SERGEANT BASIL GOUGH WAS BACK AND WAS SEATED behind the high counter in the front hall. He was working on one of his endless crossword puzzles. Gough’s passion for crosswords was legendary in the station. As Tyler entered, he put the paper aside.
“Good evening, sir.”
The aspirin was helping Tyler’s headache but he would have shaken hands with the devil for a beer.
“Anything to report, Guffie?”
“Yes, sir. We had a call from a Sergeant Donaldson in London. He said he was able to get hold of Mr. and Mrs. Bates, but they cannot do anything about their daughter just now. Might be several more days.”
“Ring Dr. Murnaghan for me. The body will have to stay in the morgue until we get further instructions. Got any better news?”
“The constables put what they collected into the gas mask boxes as you suggested. They are all there in the duty room.”
“Anything interesting?”
“No, really. The bullet hasn’t shown up yet. The rest of the stuff is mostly sweet wrappers, fag ends, and bits of newspapers. We haven’t had any luck with footprints or tire marks. Everywhere is so dry and dusty, Sherlock himself wouldn’t be able to make out anything. Constables Pearse and Eagleton are still out there. I told them to call it quits by seven and we could continue in the morning if we need to. Did you get anything from Mrs. Clark?”
“She gave Elsie Bates a very good report. Mrs. Clark didn’t actually see her leave this morning and she takes off her hearing aids for the night so she didn’t hear her either. There is a most convenient tree outside the girl’s room and, even more convenient, a ladder. I’m betting she left the house that way. She could have been anywhere and with anyone after eight o’clock last night until this morning. However, there’s something you should know. Dr. Murnaghan has done a post-mortem.” He filled the sergeant in on what the coroner had discovered.
Gough whistled between his teeth. “Are we looking for one killer or two people working together?”
“At this stage, it’s impossible to tell. All Dr. Murnaghan could say was that she was hit first and then shot. He couldn’t determine how much time elapsed. But we’ve got to get onto the vehicle right away. Start with registered vehicles in the vicinity. The car that knocked her over could have been coming from Edinburgh for all we know, but let’s not complicate our lives unless we have to. I want all available officers checking up on the owners. There can’t be that many people cruising around the countryside at six in the morning. Get alibis, as they say in the flicks.”
“Will do. I’ll start on it myself.” Gough reached into the cubbyhole behind him. “Mustn’t forget. There are two messages for you, sir. A reporter named Madox from the Gazette rang and wants a statement.”
“Like hell he does. He’s a prurient son of a bitch. Crass as a monkey. Give him a call. I don’t want to talk to him. Tell him it’s a suspicious death, but for God’s sake downplay it. He’ll have some mad killer running around the countryside raping and killing Land Army girls if he gets half a chance. Make murmurs about national security and so on. Also let him know I’ll kill him personally if he exploits this situation.”
“Very good, sir. Would that be with your bare hands?”
“Yes. What else?”
“Do you want the other message, sir?”
“Is it from Mrs. Fuller down the road offering to read our tea leaves? What would she tell us, Guff? ‘I see … I see a newspaper … white and black squares.’ ”
“Sorry, sir,” said Gough, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I thought I’d keep myself busy …”
“Of course. Don’t worry. I’m just pulling your leg.”
Gough blinked. “Tease. That’s it. A five-letter word meaning to make fun of, to humiliate, to embarrass … Thank you, sir.”
Tyler laughed. “I’ll make sure all these extra hours are compensated for. Days off when we’ve finished the case. You and the constables. I’m going to get a cup of tea before they arrive. We don’t have anything like coffee, do we?”
“Just the Camp Coffee Essence, which you loathe.”
“Forget it.” Tyler opened the door to his office.
“Don’t you want to know what the second message was?” the Sergeant asked.
“Almost forgot. Read it to me.”
“A Mrs. Devereau telephoned. She asked if you would ring her when you got in. She can be reached at the manor.”
That was a better jolt than coffee. “When did she call?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Get me the number, will you? I’ll try her right now.”
He went back to his office, taking off his jacket as he did so and closing the door behind him. The intercom buzzed almost immediately.
“Mrs. Devereau is on the line, sir.”
Tyler grabbed the receiver. “Clare?”
“Hello, Tom. Do you have a minute?”
“Certainly.”
“Look, I was reflecting on our luncheon this afternoon and I realized I must have sounded a tad ungracious.”
“How so?”
“Well, I was very touched by what you said to me in Fordham’s tent and I … well … I don’t know if I conveyed that to you.”
He tried to make a joke to ease the tension, mostly his own. “You didn’t say you’d elope with me if that’s what you mean. But blimey, it’s been twenty years.”
She chuckled. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”
He felt like saying he doubted she’d called merely to pass along a cliché, but he bit his tongue. She’d get to the point sooner or later.
She did. “If you do have to question any of the internees, I would be most willing to act as your translator. Some of them speak English quite well but most do not. Have you got any further with the case? Do you suspect someone in the camp?”
“I suppose the answer is, no and no. The major has assured me that is completely out of the question, but I’m not ruling out anybody.”
“Did the post-mortem reveal anything?”
Tyler could feel himself quailing. This was Clare he was talking to, but he also wasn’t prepared to discuss Murnaghan’s findings with a non-officer, even though the sound of her voice was creating a stir in his nether regions. He was saved by the buzz of the intercom.
“Excuse me a tick, Clare.”
He covered the receiver and pressed the intercom button.
“Constables Pearse and Eagleton are here, sir.”
“I’ll be right out.” He returned to his call. “Clare, I’m afraid I’ve got to go. I’ll take you up on your offer, though. I’m coming to the camp tomorrow to meet a Dr. Bruno Beck. He’s a psychoanalyst, whatever that is, and he has insight into the way a criminal mind works. He’s offered to share this knowledge with me.”
“I’ve met him. He speaks excellent English but I’ll ask to sit in on the interview.” She paused. “It will give me an excuse to see you.”
“Crikey, Clare. No excuse needed.”
“Good. Because I was going to invite you for dinner tomorrow evening. My treat. Is the Acton Lodge still in existence? As I remember they had a wonderful wine cellar.”
Another little prod to his nerves. They had gone to the Lodge a few times when they were together. It was a hotel as well as a restaurant, and Clare had finagled them a room with much covert giggling. She’d booked it, and he had snuck upstairs later.
“It’s still there. I haven’t tried the food or the wine for a long time, though, so you’ll have to take your chances.”
“All right. Shall we say seven o’clock?”
“Done.”
“Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just … well … it’s been quite marvellous seeing you again.”
“I can second that.”
He hung up. He felt as if he’d stepped into a rushing river that could quite easily sweep him off his feet. He’d better damn well keep in touch with the bottom.