by Alex Walters
'Don't think you'll be denied hospitality here. Take care though, won't you?'
'Take care?'
'With Mary. She's more vulnerable that she looks.' He laughed. 'I've just thought. That's two of you had breakdowns. The halt and the bloody lame.'
Winterman paused in extracting himself from the car and glanced back at Hoxton. For all his gregariousness, Hoxton was impossible to read. 'That's not bloody funny, George. That's not bloody funny at all.'
'I know, guv,' Hoxton said quietly, a new note to his voice. 'I wasn't joking.'
That had been only hours before, and yet it felt as if it had taken place in another world. Winterman stood at the window, dressed only in his vest and underpants, staring out at the dim landscape. He should be cold, he realised. He had grown accustomed to the below-freezing temperatures, the biting winds across the flat fields.
Suddenly, it was mild. Still far from warm, but after the last few months it felt almost tropical. Outside the rain was still falling, heavily, steadily, as incessant as the falling snow had been only days before. Already the pristine landscape looked frayed, soiled, the pure white giving way to the sodden earth beneath.
He thought back to the conversation with Hoxton in the car, the sense then that there was some undercurrent to their dialogue, something Hoxton was not saying. Then he recalled his later whispered conversation with Mary, sitting hunched against the smoking coal fire, her mother playing with the children in the next room.
And he wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 53
Mary had greeted him warmly, apparently unsurprised that he was seeking to stay another night.
'No news of Paul?' She closed the front door and ushered him into the relative warmth of the hallway.
'Afraid not. Hoxton's heading back down to the station in case Brain's heard anything.'
'He'd have come up here if he had anything to tell me.' She helped Winterman take off his heavy overcoat. 'Come through into the front room. Mam's in the kitchen with the children. Are you hungry?'
'No, I'm fine,' he said, not quite truthfully. He was conscious of the extent to which he was imposing on these people, literally eating into their limited rations.
'I've put some stew on for later.' She spoke as if reading his mind. 'Not much to write home about. But Mam's good at sweet-talking the butcher.'
'I'll bring you some of my ration. I never use it all anyway. Pay you back for putting me up. Or putting up with me.'
'Don't be daft. It's hardly a hardship. Nice for us to get some company.'
He followed her into the front room. A coal fire was burning in the hearth, smoke rising from the scrappy piles of fuel. She gestured towards it apologetically. 'We're getting low. We've been eking it out but I can't remember when the coal man last came.'
'It's the same everywhere. They're getting coal to the factories and power stations by sea, apparently. But it's still not reaching the likes of us.'
'This wasn't how it was supposed to be. We thought it would be all right once the war ended.'
'Not quite paradise yet.'
He motioned for her to sit at the end of the sofa closest to the fire. For a moment, he thought politeness would cause her to demur, but finally she lowered herself on to the worn cushions. He took a seat beside her, feeling absurdly like a young man courting his first girl.
'You were going to tell me about Paul.' The Christian name still felt awkward in his mouth. 'This afternoon, before Spooner interrupted us.'
'I'm worried about him. He gets things into his head. His brother–'
'Tell me about his brother.' Winterman wondered whether to mention what Hoxton had said, but told himself that Hoxton's version of events was nothing more than hearsay.
'Gary idolised Paul. It was partly the usual big brother thing. But also, Gary was pretty lonely out here. It was a shock to find himself shipped out here from the big city, away from his family and his friends.'
'Must have been a shock for Paul too.'
'Paul was that bit older. And he's a personable sort. It didn't take him long to make new friends.'
'Including you?'
'Including me. I was a year or so older. Normally, that might have been enough to keep us apart. You know what youngsters are like. A year's a lifetime at that age. But there weren't that many young folk around here. You couldn't afford to be picky.' Her expression suggested she was recalling some particular incident. Winterman felt a momentary pang of jealousy that he hadn't known her then.
