Dead Ground in Between

by Maureen Jennings

  He paused again, but Desmond showed no desire to see said wounds. Delderfield continued.

  “All the time this one, the bigger of the two, was yelling the most vile obscenities. Very loud he was too. Well, in the ensuing struggle, we collided with the shelf where there was a display of china cups and saucers. They had been brought in from London especially for Christmas sale. The shelf collapsed and most of the china was broken. I have estimated the cost to the store at between ten and twelve pounds. I would like to be reimbursed for that cost, and also to see that these young hooligans are punished. They have no business being given the freedom and privilege of wandering about our streets. It is my belief they belong in a reform school.”

  Desmond pursed his lips and addressed the clerk. “The note here says they are evacuees, and the billeting matron is here to speak on their behalf.”

  “Yes, your worship. She is in court now.” He nodded in the direction of the public bench.

  She must be the smart-looking woman in grey, thought Tyler.

  “Call her up. I’ll hear what she has to say.”

  The clerk beckoned and the woman made her way to the witness box, stepping in through its little gate. She was taller than Tyler had first thought, and she walked straight-backed with a certain air of confidence. Not a woman to be easily intimidated, law court or no law court.

  “Please state your name and address.”

  “Mrs. Nuala Keogh. I live at number two River Close, off Lower Broad Street.” She spoke with an Irish lilt.

  Desmond frowned, as if he had a personal grudge against the Celts. “Madam, you’ve heard Mr. Delderfield’s statement, I presume.”

  “Yes, your worship. I have indeed. I have myself made a statement about the incident.”

  Desmond took a moment to blow his nose. Not a pleasant sound. “I have read that statement, madam, but in this instance I must give more credence to the evidence of Mr. Delderfield.”

  “Why is that, your worship? Perhaps you could be so good as to enlighten me.”

  Her voice was cool. Oh dear, thought Tyler, this could get tricky.

  “He was directly involved in said incident. You were not.”

  She looked as if she was about to speak, but he lifted his hand to stop her.

  “I realize you feel a certain sympathy and responsibility for these boys, madam, but we cannot tolerate such atrocious behaviour in this town. I have a good mind to send them off to a reform school where they can learn some proper manners.”

  From the flush that had suddenly appeared on Mrs. Keogh’s cheeks, Tyler thought she must have the reputed Irish temper to match her accent.

  “I don’t think so, your worship. That would not only be cruel and unusual punishment, it would also be rather stupid.”

  Desmond stared down the length of his red-tipped nose at her. “I beg your pardon, madam. Did I hear you correctly?”

  “I’m sure you did. I do not for one moment think these boys deserve to go to any such place. If you ask me, the manager overstepped his authority. He should not have grabbed ahold of the boy like that. His brother was only defending him.”

  The two court clerks were watching the proceedings with great interest. Tyler had the feeling that even in this lower court the magistrate had established a brutal authority that nobody questioned.

  “According to Mr. Delderfield,” continued Desmond, shaping his words with knife-edged precision, “not only was one of the boys stealing, he also inflicted considerable damage on valuable property. Do you understand?”

  “Completely. But there is no proof that he was stealing. He’d had no opportunity to go to the till and pay for the goods – a bar of chocolate worth tuppence, I might add. The manager made a totally uncalled-for assumption.”

  “Hardly that –”

  “Excuse me, sir, an uncalled-for assumption. As for the breakage, as Mr. Delderfield himself has admitted, that was an accident. Surely the damage to some cheap cups and saucers is hardly comparable to the damage that might occur to the minds of these two boys if you send them to be among true juvenile delinquents.”

  Desmond sat up straighter. The woman was standing only a few feet away from him, and Tyler was reminded of a standoff between two angry cats. If they had each had a tail, they would have been lashing them.

  A moment elapsed, and the magistrate leaned back in his chair. Backing off a little? Hare was chewing on his lip.

  “If you think it would be so detrimental to these boys to go to a reform school, then I, perforce, shall have them returned to their parents.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I beg your pardon, madam. I can and I will if I think it necessary.”

