Season of Darkness

by Maureen Jennings

  “No. Any ideas?”

  “None. I wish I did.”

  “By the way, Miss Hancocks, I believe you own the Riley that’s in the barn?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She was gazing at him and she seemed tense and wary.

  “You were with your mother in Bath and returned to the hostel shortly before nine tonight?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Which route did you take?”

  That question caused a stiffening of her body. “I came straight down the canal road. It’s better surfaced than some of the others.”

  “Take you about two hours, did it?”

  “Yes, about that.”

  “Good for you. Last time I did that drive, it was in daylight. I would have thought driving in the blackout would take twice as long.”

  She stubbed out her cigarette.

  “Are you stringing me a line, Miss Hancocks?”

  She opened her case and removed a fresh cigarette but didn’t light it. “I apologize, Inspector. I was being slightly devious. In fact, I left Bath at about eleven in the morning. I stopped off at Shrewsbury. Frankly, I seized the opportunity to do some shopping and have a good meal.”

  “That’s not such a sin. Why’d you lie about it?”

  “I didn’t want to upset Miss Stillwell. She’s big on loyalty and hard work. If she knew I could have been back earlier, she would be disappointed in me. Please don’t tell her.”

  “I had no intention of doing that, Miss Hancocks. Well, I’ll wish you good night. Try to get some sleep. And if you do need to reach me, you can ring at any time.”

  “Thank you.”

  At the door, he paused. “What did you buy in Shrewsbury?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You said you did some shopping.”

  “Not quite. I said I was going to do some shopping but I didn’t find anything I liked. The shops are quite bare these days.”

  Tyler nodded, and closed the door behind him.

  23.

  The rendezvous was to be used only in cases of utter necessity and he’d received the sign requesting a meeting tonight, usual time, early hours when it was the safest. He’d gone to sleep right after lights out, knowing he was always able to wake himself at the appointed time. Tonight, however, he woke well before two. The men in his tent were restless, the usual relentless cacophony of snuffles, grunts and snores. Their straw palliasses were covered with canvas which creaked when they moved. The sound reminded him of the sailing ship he worked on as a boy when the sails stirred and snapped in the wind. A ship is never silent, and sometimes the tent felt the same way. He’d loved those few years, the toughness of it, the comradeship, the rare peace he’d found when he was on the night watch, the boat moving like a live creature under his hands. If he allowed himself such a feeling, he would have said he was lonely now, an alien in more ways than these mumbling, dreaming fools knew.

  He lay on his back, his hands folded across his chest, as he tried to ascertain from the level of breathing if the other men were all asleep. He heard somebody moving outside, the sound of the tent flap as the man returned to his bed. He held his watch close to his eyes, the moonlight sufficient for him to read the time. He had to wait another twenty minutes. He heard a faint distant barking, not a dog, more likely a fox.

  His overseer was not much given to poetics, but shortly before he was to leave, he’d said, “Think of yourself as a fox. You must operate by cunning and stealth. You must be as ruthless and …” here he’d actually chuckled “… you must have teeth that are just as sharp.”

  He sat up, waited to make sure he’d disturbed nobody, then slipped out of bed. He picked up a black fedora. He didn’t need it; the nights were still warm. However, sometimes it was better to be slightly conspicuous if afterward you wanted to be inconspicuous. As expected, he saw the faint glow of a cigarette as the guard walked the perimeter of the camp, his fag cupped in his hand. He paused, timing his move so that the soldier would be at the farthest northern side, then he walked swiftly and confidently, simply another man in a hurry to get to the latrine. Sensibly, the authorities had situated the row of latrines in the southeast corner of the camp where the prevailing Welsh wind would blow the odours away from the tents. The rear wall was a mere inches from the barbed wire, underneath a stand of trees, the idea being that the shade would also keep the place from getting too noisome. The outer design was reminiscent of an English park, the entrance by way of a canvas-covered walk; discreet, private. Ah, the foolish English. A fence post stood a couple of feet from the latrine and the wire was fastened to one of its walls. It had been so simple to loosen the screws. The gap between the fence and the wall was just wide enough for him to slip through. The adjacent copse was still lush and thick with summer growth and provided a perfect cover.

  First, he made sure there was nobody inside any of the stalls, and then, waiting for a cloud to cross the moon, he slipped out. The guard would complete his circuit in about ten minutes but he would never notice the wire was not secure at the latrine. He smiled to himself. He could stay out until dawn if he wanted to.

  The rendezvous spot was close by, and for once, his contact was waiting. They didn’t greet each other; words had to be as few as possible.

  “Get down,” he ordered, and crouched low on the soft moss. In order to hear each other, their heads were as close together as if they were lovers; for him, unpleasantly intimate. A sour smell came from the other man. The stink of fear.

  “Well?”

  “A girl saw me. She saw what I was doing. I had to silence her. There was no other way. I couldn’t take a chance.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  He listened to the story, forcing himself to be patient.

  “You did the right thing. Did you hide the body?”

  “Temporarily.”

  “Hmm. We need to do better than that. Is there somewhere you can put her that will, shall we say, mislead the police?”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Think. Can you tie it to the death of the other girl?”