'But there were a few of us around that age. Enough to make a little gang, if you know what I mean. We went to the pictures or the odd dance. Not that there was a lot going on. But it was a glorious summer. Most of us had left school and it wasn't difficult to find work, what with all the men being called up. There were plenty of jobs going on the farms and the local factories. It didn't feel real, somehow. It felt – I don't know – temporary, as if we were all waiting to see what would happen next.'
'I remember it.' Winterman thought back to his own experiences in the early years of the war. 'I don't know what we expected.'
He recalled the months of phoney war, and then the reports of German victories on the wireless, the sense of threat expanding across Europe, gradually closing in on his own tiny world. The feeling, in that first summer after the fall of France and the Dunkirk evacuation, that it was only a matter of time before the Nazi forces were trampling the country underfoot. It had felt as if they were in suspension, unable to get on with their lives but with no means of planning for the future.
The hot summer had seemed to mock their fears, long scorching days that held endless untapped potential. There'd been Sunday afternoon walks with Gwyneth and the baby, returning as the vast translucent sky darkened to mauve after sunset. After the air conflict had begun, the occasional sighting of aircraft, the glint of sunlight on a distant Spitfire or Hurricane. And, later, the ominous night-time sound of the bombers. Every boy claimed to know the difference from the steady drone of the Allied aircraft and the limping note of the incoming Germans.
'On Sundays,' she went on, 'we used to cycle up to some old gravel pits that had been flooded for swimming. We'd take a picnic and make a day of it. Paul wanted to stay on at school but didn't know if his parents could afford it, and he'd found some summer work in one of the local factories. I'd started in the offices of the local bus company – basic clerking stuff. Most of us had a bit of money to spend. Not that there was much to spend it on. But the pits were a popular haunt that summer, though not particularly with me.'
'Why not?'
'The place gave me the creeps. It was a bleak spot, even in summer, in the middle of woodland. And you got some dubious characters hanging around. Probably hoping to get a glimpse of teenagers in their swimsuits. I don't know. The lake was icy and much deeper than you expected. We weren't really supposed to swim there – there'd been a couple of drownings or near drownings. But that just made it more attractive.'
Her eyes were glazed, as if fixed on some point in the far distance. 'So what happened with Paul's brother?'
'We'd been up there for the afternoon, four or five of us. Taken some sandwiches. Done a bit of swimming, a bit of sunbathing. Sitting around chatting, the way you do at that age. Talking about the war. What else was there to talk about? That awful Mr Hitler and what was going to happen next. The boys all pretended to have some inside knowledge. But they worried about how long it would go on, whether they'd be called up. Anyway, it got to five o'clock and we thought we should head back. It's a good half-hour's cycle ride – probably more, when I think about it. We'd gone about half a mile or so, and I was chatting away to Paul as we rode, and then somebody noticed Gary wasn't there.'
'He'd been with you all afternoon?'
'Gary was a bit of a monkey. There was no harm in him, but he was always messing around, trying to impress his big brother. He'd been pulling stupid stunts all afternoon. Dive-bombing people in the water, that kind of thing. Paul h
ad got fed up with him. When it was time to leave, Gary had played up. Didn't want to go, kept jumping back in the water. You know how kids are.'
'What happened when you realised he wasn't with you?'
'Paul was livid. He told us to carry on while he went to find him. But in the end I went with him.' Her expression suggested she was willing herself back to that day. 'There was no sign of him. We didn't even know whether he'd started off with us and peeled off, or whether he'd not been with us at all. We hunted around, but there was no sign. Paul was tearing his hair out. He didn't know whether to be furious because Gary was playing some joke, or worried he wasn't there. We went around shouting and then debated whether we should just set off home anyway and leave him to catch us up. Paul was getting really worried by this time.' There were tears in her eyes.
'What did you think?'
'I thought at first Paul was making a mountain out of a molehill. I was sure Gary would just jump out from somewhere. Then I thought he might have gone back in the water. Had some accident there.'
