“I could just fancy a bit of one of those crisp bars of yours, Hans.” Grace took a seat at the kitchen table where Mavis and Hans were sitting talking.
“Certainly, Miss Grace.” Hans pulled an opened packet from his shirt pocket, as he had on the night of the dance, and snapped off a piece of the chocolate-covered wafer.
“Thanks.” Grace took a bite. “I would have thought these were hard to come by.”
“He’s a canny shopper and he knows I like them,” Mavis replied with a wink.
“At least Stu didn’t take any the night he broke in.”
Mavis looked perplexed. “What’s this, then? I told you I made a mistake about that.”
“You were right the first time, Mavis. You were burgled, but I suppose you wouldn’t miss one record binder with so many scattered around. Stu had taken it. You came back too early and interrupted him, so it was all he could get.”
“So he really did break in, the little swine? Well, no harm done.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Grace said slowly.
“You’re acting very mysterious, Grace,” Mavis observed.
Hans frowned in concern. “Is it because you are feeling unwell?”
“Worried rather than ill. Did anyone from the station come round to see you today, Mavis?”
“No. Why would they?”
“To interview you about the ration books hidden in the stolen record binder. Where did you get them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! You said Stu had it. So obviously it was Stu who hid them.”
“That makes sense, I admit, but from his reaction when we found them I could see he was genuinely surprised. Oranges. Now I’m thinking about oranges. Hard things to get, oranges.”
Hans tried to smile. “Everyone buys a little extra now and then when nobody is looking. It is the custom, is it not?”
“Really, Grace!” Mavis said, flushing with anger.
“You know Ronny’s old acquaintances, Mavis.”
“I do but I avoid them.”
“Sefton visited you,” Grace pointed out.
“Couldn’t stop him paying his respects to me dead husband, could I?”
“Sefton told Wallace Ronny planned to get into the black market using foreign refugees in some way. As I said, I’m thinking about oranges.” She glanced at Hans.
“You’re not accusing Hans?”
Grace ignored the question. “And what about you, Mavis? Extra money from dealing on it would be very useful.”
Mavis leaned back in her chair. “What are you getting at, Grace? If I was involved in illegal goings-on why would I have a bluebottle for a lodger?”
“Camouflage. And perfectly safe. It would be easy to pull the wool over the eyes of a simple woman from the countryside, wouldn’t it?”
Hans cast a worried look at Mavis as Grace continued. “Let us say you contacted some of Ronny’s former associates and recruited Hans to help you. Whatever the details might be, you both profited. Then Ronny came home and he wasn’t happy to find you in the same line of business he intended to take up, particularly since your partner was someone he thought was your fancy man.”
“So what if I happened to get hold of a few ration books? Which I’m not admitting by any means, mind, so don’t think I am.”
“They don’t leave ration books lying around at Vickers,” Grace pointed out. “More importantly, not everyone dealing in the black market ends up so close to murder.”
“You mean Ronny and the dead woman? Isn’t it obvious she and Ronny were murdered by the same person?”
“The woman’s name is Mona. Give her that much respect, Mavis. Stu robbed her and it appears possible he killed her by accident, pushing her over when he grabbed her bag. Seems to me if he meant to kill her, given his character, he would be far more likely to stab her. Cyril Rutherford’s admitted he arranged Mona’s limbs and claims it was a sort of cry for help to the god of the temple.”
“Well, there you have it. Rutherford’s mad. Obviously he attacked Ronny while he was wandering about after visiting every pub in Benwell, if I know Ronny.”
“Ronny never went to the temple. He came back here to resume his argument with you. Hans returned just in case things got out of hand,” Grace replied. “Stu told me he saw him hanging around the night Ronny was killed.”
“Stu!” Mavis spat the name out. “You’re quick to believe that little bugger!”
“It seems to me it fits together.” Grace paused, feeling she had come to the edge of the precipice.
She looked at Hans in silence.
“No, Miss Grace!” Hans shook his head. “I would not kill anyone!”
“Not deliberately, Hans, but you have episodes when you’re not right. Joop told me about them and I saw one myself at the cinema.”
Mavis laughed bitterly. “Hans? A murderer? Next you’ll be accusing me of helping him!”
“Mavis, you forget I saw Ronny threatening you, saw your bloody nose. Right now I am speaking as a friend, pointing out what will weigh heavily with the authorities, which is that Hans fled that night. It was suspicious behaviour, to say the least.”
“They might also consider what I just said about where Ronny was found,” Mavis emphatically pointed out. “And furthermore you can start looking for new lodgings tomorrow. Accusing us of black marketeering and murder!”
“It wouldn’t be hard for Hans to carry Ronny to the place he was found,” Grace continued relentlessly. “It’s barely a step up the back lane and across Chandler Street, and in the blackout nobody could see him anyway. And Hans knew, because I told him myself, Mona’s body was laid out in the form of a swastika. A left-handed swastika. Arranging Ronny like Mona would make the authorities think Ronny’s murderer was the same person.”
“But Miss Grace, how can you possibly think that?” Hans protested.
“The vicar told me a parishioner found what she thought was a piece of the host over there. Those crisp bars you carry around in your shirt pocket have wafers in them. One must have dropped out, while…while…” Grace’s voice broke.
“You’re a bloody fool, Grace! What kind of proof is that? Anyone could have dropped it, and you damn well know it!” Mavis was scarlet with anger. “I don’t care how late it is, we’re going over to the station right now and you can tell them what you have to say. See what good it does you. And when we get back, you can start packing.”
They got their jackets.
***
Stu waited, hiding in a doorway on Carter Street. The blackout was so impenetrable he could have stood in the middle of the street without being seen, but he wasn’t taking chances. Now that bloody meddling policewoman had caught him out he’d be spending time in the borstal. He might not get another opportunity to avenge his brother, Rob.
His feet were blocks of ice. He kept blowing on his hands to keep them warm. He needed warm hands to be able to grip his knife properly.
He ran his thumb along the blade. How many hours had he spent lovingly honing that sharp edge on the back doorstep?
They all thought he wouldn’t do it. Jim at least had feared he might and tried to discourage him.
By tomorrow morning they’d all know better.
Stu McPherson was no coward. Sometimes justice had to be taken into yer own hands instead of relying on some old god who probably never existed in the first place.
Soon at least one Hun would pay for Rob’s death.
Down the street, a torch flickered.
***
Hans strode on ahead. Grace wondered if he would run off as he had before. She half hoped he would run and try to escape. She tried to push aside the memory of the dance, how Hans had offered her a crisp bar and later kissed her, how he had held her hand in the darkness of the cinema.
No one spoke. They moved through what might have been an endless abyss of darkness, their tiny world defined by the dim light of shaded torches.
As they picked their way across the pitch black street, there was a sudden rush of footsteps.
Grace whirled, the gleam of her torch finding only housefronts and empty pavement.
Mavis screamed.
Grace swung her torch back round and saw a figure darting at Hans.
Stu!
A knife blade glinted.
Grace lunged forward, swinging her torch upwards. It clanked against a knife raised for a second stab, sending it flying into the darkness.
Hans fell to the ground, blood on his chest.
Stu stood over him and kicked him in the ribs. “Got you at last, you Hun bastard!”
Grace pushed the boy aside and knelt down. “Hans! Hans!”
“Miss Grace,” he gasped painfully. “It was just as you said. Miss Mavis had nothing to do with it….”