The Colonel banged his fist on the table as a servant entered and said politely, ‘Telephone call for Commander Ross, please.’
‘Confound them! Can’t they let you off the hook for a second?’
Villiers made to stand as the girl, dressed now, entered by the other door. She waved him down, and he saw that she was quite pale, almost ashen.
At that moment Ross came back, and stared unseeing at the table. ‘That was the Provost Marshal. A woman’s body was found an hour ago in a ditch on the main Trincomalee road.’ He raised his head, knowing she was there, that she had heard. It was where she would have been driving.
The Colonel exclaimed, ‘Why did they call you?’
Ross looked at his hands, but they were quite still, even relaxed. Then he said, ‘It was Second Officer Clarke. She was murdered.’
7
Monsoon
CAPTAIN RALPH PRYCE moved restlessly about his office and snapped, ‘I’m away for just a few days, and then I come back to all this!’ He waved vaguely at the window. ‘And now the bloody rain!’
Ross waited by the desk, half listening to the concentrated roar on the iron roof, the memory of the night before last still stark in his mind. The cars in the road; the field ambulance, its red crosses like blood in the headlights; the various lamps carried by the military policemen. He had heard her sharp breathing as she had braked the car, and a redcap had loomed out of the shadows.
He had said, ‘Wait here. Charles, look after her.’ Unemotional, cold, although even that was a lie.
The major in charge of the MPs had said curtly, ‘Sorry to drag you out. I thought it best to keep it in the family.’ They had met once before; he had a neat, impassive face with a small moustache. A policeman’s face – the uniform was irrelevant.
The major said, ‘Not a very pretty sight, sir, I’m afraid.’
The woman had been lying half on her side, one arm outthrust, frozen in the attitude of death. Her body was all but naked, and the torn articles of clothing scattered around in the darkness were being examined and noted by some of the military policemen.
More lights had been switched on and Ross had stooped to brush two ants from her bare shoulder. Her skin had been like ice; it had not seemed possible on such a humid night. He had heard himself ask, ‘Can she be moved now?’
‘Of course. I’ll have her covered up. I suppose I’ve got hardened to this sort of thing.’
‘It’s not that.’ Ross knelt and looked at the body. So still, and yet he could see her as she had been that same day, offering to drive them to the Mackenzie estate. There was a bruise and a scratch below her right breast. He put his arm around her and raised her slightly towards him. Around him all movement had stopped, and he could feel the redcaps watching him.
The major said, ‘There’s a lot of blood. Just the one wound, though. We’ll know more when we get her to the M.O.’
Someone lowered a lamp and Ross had leaned over the dead girl’s shoulder, seeing the shadow of her spine, and then the wound: narrow, but the thrust so savage that the skin was torn and bruised around it. Like a kind of madness, in his mind he could hear the instructor’s voice, laconic, bored even, as he had repeated the lesson for their benefit. ‘Thumb on the blade and stab upwards, gentlemen. Otherwise the blade will glance off the ribs and most likely end up in your own leg.’
The major said, ‘You’ve seen this sort of thing before, then?’
Ross lowered her with great care and brushed some hair from her unblinking eyes. ‘I’ve done it, if that’s what you mean.’ So callous, as if he had wanted to shock them, make them realize what it was all about.
He had heard a car door slam and Villiers shouting, ‘No! Victoria, come back!’ She had burst through the scrub and had almost fallen as she saw the nude body on the ground.
Then she had seized the outflung hand and crouched down beside her, stroking her, speaking to her in a small voice until one of the redcaps had brought a groundsheet to cover the body.
There had been a few heavy drops of rain on the trees, and then in seconds had come the downpour. The monsoon. It had not stopped since.
Pryce had returned, fuming at the plane’s delayed flight, and further enraged when he found out what had happened. For a while it had seemed he was more angry at the intrusion of the Provost Marshal’s men than the girl’s brutal murder.
It appeared that the meetings in Bombay had not been as smooth or as full of praise as Pryce had expected.
