A bitter wind, p.11
A Bitter Wind, page 11
“I do hold him in high estimation, but this is your investigation,” Conan Doyle said with a nod to both Diana and me. “I will find someone else. Now, we have other matters to attend to, Captain Seaton. And Angelika, of course.” With that, the three departed, off to listen in on whatever the Germans were allowing Mussolini and his pals to hear these days.
“Angelika is certainly getting the red-carpet treatment around here,” I said. “Where are you and she staying, anyway?”
“Angelika will be rooming with Diana, here at Elham House,” Kaz said. “Diana, being a captain, has one of the nicer rooms. I’m sure Angelika will enjoy the experience. Shall we find a decent place to eat in town?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “What’s going on? You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Kaz said. He clearly enjoyed whatever secret he held up his sleeve.
“The fact that you brought Angelika along, in the first place,” I said. “And that Squadron Officer Conan Doyle had already talked to Sir Richard about her. It didn’t register at the time, but how and why did that conversation happen so quickly?”
“Because it is my duty to protect Angelika,” Kaz said. “From herself, if need be. Now, Capel-le-Ferne must possess one singular dining establishment. Shall we find it?”
Chapter Sixteen
“I WANT TO hear more about that,” I said. “But first, we should check in with Constable Thomas Sallow. He’s the local flatfoot working this case and he may have news for us. You can drive us to the station in that swanky new car of yours. Then we’ll get some grub.”
“You make it sound so appetizing, Billy,” Kaz said as he donned his overcoat. As we left Elham House, I realized I hadn’t seen an Aston Martin roadster parked out front.
“Where is it?” I asked, and turned my collar up against the cold wind.
“There is a garage around back,” Kaz said. “Jean offered a space, which was quite considerate.” It was a low three-bay garage with heavy wooden double doors. He opened one and there sat the sleek, low-bodied two-seater, its aerodynamic design making it look like a crouching tiger about to pounce. “Nice, isn’t she?”
“Beautiful,” I said. The paint job was deep green, waxed to a gleam. The black convertible top looked like it had a chance of keeping the rain out, unlike my jeep. I waited while Kaz pulled out and then shut the doors behind us. The motor purred as we drove to the gate. “I hope we have good weather for our jaunt tomorrow.”
“Dry would be good,” Kaz said. “She tends to swerve when going into a curve. At high speed, at least.”
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” I said as we approached the main gate at a sedate speed. I pulled out my orders and rolled down the window as a guard wearing corporal’s stripes and the RAF Regiment patch stepped forward and lifted the gate.
“No need, Captain,” he said, and waved us on with one hand. “You only need to show identification when entering.”
“Is that standard procedure?” I asked.
“It is. We stop anyone who doesn’t look right, but the idea is to focus on who comes in, not who goes out,” he said.
“You keep track of names on that side?” I asked, and crooked a thumb in the direction of the opposite lane.
“Aye, we do. Almost always, day and night,” the corporal said.
“What do you mean by ‘almost’?” I asked.
“Well, Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, up to noon, we didn’t bother. Lots of the lads had a bit of leave, so we were right busy. Just waved them through on both sides.”
“Who gave that order?” I asked.
“Lieutenant Walters. He’s in charge of perimeter security. Said as long as it was our lot coming and going, we didn’t need to bother with signing in,” he said. “Besides, we weren’t expecting the brass to come visiting, not on Christmas. The high and mighty would be warm and snug, enjoying their Christmas goose, that’s what the lieutenant said. Anything else, Captain?”
“Nothing, Corporal. Thanks,” I said, and rolled up the window. Kaz shifted into first and the little Aston Martin took off like a shot.
“This is the same gentleman you did not wish to be involved in the inventory of missing parts, if I recall,” Kaz said. “Are you suspicious of him?”
“Seems to be a nice guy, but I do wonder if he harbors any anti-Jewish feelings. Not that I can figure how religious prejudice plays into either murder,” I said.
“Whatever his beliefs, he may have a point about senior officers and their cooked geese.”