'What about his clothes? Did you find them?'
'They were never found. But we did finally find his bike and his bag. They'd just been left there, a little way from the pits. That was when Paul decided he was going to contact the police. There was no station nearby, so we ended up cycling into town.' She stood up suddenly, as if she could no longer go on with the story. 'I'll make us a cup of tea.'
'Finish the story first.'
'I don't know if any of this matters.'
'Neither do I, but we don't know where Paul is, and we don't have any other ideas about where to start looking for him.'
She lowered herself back down on to the sofa. 'Okay, I'll keep it short. We went to the police. At first, they didn't take us seriously. They thought Gary would be playing games. But when they realised that Paul was genuinely concerned, they came out. They got a car to take me and Paul home – which meant we broke the news to Mam, and then she had to try to get a message to Paul and Gary's parents. Well, you can imagine…' She slowed and took a breath. 'They got a proper search going that night, brought in volunteers to help. A day or two later they got divers in to search the lake.'
'But found nothing?'
'Not a trace, apart from the bicycle and the bag. Paul felt they were less thorough than they should have been. He thought they'd decided early on that Gary was at the bottom of that lake, and they were just going through the motions.'
'If you've got limited resources, you have to play the odds. They might have been right.'
'I've told myself that a thousand times. In the end, they decided that Gary had managed to slip and fall in, still fully clothed. It was plausible enough. I could imagine him falling out a tree or something like that.'
'But Paul thought differently.'
'At first he persuaded himself the police were probably right. He blamed himself dreadfully. I don't know what his parents said when they came rushing over, but it didn't help. I think they blamed him as well.'
'Easier than blaming themselves. They were the ones responsible for sending Paul and Gary over here.'
'Maybe. But Paul was all too ready to blame himself anyway, without anyone helping him along. I felt guilty as well. I felt we should have kept a better eye on Gary.'
'From what you've said, that was never easy.'
'He was just a child. We knew how reckless he could be.'
'What happened with Paul?'
'He became obsessed. He'd told the police about some man he thought he'd seen hanging about earlier in the day, but they didn't take much notice. There'd been people coming and going all day – other youngsters like us, a couple of hikers, someone walking a dog. Even if there was someone, there was no reason to assume it was anyone sinister.'
'But it's possible?'
'Oh, it's possible, all right. It's that sort of spot. We all thought the area attracted more than its fair share of dubious characters. But there was no real evidence.'
'There's no real evidence Gary drowned either.'
'That's the trouble. If they'd ever found Gary's body…' She swallowed, again choking back emotion. 'But it drove Paul mad. Almost literally. He became fixated on it. He used to cycle up there, over and over again, searching the area. He'd stop passers-by and ask them if they'd been there that Sunday and if they'd seen anything. He visited the neighbouring houses. In the end, he gave up his job to spend more time there.'
'How long did this go on?'
'All that summer. Two or three months, I suppose. Eventually, the police had a quiet word with him because they'd had complaints. But everyone was sympathetic. He was wearing himself out. He was behaving – well, not normally. He had no other life, did nothing else. His parents were getting worried. Mam was getting worried. He was still living over here with us. We got the doctor out to see him. Nervous exhaustion, he reckoned, whatever that meant. Recommended Paul should rest but of course he didn't. But then he collapsed. He was coming back from yet another trip to the lake on his pushbike. No one knew what happened. Paul couldn't remember afterwards. We think he just blacked out. Fell off the bike and it looked as if he was hit by a car though no one ever came forward. He was lucky someone found him. He was quite badly injured. Broke his leg and both wrists and he was very badly bruised. But it was a blessing in disguise. He was in hospital for two or three weeks, and spent months recuperating. He was champing at the bit but he just had to lie there. It gave him the time he needed to get over it.'
'Unlucky though, at one level.'
'How do you mean?'
'Being hit by a car. I mean round here the roads aren't so busy that you're generally in much danger as a cyclist. The car must have been very close to him.'
