beside him when the second bullet came.
BLACK for the funeral. Skirt, coat, hat, shoes. She sat near the back of the church. Sarah McMillan was in the front pew, with her daughter in her Wrens uniform, a son in Air Force blue on the other side. Other friends and relatives scattered around. And policemen, dozens of them. All ranks, from bobbies to brass. The Chief Constable, his voice grave, gave the eulogy.
Lottie didn’t listen. She didn’t need to. She’d known the man.
CID officers from across Leeds made up the pall bearers. Andrews, Smith, some faces she didn’t recognise took the weight and carried the coffin. The others filed out. Sarah spotted her, a glance and a nod from under the black veil.
She sat after they’d all gone, gave them time to leave for Lawnswood cemetery. This had been enough; she didn’t want to be there for the burial.
He must have died instantly, she learned later; that was what the post-mortem report said. The bullet had pierced his heart.
But she stayed on her knees next to the canal, cradling his head, trying to talk to him through her tears, to keep him here, willing him to stay alive.
‘You’re not going to die on me now, John McMillan. What will Sarah say?’
Someone from the mill must have rung for an ambulance. She could hear the bell, then a man’s hands were pulling her gently away.
‘We’ll take care of him now, love.’
Lottie daren’t look away as they put him on the stretcher. If she did, he might die.
A different hand on her shoulder. This one smelt of cordite.
The Year of the Gun Page 24