‘They seem to think that Europe and its eventual invasion by the Allies is all that counts. I told them, here, here is the vital role. If we fail against the Japanese, we can say goodbye to the Far East and India for good!’
Now as he watched the rain with barely concealed hatred, as if it were some sort of personal attack, he snapped, ‘Send for Petty Officer Mackenzie. I want my special file and intelligence pack.’ His eyebrows went up. ‘Well?’
Ross said, ‘I sent her home, sir. I thought she had gone through enough.’
‘I see. I suppose under the circumstances . . . And I did leave you in charge.’ It sounded like an accusation. ‘Glad you managed to see the Colonel, though. Useful chap, if he wants to be.’
There was a tap at the door.
‘Come!’
She entered the room and shut the door. ‘I thought you might want the Intelligence file and signals log, sir.’
Ross stared at her, trim and neat in her white uniform, her black hair shining; he remembered the rain smashing down on the M.P.s and bouncing off the groundsheet and the dead girl’s bare feet. Victoria could have been naked herself as the drenching rain had battered her shirt around her body. She had seemed heedless, unaware of it; even her tears had been concealed by the downpour.
‘Pick her up, please! Don’t leave her lying there!’
Villiers had appeared with a rag or a blanket from the car and had wrapped it round her shoulders. She had not even noticed.
Ross had told Villiers to take her back to the estate, saying, ‘I’ll deal with things here.’
She had stared at him with haunted eyes. ‘She so wanted to drive with you. If she had, she would still be alive. Poor Jane!’
Ross had said, ‘Explain to the Colonel, Charles. I’ll call on him again when I can.’ Only then had he held her, her body soaking against his, his words almost lost in the roar of the rain.
‘Go with Charles, please, Victoria. I didn’t want you to see any of this.’
She had not moved. ‘You knew. You were afraid for me, weren’t you?’
He still was not sure. Second sight, fate; both or neither. But it was not the first time.
She was looking at him now. It was hard to believe she was the same girl.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I came back. I thought I might be needed, now that Second Officer . . .’ She did not finish it. Then she said to Pryce, ‘Major Guest is about to leave, sir. He would like to see you before he goes.’
Pryce snorted, ‘Bloody policemen. Oh well, I suppose so.’
Like the girl, the military policeman looked smart and alert, with creases on his khaki drill which seemed impervious to the rain.
Pryce waved him to a chair. The major glanced at the girl and asked, ‘Feeling better?’ He did not wait for or expect an answer. ‘Good, that’s the ticket.’ To Pryce he said, ‘My sergeant has some of her effects. I expect your people will require them. Identity card, purse and some loose change, that sort of thing.’ He placed a gold wrist-watch on the desk. The clasp was broken. ‘Underneath her body. Not a robbery attempt.’
Pryce said to Victoria, ‘You can go, if you wish.’
She did not move. ‘I’d like to stay, sir.’
The major shrugged. ‘The car she had been driving was untouched. Her body was on a –’ he glanced at a notebook, ‘tartan blanket. It would seem that the murderer was known to her. Perhaps she had stopped to offer him a lift, or maybe they met by arrangement. This rain has destroyed any hopes of getting tyre-prints.’
Ross thought of the glaring headlights and military police jeeps, the many stamping boots around the body. There would have been no clues left in any case, after that.
Pryce hesitated; he seemed uncomfortable with the girl present.
The major said, ‘The M.O. carried out an examination, of course, and the Army is sending a senior man from Colombo when the weather eases.’ He closed his notebook with a snap. ‘It was probably an attempted rape, but she put up a good fight and . . .’ He glanced sharply at Ross. ‘The other night you said something about the wound. You said, I’ve done it, if that’s what you mean.’ He held up the notebook. ‘I wrote it down. See it if you like. I thought you were upset, that it might have been a sort of bravado to cover it. Nobody would blame you.’
Ross could feel her watching him. ‘It was the wound. It was something we were taught. I had to use the technique myself. That’s what I meant.’
Guest said, ‘Could you show me?’ He glanced at the girl. ‘Would you mind?’
Ross said angrily, ‘She’s been through enough, damn it!’