  “Maybe. No, I can. I’ll think of something.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ve got to get away. The police are combing the woods.”

  “Where do you intend to go?”

  “Fuck that. You know bloody well where I’m going. And I want more money.”

  “Very well. But it will take a while to get it.”

  “Sooner the better.”

  The other man sounded less frightened now, more belligerent. His usefulness would soon be over.

  “You must be careful. Don’t do anything to get yourself noticed. I have no desire to be hanged and I’m sure you don’t either.”

  Initially, he’d regretted accepting this particular task. He considered himself a man of action. A warrior. But he was ripe pickings when the others had approached him. He was still seething at being virtually cast out in spite of his protestations that his old wound didn’t impede him. But the others flattered and soothed him. His excellent English was such an asset; the job required a man of intelligence and subtlety, as well as the mindset of a soldier. However, time seemed to pass slowly and he fretted at the inaction. He’d done everything that was required of him, including working with this useless piece of English shit. Worse, in spite of the assurances he’d been given as to the value of the information he was after, sometimes it seemed as if it would merely add one more small piece of flotsam to one more useless pile.

  “Be patient. When you must strike, do so quickly and ruthlessly.”

  These were the words that kept him going.

  24.

  FOR THE SECOND MORNING IN A ROW, TYLER WAS awakened by somebody shaking his shoulder.

  “The warden from the hostel rang. She wants you to ring her back right away.” It was Vera.

  “What time is it?”

  “Half past six.”

  He swung his legs out of bed. He’d been so
tired when he went to bed he’d slept soundly, no dreams to torment him. His head was clear, his stomach quiescent, for which he was most grateful.

  “Damn. I should be up. I thought I’d set the alarm for six.”

  “I turned it off. You know how I hate the bloody thing. It sends my nerves through the ceiling.”

  Vera was in her dressing gown, her hair in the inevitable curlers.

  She went over to the dressing table. She was still a good-looking woman, but time had worn away at the lush beauty he’d first found attractive. She was pinched where she had been full. Even though Tyler knew he’d been on the rebound from Clare, at first he thought he and Vera might be happy together. She was caring, accommodating, and for one or two years, they had lived in the glow of youth and sex. It didn’t last, though; couldn’t really. She knew he wouldn’t have married her if he hadn’t put her in the family way, and that knowledge lay buried deep in her heart like a sliver beneath the skin. Invisible but constantly festering. He wished he could have given her the love she wanted, but had long ago lost even the desire to try.

  He sighed. Vera glanced over at him sharply.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just work. Why don’t you catch a few more winks?”

  He tried to put some civility into his voice, but Vera must have picked up on his thoughts or seen them in his eyes because her voice became hurried.

  “Now I’m up, I may as well stay up. Dad asked me to come over and help add up ration coupons. He likes to do it before he opens.” Her dark hair was sitting in sausages all over her head and she started to brush them out. Thick and wavy, her hair was one of her best features. It was still dark; she plucked out the grey strands immediately.

  He took his dressing gown off the hook on the door. “I’d better get on to that phone call. God knows, it would be nice if it was good news, but somehow I doubt it.”

  Vera began applying her makeup.

  “You look nice, Vee.”

  “Good Grief! A compliment. I wonder what I did to deserve that?” She wet her finger and smoothed her eyebrows. “Celia Clark was at the Institute last night. She told us about that Land Army girl getting herself killed.”

  “Yes, I was going to tell you myself.”

  “I should hope so. Some of the women think it’s a Jerry on the loose. Somebody escaped from that alien camp. Is it?”

  “We haven’t found the culprit yet, but it’s not likely it’s anyone from the camp. They’re all behind barbed wire.”

  “That’s what I said to her. It’s somebody closer to home if you ask me. I saw that girl around town and she was clearly no better than she should be. If you ask me, she probably got what was coming to her.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t ask you, Vera. This girl didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

  “Well, pardon me for breathing.”

  This was Vera at her worst, lips a straight line, the lipstick a slash of crimson.

  She went over to the wardrobe for her clothes, and Tyler headed downstairs.

  I’m going to leave her, he thought. I can’t stand this, I’m going to leave her. As soon as this case is finished, I’m moving out.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had these thoughts, but it was the first time he’d felt such resolve. He’d been tied to Vera for years; guilt, responsibility, shame, all of them obdurate as forged steel. But now Clare had walked back into his life and he remembered what love was like. It was so utterly unfair to Vera to live with a man whose heart belonged to another woman. And always had. It was strange, but as he voiced these feelings to himself, the anger abruptly left him. It was going to be hard telling the kids, but he suspected they wouldn’t be surprised. He’d start looking for a place to live as soon as he could.

  He put the kettle on for his tea and cut off a couple of jagged pieces of bread. While the water was boiling, he walked into the hall and picked up the telephone. Mavis answered.

  “Number please?”

  “Hello, Mavis, it’s Tom. Will you connect me to the dower house? I want to speak to Miss Stillwell.”

