She recognized him now, although at the time he’d seemed not to understand English. The internees had been kinder to her peace pledge proclamation notice than the people in Whitchurch. Quite a few had joined, including this man.
She remembered now, his name was Hoeniger. He was still wearing his black seminarian’s garb and a large gold cross hung around his neck.
Her mind was racing, trying to assess the situation the way she might have if she’d been called out to deal with a dangerous dog or wild animal. She made herself speak calmly and not show any fear. Inside she was screaming, every fibre of her being protesting at what he’d done to Jimmy, to her dogs. Surprisingly, what was uppermost in her mind was not the need for survival but the desire not to be defeated by this killer. That desire was a core of steel in her spine.
“You will leave the door open, won’t you, Mrs. Thorne? If you don’t, I shall immediately shoot your dog. It would be a pity. And he’s such a handsome fellow. Aren’t you boy?” He clicked his tongue at Skip, who, accustomed to friendly visitors, wagged his tail.
Hoeniger watched her as she reached for the ointment. She brought it back to the table and set it down.
“Take the lid off if you please. Good, thank you.”
“How did you get burned?”
“That isn’t important.” He grinned; for a moment she saw how attractive he might have been. He tapped the briefcase. “What is important is that finally, finally, I have completed my task. It was, frankly, a long wait, but I presume the result will be very satisfactory.”
He stuck his fingers in the ointment and daubed it over his right hand, and then switched the gun and did the same for his left and his face.
“Ah. That is nice. Much better.”
“May I ask what you are planning to do?” said Alice, matching her tone of voice to his. They could have been talking about taking a walk into town.
“I’m going to wait an hour or so until it is completely light, then we are going to go on a journey. You will drive. Not the goat cart, if you don’t mind. We’ll take your car. We will bring the dog. We will look so wholesome and innocent nobody will question us. The sweet old woman, the clergyman, the pet dog. You will do exactly what I say or I shall kill Skip. Well, you know that already, I don’t have to repeat it. I have a contact across the border whom I will seek out. He will help me to get to Ireland and Bob’s your uncle. I shall be free and clear.”
The car hadn’t been functional for several weeks but Alice didn’t think it was prudent to mention that right now.
“There will be a search party out for you when they find you are missing.”
“I hope not yet. I have covered my tracks quite well, I believe. They don’t know who they are looking for.” He shrugged. “Even if they do, they don’t know in what direction I have gone. I’d say I have several hours’ start and that is plenty of time. The border is less than two hours away.”
“But we all have to show our identity cards these days.”
“I have a passport. I will be travelling as Father Conal Malone. With you at my side, nobody will be suspicious, especially if you vouch for me, which you will. For Skip’s sake.”
She wanted to shout at him, as if she were a child confronting a bully. You think you’re so tough. Well you’re not. You’re a coward threatening those who are weaker than you, shooting dogs who would have licked your hand if you’d given them a chance. But she didn’t say any of these things. There was something about this man that was beyond anything she had experienced before. He had a plan but she knew that he could easily abandon it if he needed to, if she proved difficult. There was no softness anywhere in his being that she could sense. He would as easily kill her as he would wipe out a fly that had irritated him. He would let her live as long as she was useful to him.
Suddenly, he yawned. “I could do with some brandy or something like that. What have you got?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Are you sure? I thought I saw some bottles in your little pantry there.”
“That’s wine. Homemade raspberry wine.”
“That’ll do. Bring me the bottle.”
“You probably won’t like it. I didn’t have quite enough sugar. It’s a little on the bitter side.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care about that. Does it have alcohol in it?”
“Yes. Quite a lot.”
“Bring it then.”
She returned to the pantry and opened the lower cupboard where she kept the medicines she used on the dogs and animals. She took out a bottle. She’d labelled it but she’d been in a hurry or perhaps the Goddess was looking out for her because the label wasn’t secure on the bottle. It was hanging half off. As she reached for it, she turned her body so that for one brief, all-important moment, she obscured what she was doing from Hoeniger and was able to rip off the label. Casually, she closed the pantry door behind her.