Pryce remained silent.
She took three paces and faced him; her eyes were very steady, like her mother’s in the Colonel’s portrait. Almond-shaped, with fine black lashes.
She said, ‘Please. If it would help. I’m not afraid.’ It seemed to exclude the others, as if they were completely alone.
Ross said quietly, ‘Stand with your back to me.’ He looked at the major and Pryce over the girl’s head, could feel her tension, like that night in the rain.
He forced himself to speak slowly. ‘Left arm over the shoulder and round the front of the body.’ He held her firmly, turning her slightly, his wrist beneath her right breast. She touched his hand, and for a moment he hoped she had changed her mind. But she held his wrist quite calmly, impersonally, and raised it so that he could feel her breast through her shirt.
She said, ‘There was a bruise and a scratch. I saw them.’
The major did not blink. ‘That is so.’
She was looking down at Ross’s hand. She said softly, ‘Where your watch is, sir.’
Ross looked away. ‘Yes. By turning the person slightly, like this, you can use a knife.’ Thumb on the blade, sir. Like the German frogman, the same hold even though they had been sinking together in the fjord’s icy water, as the knife had driven deep and the bubbles around them had changed from pink to scarlet. He thought of the dead girl as she had been in this same office two days ago. Lying down, it would be the same. Up through the ribs, a thrust so savage that it would pierce the heart with one blow.
He said, ‘A watch could have made those marks.’
The major opened his notebook but shut it again. ‘Any ideas on the weapon?’ His casual manner did not conceal his professional interest.
‘Narrow blade.’
The major interrupted briefly. ‘Double-edged, the M.O. suggested.’
Ross lowered his hand, but she remained with her back to him as if she were under a spell. ‘A commando dagger, or something like it.’
The major stood up. ‘I’ll go and round up my chaps. It wasn’t too difficult to check on your people’s whereabouts. All accounted for.’
Pryce said indignantly, ‘I should bloody well hope so! This is supposed to be a top-security establishment!’
The major was unmoved. ‘Second Officer Clarke was out of the place, and on her own. She had obtained permission to stand down from her duties, although no security reason was asked for or given!’
‘I’ll soon change that, believe me!’
The major said, ‘Won’t help Miss Clarke much, will it?’
The door closed very quietly behind him and Pryce said, ‘What the hell must she have been thinking of ? Now I’ll have to try and get a replacement. But, until I do – Victoria, can you cover her duties?’
She said without expression, ‘Yes, sir.’
Pryce tapped a sheaf of paper on the desk and laid it down very carefully.
‘Staff Officer Intelligence is coming in this afternoon. Lunch first, of course.’ He glanced at Ross. ‘The chance of another operation, all being well. Some people seem to think we’re all asleep here most of the time!’
They looked round as the door opened and the major peered in at them again. ‘Almost forgot, sir. Nothing was stolen as far as we know, but the victim’s hat-badge was missing. We’ve searched everywhere. The hat was near the victim’s body. But no badge.’ He looked at the girl. ‘Blue, isn’t it?’
She nodded, and asked, ‘Why would anyone take that?’
He shrugged. ‘Souvenir, trophy, who can tell? We’ll do our best, but I think this will be a tough one with the thousands of servicemen we’ve got on the island or out in the troopers.’ He withdrew.
Pryce said coldly, ‘He bloody well enjoyed that, didn’t he?’
Ross watched as she picked up the small wrist-watch. On the back was engraved To dear Jane from Tony, with love.
She said, ‘He went down in the Repulse. I think he was the only one she ever really cared about.’ She replaced the watch and said softly, ‘Poor Jane. I hope they catch him . . .’ She visibly controlled herself. ‘I’ll make the arrangements for this afternoon, sir.’
When she had gone, Pryce said, ‘That’s more like it! Important things are afoot. I’ll make a signal to Turquoise through Commodore, Submarines. We’ll need that boat again if this one is approved – any overhaul will have to be postponed!’