“Fair enough,” I said, and pointed out the left turn that would take us to the police station. “His name just keeps popping up, like now. I roomed with him last night, and I have the feeling it’s going to get awkward.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Kaz said. “Jean has arranged a place for us in the visiting officers’ barracks. She had your bags moved. Apparently, it is a step up from your previous accommodations.” With that, he downshifted while rounding a turn and ably demonstrated the Aston Martin’s tendency to fishtail.
“You and the squadron officer have gotten as thick as thieves pretty quickly, haven’t you?”
“She knows Sir Richard, and he has given us his imprimatur,” Kaz said. “That explains much of it.” The rest of it had to wait as we pulled up to the station. I wasn’t sure if Constable Sallow would be there, but a light burning in the window gave me hope. I unfolded myself from the passenger seat and led the way in.
“Ah, you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Ruxton said. He and Sallow were seated at a table with photographs spread between them. “And you have a new friend today, I see.”
“This is Detective Sergeant Henry Ruxton, Kent County Constabulary, and Constable Sallow,” I said. “My colleague is Lieutenant Piotr Kazimierz, part of our group at SHAEF. He’ll be working the case with me.”
“Captain Boyle is sorry he was detained,” Kaz said. He stepped forward and gave the two men a little continental bow. “As soon as I arrived, I insisted we consult with the local constabulary. I am sure you must have valuable information to share.”
“Well, blow me down, that’s kind of you, Lieutenant,” Ruxton said as he rose to shake hands with Kaz. “Not at all like the sentiment of others I could mention.”
I remained silent as Ruxton and Kaz chatted, knowing my friend was working his magic. He had the quiet charm of a true aristocrat. Without mentioning his status as a baron, he had Ruxton ready to do pretty much whatever he wanted. He’d read the man perfectly without even a hint of warning. Was that how he’d gotten Jean Conan Doyle to be so gracious? My rumbling stomach reminded me we’d be talking about that over dinner, which could come none too soon.
“Constable, did you find anything at the train station?” I asked, ignoring Ruxton. Since he’d left in a huff when we’d been given carte blanche to take over, I didn’t see any reason to include him.
“That we did, Captain,” Sallow said. “Nothing less than Major Brockman’s staff car. Paperwork in the glove box confirmed it was his.”
“When did you find it?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Sallow said, and cast a wary glance at Ruxton.
“You didn’t think to call the base?” I asked, even though I figured it was Ruxton who’d put the kibosh on that call.
“I instructed the constable to wait,” Ruxton said. “If this case was so important, I expected you would return, or at least telephone, to learn the results of our search.”
I was about to light into Ruxton and tell him there’d been another murder occupying our time, but Kaz wisely intervened and asked the detective sergeant if he would share his opinion on the investigation to date. While Ruxton puffed himself up to expound on the subject, I quietly spoke with the constable.
“Good work finding the staff car,” I said. I leaned against the desk and eyed the photographs of the US Army vehicle.
“Thank you, Captain. I would have called you, but the DS showed up and had his own idea about that,” Sallow said in a low voice. “The automobile was parked close to the train station, but not anywhere the ticket takers would have seen it.”
“You questioned them, I assume.”
“Him. Only one fellow worked the morning shift, it being Christmas and all. He didn’t see any Yanks, just a lot of RAF lads making their way to and from Christmas leave. But there was something interesting,” Sallow said with a tap on one of the photos. It showed the rear doors open and a smudge on the seat.
“Grease?” I guessed.
“Yes, but not the sort found in the wound. Bicycle grease, I’d reckon, from a chain. Turn the front wheel up and that’s right where the chain would rest on the seat,” Sallow said.
“I doubt Brockman would park there and then bicycle to the cliffs,” I said.
“But someone might have tossed their bike in the back and taken off,” Sallow said. We were both thinking along the same lines. “Sadly, the door-to-door turned up nothing. Folks were indoors, focused on their celebrations and Christmas dinner.”