She put the bottle in front of him.
“Mrs. Thorne, you aren’t being a very good hostess. Pour me a glass if you please. No, wait. I don’t want to drink alone, make that two glasses.”
She fetched two glasses from the cabinet and poured out the wine. Her hand was shaking slightly but she was unconcerned. He would expect that.
He reached for his, then paused. “Here am I speaking of manners. You should drink first.” A smile was on his lips. “You are a witch after all. I don’t want any shenanigans at this stage.” He raised his glass and waited until she had picked up hers.
“Prosit.”
Alice took a sip of the wine. She made a face. She couldn’t help it. It was all she could do not to spit it out. “It certainly needs more sugar,” she said.
She took another sip, making it seem more than it was.
“Good,” he said, and with one quick gulp, he downed his drink.
She knew she had seconds in which to act and she did.
As the antimony hit his throat, he retched involuntarily, spewing out the liquid across the table. But the corrosive impact was so severe that he clutched at his neck, letting go of the gun. Alice snatched it up and with two rapid shots, fired at first his right knee, then the left, shattering the bones to fragments. He fell off the chair and onto the floor, screaming. She ran to the kitchen, stuck her fingers down her own throat, and vomited, gasping in pain as the poison scalded her. Skip barked frantically.
Hoeniger writhed on the ground, struggling to get away from his own agony. The gold cross that was around his neck bounced on his chest.
Later, recounting what had happened, Alice found it almost hard to remember. Time seemed both interminable and moving with enormous rapidity. She offered the German sweetened tepid water to purge the poison. At first he had refused, too suspicious of her. She had drunk a large glass herself to show him and he finally took what she offered. He also accepted a cloth she’d brought him that she’d soaked with chloroform. He’d wanted to fight that too, but the pain in his shattered legs was too severe, and when she slid it across the floor toward him, he placed it across his face and forced himself to breath deeply. Only when she could see he had slipped into unconsciousness did she dare to come close to him so she could tend to his injuries as best she could. She knew he must have medical attention soon but she couldn’t move him herself.
She went outside to where Jimmy had fallen. Her hands were shaking violently and there was a fierce pain in her stomach both from the poison she had swallowed and her own grief. On impulse she went to the garden and picked some white poppies.
“May you rest in peace, dear tormented soul.”
She placed the flowers on Jimmy’s chest the way he’d placed white poppies on Elsie Bates’s body.
The two dogs were lying close to each other near the edge of the clearing. She touched them gently and closed their eyes. She didn’t have the energy to bury them now but she would later. She felt as if she were on the verge of collapse.
There was a spot, a hollow in the ground with bricks aroun
d it where she often lit fires. She piled up the dry wood and lit it, then gathered some grass, wet it down, and piled it on top of the flames, producing a dense smoke.
She sat down, leaning against the wire rabbit fence. She prayed to the Goddess of the Earth that somebody would see it.
Tyler dropped the tarpaulin back over Bader’s body. Dawn was creeping in over the heath.
“I shall always remember the pleasure we both took in our chess,” said Beck sadly. Suddenly he pointed to the northern strip of wood where a thick column of smoke was curling above the trees. “What’s that?”
“Alice Thorne’s cottage is over in that direction.” Even as Tyler spoke, he was running toward the gate.
62.
HOENIGER WAS IN VERY BAD SHAPE, AND FOR A FEW days it seemed possible he might die. With Grey’s help, Tyler pieced together his story. Given the chaos of the times, it had been easy for him to impersonate a seminarian and get himself interned. Relying on the thorough training in theology that he’d received in a Jesuit school in Cologne, Hoeniger had attached himself to Father Glatz, who hadn’t questioned where he’d come from.