  Mrs. Keogh’s eyes glinted. “What I meant to say is that you can’t because we have no idea where their parents are. The boys were sent over to England with the Kindertransport. I assume your worship is familiar with what that is?”

  “Of course I am, madam,” said Desmond. “Children were brought here from occupied Europe by a charitable organization. It was thought their lives were in danger.”

  “Not just ‘thought,’ your worship. They were indeed in danger.”

  Her voice was sharp and Desmond was momentarily taken aback.

  “As I understand it, the majority of the children were German. Are these boys German?”

  “No, they are Dutch of Jewish heritage. Their parents foresaw the catastrophe that was about to befall Holland and secured a berth for them on the very last boat to leave from Amsterdam.”

  “I see.” Desmond’s expression appeared to be softening.

  “That was two years ago,” continued Mrs Keogh. “Their parents stayed behind, and they have not been heard from for over a year. We don’t know if they are alive or not. The boys were sent to London initially but, given the severity of the bombing there, they were forthwith evacuated to Wales. Unfortunately, that family was not able to keep them for health reasons. They were relocated to Ludlow. To myself.”

  “And when was that?’

  “September of this year.”

  Desmond wiped his nose and looked at the Irishwoman through the mask of his handkerchief. “My dear madam, I commend your generosity in taking in these children. But we have been taking in many children since the war began, who are in similar circumstances who do not play Old Harry with our townsfolk if they are thwarted.”

  Mrs. Keogh wasn’t backing down for a minute. “I don’t think ‘thwarted’ accurately describes what happened, your worship. Jan has told me that he and his brother were in Woolworth’s to buy some Christmas presents.”

  “Rather early for that, don’t you know,” interjected Hare.

  Desmond nodded. “Quite so.”

  “They wanted to see what was available. They have saved their pocket money for that purpose. They were not stealing anything, just trying to make a choice. However, the manager immediately assumed they were shoplifting. According to Jan, Mr. Delderfield grabbed his brother, Pim, by the collar. He is a large man, and Pim is a small boy who has been severely traumatized by past experiences. He became frightened and cried out. Jan went to his aid and a struggle ensued, in the course of which the display of china was knocked down.”

  The magistrate pursed his lips. “Mr. Delderfield says the boy attacked him, as well as releasing a torrent of foul language that no customer should have to be subjected to.”

  “I heard what Mr. Delderfield reported,” said Mrs. Keogh. “But I don’t know how he can say for certain it was foul language. When they’re upset the boys sometimes speak Dutch or Yiddish. Mr. Delderfield could have misunderstood what was said. Jan thought his brother, to whom he is most attached, was being threatened.”

  At this point, the manager, who had returned to his place on the bench, jumped up. He gave a little wave in the magistrate’s direction.

  “Yes, Mr. Delderfield?”

  “Beg pardon, your worship, but I beg to differ with this lady. There is no doubt that the words the one lad was using were
pure Anglo Saxon. I can repeat them, if you wish.”

  “No, I do not wish,” said Desmond. “We won’t sully the ears of this court.” He wiped his sore nose, which was getting redder by the minute.

  “Mrs. Keogh, what is your response to what Mr. Delderfield just said?”

  “It is possible. Their first foster home was not the best. They did hear words that are not acceptable in polite society. I have been talking to them about this.”

  “It doesn’t appear to have sunk in,” said the magistrate irritably.

  She shrugged. “In the excitement of the moment, I presume Jan resorted to some old habits. As we all might do.”

  Desmond shuffled his papers as if would have liked to shake her out of them. Hare stroked his moustache.

  “The older boy seems to be the leader. Perhaps it would be better if they were separated as being together seems so easily inflammatory.”

  Tyler saw Mrs. Keogh inhale deeply. Don’t lose your temper, lady. You won’t get anywhere with this moron if you do.

  To his surprise, she turned her head and her eyes met his. Whatever he was conveying, it seemed to help her, and when she spoke again her voice was less belligerent.