  “Oo, Tom, I’ve heard about that poor soul who died. One of them Land Army girls, I hear. I hope you catch the killer soon. We none of us women feel safe now. I had to have our Charlie come and get me last night.”

  “Good. I want you to tell all the women you know to be careful. This is most likely an isolated incident but you never know. If anybody sees anybody acting suspiciously, tell them to get in touch with me right away.”

  Mavis sniffed. “These days you can see somebody acting suspiciously on every corner. They’re ARP men … Carol Haycroft says she heard that the dead girl were mixed up with some of the enemy aliens. She weren’t a spy, were she?”

  “My God, Mavis. I can’t believe how rumours get around. No, of course she wasn’t a spy.”

  “Just wondering. It’s my skin I have to protect.… That other girl sounded right urgent last night when she called. Put the chills into me.”

  “What other girl?”

  “One of the Land Army girls. She were ringing from the hostel. She wanted to speak to you. I put a call through to the station but nobody answered. I offered to take a message but she said she’d call again.”

  “What time did this happen?”

  “About a quarter to seven. I was getting ready to leave.”

  “Did she give her name?”

  “Rose Watson or something like that.”

  “Watkins?”

  “That’s it. Rose Watkins. She said as how she wanted to speak to you, and to say it was important.”

  “And that’s it? No mention of what it was about?”

  “Not at all. I already told you what she said and what I said. That’s it.”

  “Damn it, Mavis, you should have insisted on taking down a message. Why didn’t you try me at home?”

  She snorted. “I’m not a mind reader, Tom. If she had wanted to leave a message with me she could have, but she didn’t, so there. And as for ringing you at home, she was off the line in a flash.”

  “All right, all right. I’m sorry.”

  “And so you should be.”

  The kettle began its shrill whistle from the kitchen. “Mavis, kettle’s boiling. Ring me right back when you get Miss Stillwell for me.”

  He replaced his receiver and went into the kitchen to silence the kettle. Dear God, he hoped the delay in talking to Rose wasn’t going to turn out to be a crucial one. Something important. When he had talked to her in the library, he’d had the feeling she was withholding something, something to do with Elsie. Why hadn’t she called him back? Had something made her change her mind? Or was it worse than that?

  The phone rang. He hurried to answer it.

  “Inspector?” Miss Stillwell’s voice was tight. “I do apologize for the early hour, but Rose Watkins has not returned. I was anxious to know if you had any news.”

  “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

  “First Elsie, now Rose missing. What is happening?”

  “I thought it might be worth pursuing her connection to the Catholic churches in the area. I understand that she attended Mass in Whitchurch.”

  “Yes. Yes, she did. As soon as she arrived here, she sought out a church she could go to … but …” The warden’s voice became animated. “Usually, all the girls who are going to church pool together. I’ve given them permission to use the lorry. Sometimes, they bicycle but most of them are wearing their Sunday best and don’t want to get their clothes dirty. But Inspector –”

  “What is it, Miss Stillwell?”

  “I just realized that I saw Rose once or twice walking out of the gate on Sunday mornings. She wasn’t going in the direction of Whitchurch.”

  “Where would she be going?”

  “I believe she was going over the camp at Prees Heath.”

  “The camp?”

  “I’m sure of it. I have a friend who is Roman Catholic, and she told
me recently that she has been attending the service at the camp. They aren’t all Jewish there; a small group of them are Christian. She said that the priest regularly says Mass twice a day, and in the past month, outsiders have been allowed to attend. It is easier for Mrs. Dwyer to go to Prees Heath than to go to St. Paul’s in Whitchurch. She quite likes it, she says. In spite of being German, the priest is very friendly. In fact, Inspector, I’d wager that when Violet saw Rose last night, that’s where she was going.”

  The information didn’t explain why Rose hadn’t returned, but it was something.

  “I have to go to the camp today. I’ll make enquiries.”

  He heard Miss Stillwell clearing her throat and he wondered if she was crying.

  “I’ve let the girls have a little sleep-in this morning. I don’t know whether to send them off to work. There’s such a lot to do at this time of year, but with this troubling turn of events about Elsie Bates, I don’t know if they would be better staying home. What do you think, Inspector?”

  “Unless they are dead set against it, I recommend they continue as usual,” said Tyler. “Take their minds off everything. I promise I will contact you immediately if any news comes in.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.”

  “Try not to worry, Miss Stillwell.”

  Empty words. He had a bad feeling about the whole situation. Rose Watkins was no wild child, no rebel. If she could have, he was sure she would have let the warden know where she was.

  They hung up and he headed back to the kitchen.

  Miss Stillwell rang again a few minutes later. Her voice was shaking.

  “Inspector, I’m afraid I have quite dreadful news. I just received a call from Mr. Watkins, Rose’s father. Apparently, there was a terrible accident on the street involving two fighter planes. They collided with each other and one dropped onto the house. Their house is quite destroyed and Rose’s mother has been injured. He wanted me to give the news to Rose and he wants her to get leave and return to London.” The warden’s voice cracked. “Inspector, I did not know what to say to him. I’m afraid I was a coward. I simply said Rose was not available just now, but I would have her get in touch as soon as I could. Was that the right thing to do?”