Murnaghan saw the scars underneath his arms where he’d burned off the tattoos which identified him as an SS officer. Grey said he had been recruited by Heydrich, away from Himmler’s army. He had the scar from an earlier bullet wound in his calf, which might explain his availability. The complete story had yet to come out. The antimony had burned him so badly he couldn’t speak at all; maybe wouldn’t be able to again above a whisper.
The entire investigation into the deaths of Elsie and Rose was taken over by Don Kinsey of B division. Tyler knew Grey had talked to him and revealed MI5’S knowledge of a person spying and transmitting to the Germans. When Arthur Trimble’s body was discovered in the woods, Kinsey was sure he was the traitor. He had been working for the German, Hoeniger, who had killed him when he had outlived his usefulness. The murders of the two young women were two more crimes to be laid at his doorstop. Trimble’s Ford and the lorry were taken off to Birmingham to be examined. They found blood spots in the Ford’s boot and stains in the back of the lorry where he’d transported Rose’s body to the barn. The technician even found a trace of fibre on the fender of the lorry that matched Elsie’s dungarees. The question of how Trimble got the Luger was puzzling, but Kinsey was happy to leave that as a minor quibble. The white poppies, he made no attempt to explain. Criminals acted outside the pale, as far as he was concerned. With the entire Shropshire constabulary breathing down his neck, Lambeth finally admitted that Trimble was at his shop on Thursday morning. Kinsey concluded Trimble was travelling down the Heath Road and had knocked Elsie off her bike. Whether on purpose or accidentally, they would never know. Regardless, according to the Inspector, Trimble had then shot Elsie to silence her. He had strangled Rose when she accidentally discovered him using the transmitter.
Tyler accepted that Trimble had killed Rose, but he had serious doubts about Elsie.
He both wanted and feared to know the truth.
Shortly before Jimmy’s funeral, Grey requested a consultation with Tyler. He told him that the incriminating photographs had been retrieved from Hoeniger’s briefcase. They had not been destroyed. He had taken them from Father Glatz’s cupboard and replaced them with something else, which had burned. Ironically, the laboratory determined the replacement was most likely a bible. Grey said the photographs were on their way to Heydrich, who, he said with a chuckle, would undoubtedly enjoy them.
When he spoke of Clare, Grey was surprisingly sympathetic. He informed Tyler that Mrs. Devereau would be returning to Switzerland immediately. She was still in the employ of MI5 and would be keeping an eye on her husband and his dealings with the Nazis. Amelie and the Lalonde family were going with her, where they would be safe, for the duration of the war.
“I’m glad we got the matter of the dead girls all sorted. Mrs. Devereau continues to be very valuable to us,” said Grey. There was no mistaking his meaning. The case was closed.
63.
JIMMY TYLER WAS BURIED IN THE GRAVEYARD OF THE ancient church that had served the town for centuries. Most of Whitchurch turned out for the service. Major Fordham came with Dr. Beck. The murdered men at the camp had been given their own memorial, but Tyler asked the minister to include a special prayer for them, Jewish and Catholic. Miss Stillwell sat next to Lady Somerville, both dressed in black crepe. By contrast, the remaining Land Army girls were young and fresh in their best uniforms, green skirts and matching felt hats. Tyler would have given anything to have seen Elsie and Rose with them.
At Grey’s instigation, the local paper had published a general account of what had happened, emphasizing that Jimmy Tyler, while defending Alice Thorne, had been shot by a German spy. Her own act of bravery was related in detail. Tyler was glad to see how this immediately changed her status in the community. At Vera’s request, she joined them in the pew.
Percy Somerville, on his return, had asked if he could read the lesson and say a few words, and Tom agreed.
“James Tyler was a soldier who gave his life to save Mrs. Thorne, as many of our young men have already given their lives to save their country and the people they love. I’m sure you will understand, therefore, if I give him a soldier’s send off.” Percy placed a piece of paper on the podium. His hand was trembling but his voice was steady. “This is a poem you are all familiar with. It was written during the war to end all wars, but it speaks to all soldiers everywhere. I shall read the second verse.”