  “I assure you, your worship, any separation of these two boys would be disastrous. To all intents and purposes they are orphans. The only family they have in the world is each other.”

  Tyler had the feeling that Desmond was not going to be swayed by any appeal to the milk of human kindness. He was right.

  “That is all very well, madam, but these young hooligans who have been dropped in our laps must learn that they are in decent society here, even if it is not what they are used to. Who is going to pay for the damages and expenses incurred by Woolworth’s?”

  “I would assume that an American company as large as Woolworth’s would have allowances for a certain amount of breakage, but, given the circumstances, I myself will cover the cost to replace the china that was destroyed.”

  Desmond sniffed. “What guarantee do we have that these boys will not reoffend in perhaps an even more violent way? According to you, they have come from a situation that might in itself have affected the balance of their minds.”

  Another deep breath.

  Hold on.

  “Shall I remind your worship that we are talking about a boy of fourteen and a boy of ten? We can hardly determine that they are unbalanced, no matter what unimaginable experiences they have gone through. They have both expressed much contrition over what happened in Woolworth’s. I’m sure it will not happen again.”

  Although, with much effort, she had kept her voice even, her contempt for the magistrate was palpable.

  “We can’t just sweep this incident under the carpet.”

  Tyler had had enough. He got to his feet.

  “May I address the court?”

  Desmond didn’t look too happy but he nodded. Tyler approached the bench.

  “Excuse me, your worships, but perhaps I could offer a solution here.”

  “Yes, what is it, Inspector?”

  “I would like to suggest we remand the case.”

  “Not again. This is getting to be repetitious.”

  “I don’t think so, your worship. These are very different situations. If you will release the boys back to the care of Mrs. Keogh, I will personally take it upon myself to speak with them and to keep an eye on them. Make sure they will not be a danger to the community.”

  The magistrate pursed his lips. He turned to Hare. “What is your opinion, Wendell? Shall we allow it or not?”

  The other magistrate hesitated.

  Trying to see which side your bread is buttered, are you?

  However, he whispered something to Desmond that Tyler couldn’t hear, and the magistrate nodded.

  “Very well.” He flapped his hand in the direction of Mrs. Keogh. “Approach the bench if you please, madam.”

  The clerk jumped up so he could open the little gate of the witness box and she walked forward until she was shoulder to shoulder with Tyler.

  “Mrs. Keogh, did you hear what Detective Inspector Tyler is proposing? I have the good of this town to take into account. It’s an assessment by the inspector or off to Borstal with them. Take your pick.”

  If it was possible for her back to get straighter, it did. “Needless to say, I will choose the assessment,” she said. “I have to trust that the inspector will proceed with sensitivity. The boys are highly strung.”

  Desmond rapped his gavel on the desk with some force.

  “I am remanding the case until January 4 of next year, when court will resume. Madam, you can speak to the clerk before you leave about the recompense to Woolworth’s, and you can deal with the detective inspector here about setting up the interview.” He checked his watch. “Court is now adjourned.”

  The clerk got to his feet. “All will rise.”

  The magistrates both stood up. With his ledger tucked underneath his arm, Desmond led the way through the rear door.

  Mrs. Keogh started toward the clerk, but Tyler caught up with her.

  “Excuse me, madam, I’ll need to arrange a time to talk to the young lads.”

  “It’s bloody ridiculous,” she said. “The boys got frightened and what happened was an accident. Blathering on about reform school is utterly lacking in common sense. Not to mention compassion. What’s wrong with the man?”

  Her eyes were brown, and right now they were dark with anger.

  Tyler had no answer to that. “I do sympathize, madam. Perhaps it’s his bad cold bothering him today. His head’s stuffed, as it were.”

  She blinked at him and allowed herself a little smile. “If I’d known that, I’d have brought him some camphor to inhale.”

  It was Tyler’s turn to smile. “I suggest the sooner we get the interview over and done with the better for all concerned. When would be a good time?”