“I’ll leave you to it, Constable,” Ruxton said. He stood to leave, and cut short his monologue with Kaz. “I will inform Sir Percy of our progress in assisting SHAEF.”
“Oh, how is Chief Constable Sillitoe?” Kaz asked.
“You know of him?” Ruxton asked.
“Sir Percy is an old friend of the family,” Kaz said. “I really should ring him up, it’s been ages.”
“Well, yes, please be sure to mention our help when you do,” Ruxton said, then mumbled something else as he stuck his hat on his head and stomped out of the room.
“The chief constable is a friend of yours?” Sallow asked as he leaned back in his chair and studied Kaz.
“Never met the gentleman, but I did read about him in The Times,” Kaz said. “He was described as an innovator in law enforcement.”
“Ha! You shook the DS to his boots,” Sallow said. “Sir Percy isn’t a man afraid of new ideas. Radios in motor cars and more women police officers. All that change makes people nervous, if you take my meaning.”
“Indeed, I do,” Kaz said. “It was evident from the man’s demeanor. Now, did I hear correctly? You have Major Brockman’s staff car?”
We talked it over for a while and agreed that the killer likely arrived at the cliffs via bicycle and drove the staff car back to the train station. From there it would have been a simple matter to ditch the bike and board a train. The door and steering wheel, probably having been wiped clean, had provided no fingerprints.
“It was cold enough for gloves,” Sallow said. “Especially if the killer was out on two wheels. Not much to go on, I’m afraid.”
I told Sallow he’d come up with more than we had and filled him in on the murder of Flight Sergeant Cohen. He said he’d heard of the German Jews at the air base but didn’t know what their role was. He didn’t ask now. I told him to keep the news of the new murder under his hat and that I’d return tomorrow for the staff car.
Kaz asked about restaurants and Sallow recommended the Royal Oak, just down the street, for a decent meal. Kaz and I walked and soon spotted the restaurant with its thick oaken beams and wrought-iron sign. We sat near the fireplace, the glowing coals welcome after the cold night air. There were a few civilians at the bar and a scattering of RAF officers at the tables. It was sedate and charming. I figured the pub where I’d dined with Diana yesterday was a livelier joint right about now, but the quiet was welcome. We ordered the local ale and settled on lamb with roasted potatoes and parsnips, recommended by the waitress. Once the ales arrived, we toasted and drank.
“Now, fill me in,” I said as I set down my glass. “What are you cooking up for Angelika?”
“As you know, she has talked about joining the Polish Armed Forces,” Kaz said. “She already has contacted the government-in-exile based in London. I fear that with her experience with the Home Army, they may want to send her back.”
“And that she would go,” I said.
“Yes. But I believe she has done her bit, as our British friends say. When Diana told us of her posting here, I became interested. It is important work, and perhaps suited to a young woman with Angelika’s physical limitations. She is doing well, but I doubt she could outrun the fattest German in Poland.”
“I understand,” I said. “I feel the same way about Diana being here, even if she was actually brought in to snoop around for Jean Conan Doyle.”
“Oh, I did not know that she had her own security concerns,” Kaz said. “Interesting. Sir Richard did not mention Diana’s dual role.”
“He’s a man of secrets too. I guess you asked him to mention Angelika to Conan Doyle,” I said.
“Of course. She speaks German well and Italian fluently. She’s a perfect fit, and there is little running involved with the work at Elham House.”
“You’re a devious man, Kaz,” I said, and raised my glass.
“Not so devious as our murderer,” he said as we clinked.
We drank, and I sent up a silent prayer to Saint Michael, the patron saint of police officers and all individuals in dangerous occupations. I asked for his help in closing this case.
Saint Michael had to be a busy man these days, and I hoped he’d spare us a thought.
Chapter Seventeen
“WAKE UP. WAKE up!” The voice was muffled and overlaid with a rhythmic pounding. I pried my eyes open, trying to make sense of it all. It was dark in the very comfortable room Kaz and I shared in the visiting officers’ quarters, but I could see a glow of light under the door.