Ross glanced at his own watch. Had she been thinking about it when he had held her? Been imagining him with the knife as he had described? Picturing what it had been like for Jane Clarke? Now no longer a living person; soon she would not even be remembered as a victim, except by a few friends. She would be just another casualty of war, set against so many. A letter from Pryce, even from the admiral perhaps, and a small parcel of belongings, like the broken watch. It was not much to show for a life.
He had been going to press Pryce about the conference or the proposed operation for his ‘cohort’. Instead, he asked, ‘What about Captain Sinclair, sir?’
‘Major now. Just confirmed.’ His eyes were opaque in the steamy glare. ‘First one I checked on. I don’t have my head in the clouds, as some people seem to believe!’ He relented slightly. ‘In Colombo, as a matter of fact. Reports here tomorrow.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘Clean as a whistle – satisfied?’
Ross said nothing. Whether Villiers would agree was another matter.
Pryce was reaching for his telephone. He hesitated. ‘A very ugly incident indeed. But out of our hands. So the “incident” is closed. We have a war to win!’
Ross left the office and found the girl waiting for him. He said, ‘I’m sorry you were put through that. I could feel what it was doing to you.’
She said softly, ‘And I felt what it was doing to you. You relived that moment, didn’t you?’
He watched the rain on the windows. ‘I often do. Perhaps it’s best to stay at a distance.’
She did not look at him. ‘My father would like you to come for supper soon, and have something to eat this time. You can bring Charles Villiers with you. I feel I let him down the other night . . .’
He shook his head. ‘You couldn’t let anyone down.’ He smiled. ‘I’d love to come. But I’m not too sure I can wangle another bottle of Islay malt!’
When she turned, he saw there were tears in her eyes.
She said, ‘I treated you so badly . . .’
He touched her wrist. ‘I expect I deserved it.’
She walked away towards the Operations Room where they had first met, and he wondered how often her eyes would stray to the empty chair opposite hers.
As far as she was concerned, the ‘incident’ would never be closed. It could so easily have been her.
Commander John Crookshank, the admiral’s senior staff officer for Operational Intelligence, arrived promptly for his lunch with Pryce. He was a round, amiable man who, like so many others, would have been pru
ned from the Navy, the world he loved most, had there been no war.
Ross met him in the outer office and was immediately aware of the commander’s embarrassment, the fact that he had brought another guest, uninvited. The other man was a complete stranger, small, neat and incisive. A military moustache, a lightweight grey suit and a vague tie which might have been regimental, or that of an exclusive London club.
He was introduced as Brigadier Hubert Davis, obviously a very important Intelligence officer, who had only just arrived from London. Davis showed no signs of fatigue, and his suit looked as if it had just been delivered to him by the cleaners.
‘Ross, eh?’ His eyes moved swiftly over him, missing nothing. ‘Know a lot about you. Glad you’re here.’
He might have meant that either way, Ross thought. Pryce was less conciliatory. He said, ‘I’m afraid the lunch will be rather less than exciting, Brigadier. Had I been told . . .’
The Brigadier was equally forthright. ‘Well, you know now, so let’s get started, eh?’
There was a tap at the door and Villiers, his cap under one arm and his shirt dark with rain, stepped into the office.
Ross waved him to a chair. ‘You’re too early. Had lunch yet?’
Villiers slumped down and turned his cap round in his fingers. ‘No. You didn’t either, I suppose.’
Ross shrugged. ‘Well, what can I do for you? Captain Pryce wants a talk with you. There’s a top man from Whitehall in there as well. I shall be sitting in, if that’s all right?’
Villiers did not seem to hear him. ‘I just ran into our old friend Major Sinclair.’
Ross tensed. ‘You didn’t say too much, I hope?’
Villiers tried to smile, but it eluded him. ‘No. He makes me feel uneasy, especially after what young Napier said about him.’
‘Well, Sinclair may not be here much longer, Charles. I hear he might be sent back to the U.K. to collect his medal in style.’
Villiers stared moodily at the window. The rain had stopped, as if a great door had been slammed shut. There was sunshine now, and steam rising everywhere like a fog.
A Dawn Like Thunder Page 12