  I’d like to see you again.

  He was surprised at himself. Given the circumstances and his recent letter, it was not a thought he’d expected to have, but it had come unbidden. Nuala Keogh was brown-haired where Clare was fair, round where she was skinny. But there was something about her that reminded him of Clare. Maybe the way she’d gone to bat for her charges. Her directness and refusal to back down. On the magistrates’ docket she had been listed as a widow. Not the grey-haired matron he’d anticipated, but then, he should have known better given the times. There were too many young women being made widows. He wondered what her circumstances were.

  “We can be available after school today,” she said. “But I’d like them to have their tea first. Will that be all right, or are you off duty by then?”

  “No, that sounds good. Why don’t I come to your house? It might be less intimidating for the boys to be in more familiar surroundings.”

  She smiled. A nice smile. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be.” She turned to leave. “They really are good children, Inspector. They have had a worse time in their young lives than we can ever imagine.”

  “And they’re lucky to have you for an advocate,” said Tyler impulsively.

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then nodded and walked away.

  Tyler refrained from watching her and was saved from further self-admonishment by the rotund clerk who came hurrying up, his clipboard clutched in front of him like a shield.

  “Detective Inspector, the two young men are asking if they can leave. I assume you will want to have a word with them before they go.”

  “Right. I do. Where are they?”

  “In the anteroom, sir. This way.”

  Tyler followed him.

  “Dreadful weather we’re having, aren’t we, sir?” he said over his shoulder. “What with these gales and the war, I don’t know what the world is coming to. Dreadful.”

  Gales, war, and lovers who don’t want you anymore. Dreadful indeed.

  —

  It had been well over a year now since he’d been captured. He could still remember the English
soldier who’d taken him prisoner. He had a suntanned face, dusty khaki uniform, and Angelo noticed an inflamed sand ulcer on his shin. He stood over the trench where Angelo had taken shelter and waved his rifle at him. “Hands up.” He jerked the rifle upward but the words needed no translation. Angelo shot his arms into the air.

  Time froze. He’d wondered if this was to be his last moment on earth. Then what? No prayer sprang to his lips then, no feeling of where he might be going. His eyes locked with the Englishman’s. What a strange intimacy passed between them. Potential killer and potential victim. There was no hatred in the other man’s eyes. Is that what hell really is? To have hatred the last thing you ever see? And the opposite is to die looking into the eyes of love.

  He’d climbed out of the trench, his legs so shaky he could hardly stand, but it was a physical fear only. He could not feel anything except this strange stillness of time. This exquisite connection with the Englishman. There were others on the sandy strip outside of the trenches, his fellows. They were all silent, only the English shouting. Excitedly shouting. Not quite serious, posturing really, but dangerous nonetheless. His captor waved the rifle to indicate that Angelo should walk over to the group, and he did, his hands still in the air. With his back to the Englishman, he could no longer see his face and for the first time he felt fear, an engulfing fear that both emboldened and weakened him at the same time. He had the sensation of losing his bones, as if the very skeleton of his body was melting. He was amazed his legs were still capable of moving.

  He saw that the other captives had been told to sit down, hands on their heads. “His” Englishman gave him a prod in the back. Not hard, but enough. He was not a friend, don’t fool yourself. Angelo looked over his shoulder and again their eyes met. He had brown eyes, the Englishman. He looked far more Italian than Angelo himself did, with his blond hair and blue eyes. Angelo actually smiled, as though his captor were a pleasing acquaintance. Much later, when it became clear his captivity was irrevocable, he thought about that smile. He could hardly think of anything else. Why had he smiled in such a manner at this enemy? When he saw the cold, hard eyes of other English soldiers as they rounded up the prisoners, when he saw the way they knocked them with their rifle butts, or kicked them on the legs, he understood why he had smiled. “His” English soldier had not hated him. He supposed he might have been afraid as most of them were afraid but it wasn’t just that which had diluted the rage of the other, it was because he had seen Angelo as another human being. Another man like him, forced to be a soldier.