The all-clear didn’t sound until dawn.
“Thank God that’s over,” Grace muttered as she strode down Carter Street to the police station. Having spent hours closed up in a crypt, she found the murky air of Newcastle almost refreshing.
Constable Robinson who had hitherto manned the counter in the daytime was on the night shift. When Grace came in, he was leaning wearily against the former shop counter gazing in an abstracted fashion at a sandwich. “You’re scheduled for today?”
“No, I got dressed in a rush last night when the sirens went off. Took the first thing to hand.”
Robinson gave her an unhappy look. “Until now it’s been quiet.”
As if on cue hollow thuds sounded above them.
“Relatively quiet,” Robinson added as Grace glanced upwards. “Don’t fash yourself, Miss Baxter. It’s nothing to worry about. We’ve got a drunk locked in a bedroom who’s been trying to demolish the door for a while. We also have a stray dog. He’s in the kitchen waiting for his owner to claim him. Quite a quiet night, as I said. But here I am reporting to you. What is it you wanted to say?”
Grace related the thwarted attempt at the theft of a handbag. “There isn’t a formal complaint, but when I spoke to Stu he was cocky and belligerent. Not only that, Mavis Arkwright claims someone broke into her flat last night, but didn’t take anything.”
“What’s that to do with Stu?”
“Between you, me, and the lamppost, I’m certain he’s responsible for painting the swastika on Mrs. Arkwright’s back door. So why couldn’t he have broken into her house to scare her further? Of course he has a story to account for the red paint on his boots. Says it’s from when he painted his bike.”
“Oh, aye? A red bike and a thieving pair of hands? Stu McPherson, without a doubt.” He smiled at her surprised look. “He has as they say helped us with our inquiries into incidents of vandalism and petty theft on more than one occasion.”
“Is it true he carries messages during air raids?”
“Aye, it is. Not that we’ve had many raids yet. He’s an odd mixture, that lad. His brother was killed overseas not many months ago. Hates Germans, needless to say. The sooner he can join up and starting shooting at them, the better. The way he’s going he’s liable to kill somebody here first.”
“Yes. He struck me as a dangerously angry boy. Best to keep an eye on him.”
“Funny how grief takes people different ways. Some want to lash out, others lose heart.”
Grace thought of her meeting with Sergeant Baines in the cemetery and nodded silent agreement.
“And then here comes Mavis Arkwright’s friend, speaks with an accent.” Robinson took a bite of his sandwich and chewed contemplatively. “Stu leapt to the wrong conclusion. I suppose a Dutch accent sounds like German to a kid, and this Hans certainly looks the part.”
Grace hoped her cheeks weren’t reddening noticeably. She recalled Hans’ face as they danced. How handsome he was. It hadn’t occurred to her he resembled one of Hitler’s Aryan supermen.
“Stu keeps coming in here telling us to arrest the man as a spy,” Robinson went on. “Nothing anyone can say will convince him otherwise.”
“Why didn’t Sergeant Baines send a constable round to grill the boy about the back door business?”
“Stu’s hardly the only one around here who’s suspicious of foreigners and, more importantly, there was no real evidence he did it, though I admit the red paint is suspicious.”
Grace changed the subject. “What about the dead woman? Are we any closer to identifying her?”
“We’ve put out a request for information on missing persons. But with millions called up, relocated for war work, bombed out, evacuated, killed in raids…well, it can be a long time before it’s noticed a person’s missing.”
The dog in the kitchen gave a sudden loud bark, making Grace jump.
To Grace’s chagrin Robinson grinned. “Nerves bad, Miss Baxter? Don’t blame you. These raids…” He patted her shoulder.
Now she did flush, but with irritation.
Robinson gave no sign noticing her reaction.”Either somebody is trying to break into the station or our furry friend wants to go out for a pee. Well-trained animal, that. If nobody claims him, I think I’ll adopt him. Keep an eye on the station for a bit, would you? I’ll take him into the back lane. Shouldn’t be too long.”
The thumping upstairs was renewed as Robinson went into the kitchen. Grace giggled. Did the intoxicated man locked in the bedroom also need to go to the netty? He would have to wait until Robinson returned.
Her hands started shaking. Don’t act like a great cauf, she told herself. The old Shropshire terms came naturally to her lips in times of stress. You’re getting hysterical. Wouldn’t Robinson love to see that? Everybody would know by teatime.
***
Veronica Gibson watched Grace leave the police station where the nice shop lady used to give her extra sweeties for her pennies. It was funny seeing a girl dressed like a policeman. Veronica thought she would like a uniform like that, then she could go and arrest Mr. Hitler.
Her mam had sent her out to get a breath of fresh air after being huddled in the crypt during the night. She wandered down the street on the lookout for a playmate but nobody else was outside. Before long she came in sight of the place where the lady was killed, according to Stu McPherson.
She had been afraid to go past it after what Stu said and he had called her a scaredy-cat. But she wasn’t a baby, she told herself. Besides, she wouldn’t be alone at the ruins today. A man stood there, looking down at the two big stones.
She crossed the street.
The man looked old and very tall and thin. When he turned to look at her, his head moved like the canary her mother used to have and his eyes glittered in the same way as the bird’s. He held a paper bag in one hand.
“Hello, mister,” Veronica said.
“Hello, young lady. Interested in archaeology?”
Since she didn’t know what he was talking about she frowned.
“This is a temple made by the Romans when they lived in England,” he told her. “A kind of church.”
This wasn’t a school day and she didn’t want to be taking lessons but she had nothing better to do. “Don’t look like a church. Where are the walls?”
“They fell down a long, long time ago. Do you go to church?”
“Mam and me don’t go to church since the Germans killed her friend’s son.”
The old man shook his head. “Poor child. What kind of a god lets young people be killed by Germans?”
“Mr. Elliott says God’s invisible.”
“Well, he’s hiding himself, all right. The Romans had different gods, you know. Theirs are a lot older than Mr. Elliott’s.”
“No one’s older than God.”
“Other gods are. Would you like me to tell you about them? I have pictures at my house, on gold coins.”
Veronica was suddenly wary. The man’s face was all bristly and his teeth looked like ruined stones. Was he a bad man? “Mam says I’m not to go with anyone I don’t know.”
“Very wise, especially in these times. Did you know we’re standing near where Hadrian’s Wall used to be? He was a Roman ruler. Like the king, you know. He built a wall straight across England. Imagine that.”
“No one could build a wall that far,” Veronica argued.
“He did, though, almost two thousand years ago.”
“Why didn’t the Luftwobble fly over it?”
“They didn’t have planes in those days.”
“Well, then we should’ve flown over to Germany and bombed them.”
The man smiled at her. “Would you like to help get rid of Hitler?”
“Don’t be a silly!”
“Not so silly. You and the old gods, working together. You’d be surprised at what you could do.”
Veronica didn’t like the way he said old gods. The tone of his voice made her shiver. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to cross the street after all.
Then she recalled Stu’s mockery and stood her ground. She looked up at the man solemnly. The paper bag in his hand caught her attention. “What you got in your bag, mister?”
“A present, for my friends at home. Do you want to meet my friends? I live at number sixty.”
“What kind of present? A Christmas present?”
“A treat. Something my friends like. Do you want to see?” He extended the bag toward Veronica, holding it by one side so the top fell open.
She took a hesitant step forward and peered in.
And saw a dead rat with a frozen snarl.
Veronica ran home as if the devil was at her heels.