They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not wither them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Vera was on one side of Tyler and Janet on the other, both clinging to his hands. He held on tightly.
At the conclusion of the service, they filed out after the coffin. Grey and Clare were seated at the back of the church. Tyler kept his eyes straight ahead as he went past.
64.
TYLER TOOK A LEAVE OF ABSENCE FROM THE STATION and spent the dwindling days of summer with both Vera and his daughter. They needed him.
Finally, he went to see Alice Thorne. She had been persuaded to stay in town for the next month or two and she had taken a room with the rector and his wife, a pleasant old couple who tried to live like Christians in deed as well as word. Alice said they were all surprisingly compatible considering she called herself a pagan.
She and Tyler were sitting in the rectory garden in the cool afternoon of the dying summer, drinking a sweet fruit wine that the rector’s wife made. Skip lay beside them, bored, watching the birds, hoping for a rabbit or two to hop by to liven things up.
Tyler fidgeted with the unpalatable drink. “Alice, the investigation is all wrapped up as far as the police are concerned, but the story has one hell of a big hole in it. I don’t believe that Arthur Trimble killed Elsie Bates.” He put the wine down. “I accept that he was driving his lorry and knocked her over, but she was not dead then, she was paralyzed. Somebody else shot her. That wasn’t Trimble, was it, Alice?”
She looked at him and almost imperceptibly shook her head.
“It was Jimmy, wasn’t it? My son was the one who shot Elsie Bates.”
Alice didn’t answer immediately. She looked dreadfully frail; the events of the summer had added years to her age.
“Please answer me. I can’t live with this doubt for the rest of my life.”
She hesitated. “If I tell you what happened, I will do so only to give you some peace, Tom. I see absolutely no reason for anybody else to know.”
“They won’t, believe me.”
“Very well. This is what Jimmy confided in me that night.” She stroked the dog’s head for comfort. “Jimmy and Elsie had had a liaison in the old Fort. He had hardly known her more than two weeks but he was quite besotted, and for a brief period of time she made him very happy.” She glanced at Tyler, who wasn’t looking at her
. He understood that kind of feeling for a woman. “They were together that night, but in the early morning she left before he did. She was driving the Land Army lorry and had intended to go straight to the hostel to pick up the other girls. They’d a bit of a tiff earlier and Jimmy decided to pick some white poppies, intending to give them to her as a peace offering. He was on foot. He came across her broken body lying at the side of the road. Her bicycle was nearby and he assumed she had fallen off. There are big pot holes on that road. It was dark … she was alive and conscious but severely injured. She was paralyzed. However, she was still able to speak. When she saw Jimmy she begged him to, as she put it, finish her off.” Alice paused to get her breath. “She had stolen a German Luger, you see, from one of the girls at the hostel and given it to him that night as a gift, a souvenir. He was carrying it with him.” Again Alice stopped, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. “He repeated her words to me several times. ‘What future is there for me, Jimmy? I know what’s happened to me. I can’t move my arms or my legs. I know what this is. I’ll never be able to dance again even if I do survive. I don’t want that kind of life. I want you to shoot me. Quickly. Like you would a horse with a broken leg or a dog. Don’t let me stay like this. Please Jimmy, if you ever loved me, do it. Give us a kiss and do it.’
“So he did. Jimmy shot her, then he moved her to the pass-by and laid her out, ‘like a soldier,’ against the hedge. And placed the gun beside her and then put the poppies on her chest.”
“Why didn’t he wait and let nature decide?” Tyler interrupted, his voice harsh with grief. “He could have fetched a doctor.”
“He was convinced he was doing the right thing … I’ll have to tell you about that another time. It is not a decision that everybody would make, but Jimmy had already seen too much suffering, too many mortal injuries. He knew that Elsie was dying. That there was no hope. I can understand him. I have put animals out of their misery on several occasions.”
Season of Darkness Page 34