“Hang on,” I managed, stumbling half-awake across the room.
“Are you all right?” Lieutenant Walters said. He panted as if he’d sprinted up the stairs. Two men behind him stood with their pistols at the ready, flashlights searching the hallway.
“I was sleeping just fine, thanks,” I said, and glanced at the luminous dial on my watch. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, Walters. What the hell is going on?”
“Someone tried to kill you,” he said.
“It was not I,” Kaz said. He stood behind me, donning his silk dressing gown.
“You’re not making sense, Walters,” I said. I turned on a lamp and beckoned him in. “I’m fine, no one tried to kill me.”
“Not here, but it’s a different story in my quarters. Get dressed and I’ll show you,” he said. “I’ll leave one of my men to drive you and meet you there.”
I told him I could drive myself, but he insisted on an escort. I got the sense it would be embarrassing for the guy responsible for security to have a guest murdered on his watch, so I agreed. Twenty minutes later, Kaz and I were at Walters’s barracks where he awaited us in the hall.
“At 0200 hours my men received a call from the motor pool. There had been a breach in the perimeter fence. They sent out a patrol and summoned me, which is standard protocol. We found no breach and no one at the motor pool. But when I returned to my quarters, I found this,” Walters said. He opened the door and entered the room.
My bed—the one I had slept in the night before—was a mess. Shattered glass lay on a torn pillow, and the thick smell of alcohol assaulted our nostrils.
“Someone thought you were still sleeping here,” Walters said. “I’d shifted my stuff around after they took your duffel but hadn’t finished. I left some clothes on the bed and a full bottle of brandy resting on the pillow.”
“It was dark, of course,” Kaz said, and approached the bed. He shifted the pillow, and shards of glass fell to the floor. A rip marked where a blunt object had unexpectedly hit glass. “The intruder came in, saw a form he mistook for Billy, and struck quickly.”
“He got a helluva surprise,” I said. “We should be on the lookout for anyone smelling like a distillery. Sorry about the damage, Lieutenant.”
“It’s nothing,” Walters said. “But I don’t want a third attempt on your life to succeed. I’ll post two of my men to serve as your bodyguard around the clock.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thanks. Try to keep this under your hat. We don’t need rumors flying around the base faster than they already are,” I said. “There are no locks on the barracks rooms?”
“No. The feeling is, if you can’t trust your brothers-in-arms, who can you trust?” Walters said.
“All but one, it appears,” Kaz said as he waved his hand in front of his face. “You need to open a window.”
• • •
“YOU’D THINK WE must be getting close to frighten the killer into a stunt like that, but it doesn’t really add up, does it?” I said as I blew on the hot cup of joe. We’d driven to the American mess on the theory that if I was going to get my head bashed in, there were statistically fewer candidates among the Yanks at RAF Hawkinge. And stronger coffee.
“From what you’ve said, there are many here with the means and opportunity to have committed both murders, but to me, motive is lacking. I don’t see how this investigation threatens anyone. Sadly,” Kaz said, “the attack on you in the hangar might have been merely convenient timing, but this one required planning.”
“It could have to do with our trip to the listening post,” I said. “Diana and I have talked about visiting Sally Miller for two days. Someone might have overheard us. Sally’s exile is probably prime gossip material, and the rumor mill could have spread it far and wide.”
“A good theory,” Kaz said as he nibbled at a serving of powdered eggs and eyed the yellow concoction warily. “Perhaps we should warn Diana before we leave.”
“Walters said he would report the incident to Conan Doyle, but I agree, we should be sure Diana takes it seriously. She could be a target as well.” I chewed on my bacon sandwich and watched Kaz as he set down his fork. His forehead wrinkled, and I knew he had something on his mind.
“There is another possibility,” he said. “I only bring this up because of your feeling about Lieutenant Walters. We only have his word that the events unfolded as he claims. It’s possible he made that telephone call himself. Or, if it was real, he might have used it to conjure up this supposed attack.”