'We thought that. But there were no witnesses, and Paul couldn't remember anything, so it didn't seem worth pursuing. Paul was okay in the end, which was all we cared about.'
'But he never accepted that Gary had drowned?'
'Not entirely. He was a lot more balanced after the accident. But he still thought Gary had been snatched. He'd more or less accepted that Gary must be dead by now – he hadn't wanted to believe that at first – but he still believed his death hadn't been an accident.' She rose. 'I'm going to make that tea now, whether you like it or not.'
'I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you. But let me give you a hand.'
He followed her into the kitchen. Mrs Griffiths was sitting reading a library book. The two children were playing Ludo at the other end of the table.
'You don't mind if the inspector stays again tonight, do you, Mam?
'Not at all.' Mrs Griffiths smiled at him. 'I feel happier with a man about the place. Especially a policeman.'
'It's good of you to let me stay again. I said to Mary that I'll pass on some of my ration. I never get through it all anyway.'
Mrs Griffiths looked as if she was about to object, but then nodded. 'Every little helps these days. But only if you can spare it.'
'Mary was just telling me about DC Marsh,' Winterman said. Mary was looking at him from across the room as she busied herself with the kettle, but Winterman avoided her eye. 'I hadn't realised he was part of the family. I'd have made him stay here instead of me.'
'Don't be daft. Paul's welcome to stay anytime. Though we don't see as much of him as we used to.'
'I haven't seen much of him at work yet, but he seems to have the makings of an excellent detective.' It was largely flannel and no doubt Mary would see straight through it, but it was the kind of thing proud aunts liked to hear. And it was true enough, from the little that Winterman had seen.
'He works hard,' Mrs Griffiths said. 'And he never gives up.'
'That's certainly a major requirement in our line of work. A lot of it's about not giving up. He's a bright lad.'
'He is that. A bit too bright, sometimes. Always thinks he knows best.'
'He's in the right job then.' Winterman could feel Mary watching him, silently imploring him to leave her mother and follow her into the
front room. 'We'll leave you to it, Mrs Griffiths. I'm just chatting to Mary about one or two work things.'
'You two go on.' She gazed back at Winterman, her face smiling but her eyes unrevealing.
He suddenly felt as if she could see right through him. Although quite what she could see, he had no idea.
Chapter 54
His own ghost story.
In the dark, the phrase drifted in and out of his mind, like a shred of a forgotten dream.
It could have been a ghost itself, the grey figure looming out of the swirling snow. He had been followed but that didn't really surprise him. His senses were dulled by the evening's drinking, and he was still unsure what had led him back up into the churchyard – perhaps, unconsciously, he had sensed someone else there. But he had seen the figure only in the moment before the blow had struck him, something black and heavy swinging out of the whirling darkness.
He had woken to a different darkness. Inside or at least under shelter. The ground under him was hard – rough flagstones, he thought. Somewhere he could hear an ominous scratching and scuffling – the sound of mice or rats.
He dragged himself to his feet. In the dark, his hand brushed against a wooden surface. A table or workbench. He grasped it, nearly falling as it rocked unsteadily under his weight, then fumbled his way along its length, bumping up against a rough stone wall. He shuffled further along the wall, his fingers traversing the coarsely hewn surface, once grazing themselves on an embedded metal hook. Finally, his hand reached a different surface – uneven planks of wood, several feet across, reaching high above him. A door, or at least a wooden covering where an entrance should be. He slid his hands across the surface, wood splinters stinging his skin, seeking a handle. There was nothing. He found the far edge and tried to dig his fingertips under the wood, but there was no give.
He continued his stumbling way past the doorway in the hope of finding an alternative exit. In a few minutes more, he had determined that he was in a small stone-built room with no apparent way out beyond the covered panel he had already discovered. He had bumped up against several objects – wooden crates, a broken stool, some piece of rusty machinery. An outbuilding or barn, then.
