“Captain can see you, sir. Come right in.”
Tyler entered not Prospero’s lair but a warm hut, furnished in an unexpectedly cozy way. He glimpsed cushions on chairs, a wool rug on the floor. There was a smell of fresh coffee in the air. Captain Beattie had made himself at home. The man himself was behind a long table that was unencumbered by papers or files. He stood, hand outstretched to Tyler.
“Good afternoon, Inspector. I’m Jim Beattie. Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Just made a pot. It’s courtesy of a Canadian aunt. Bit strong for British tastes, perhaps, but I’ve acquired a liking for it.”
“Thank you, not for me.”
“Tea? Won’t take a minute.”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got my constables waiting in the car…we brought the POW in with us.”
“Ah, yes. Young Iaquinta.”
“I should tell you, Captain, that matters seem a little more serious than when we first spoke. We’ve found an exact match of his thumbprint on a metal case that belonged to the deceased man.”
“Prisoners aren’t supposed to handle any of the farmers’ personal items. Hard to avoid sometimes, I suppose. What does he say about it?”
“He denies any knowledge of the case.”
“Where was it, exactly?”
“Underneath some sacking on a shelf in the barn where Iaquinta spent the night.”
“Was it deliberately hidden?”
“Possibly.”
Beattie poured himself a cup of coffee from a carafe on a hot plate by his desk.
“Question is, then, how did his fingerprint get on there? There’s no doubt it is his, I suppose?”
“None. I can show you the cards. He has a scar on his thumb that is quite distinctive.”
“So he must have handled the case at one time or another.”
“Which he emphatically denies. However, he has admitted that Mr. Cartwright did come into the barn in the early hours of the morning. I have reason to believe he was likely carrying the case at that time.”
“Oh, lord. That doesn’t look too good, does it?”
“Iaquinta claims Cartwright just turned around and went right out again. He can offer no explanation for the presence of the case on the shelf.”
The captain took a sip of his coffee. “Hmm, good.”
Tyler understood him to mean the drink and didn’t respond.
“I would like to conduct a search of the prisoner’s quarters, if that’s all right with you, sir.”
“I don’t know that you’ll find much. The boys get inspected every two or three days. No place to hide anything. They’re allowed a locker but that has to be opened for inspection as well. What would you be looking for?”
“Can’t say as I know exactly. We haven’t found the weapon yet. The coroner believes it was a short double-edged knife.”
“Oh no, no weapons allowed in the camp. We are strict about that. Some of the men like to do wood carving, especially now that Christmas is coming up – and very good they are, I must say – but they have to do it in a special workshop, and all tools must be accounted for. No, Angelo couldn’t have concealed a knife, I guarantee that. And that description doesn’t fit the regular cutlery, which is also counted after every meal.”
Tyler thought the captain was being ridiculously trusting, but maybe it was he who had become too cynical. In his experience, prisoners of any kind could create whatever they wanted to if they were ingenious enough.
Beattie put down his coffee cup. “I’ll come with you to the hut. Most of them are inside today because of the bad weather.” He smiled. “They’re probably all having a singsong. They like to sing do our POWS. Opera, mostly. It’s in their blood I suppose.”
Beattie instructed a sentry to escort them to the hut. Tyler told Biggs and Mortimer to remain in the car, and he walked beside Angelo and Beattie across the compound. He didn’t know if the captain was right about music and heredity but he was right about the POWS having a singsong. When the sentry opened the door, a blast of sound hit them. Not operatic though. Very much British. “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” – the naughty version, which was creating a lot of laughter.
The men stopped in mid-note at the sight of their compatriot with the commandant and a stranger.
“Attention!” yelled the sentry, in best sergeant major manner. More quickly than Tyler would have expected, the POWS scrambled to get to the foot of each bed and stand straight.
“At ease,” said Beattie.
They obeyed.
“Gentlemen, this is Inspector Tyler from the Shropshire constabulary. He is here to make a search of Private Angelo Iaquinta’s bed and locker. I will ask you not to interfere with this search, or to comment on what he is doing. I ask you especially not to comment in your own language.” He gave a disarming smile. “You know our grasp of Italian isn’t the greatest. I assure you Private Iaquinta’s rights will be protected at all times. This is not a military matter but one that concerns the local police. Those of you who can translate must wait until we are finished here. I shall make a full report to you at the evening meal.” He turned to Tyler. “Go ahead, Inspector. Angelo has the bottom bunk.”
There was a small locker beside the bunk bed and Tyler opened it. The only thing inside was a dog-eared Italian-English dictionary. He riffled through the pages but there was nothing there. He turned his attention to the bunk.
The hut was silent, all the occupants intent on watching his every move. Even if they hadn’t understood every word the commandant had said, they could tell something serious was going on.
Tyler removed the pillow and pulled back the covers. Nothing.
Angelo was standing behind him but he could feel the man’s tension. It was like the children’s game of “Hotter, Colder.”
As he lifted a corner of the mattress, he almost expected the POW to call out, Hot!
For it clearly was.
Tucked into the canvas webbing underneath the mattress was a tiny piece of blue silk. Tyler removed it. Wrapped inside was a thin gold wedding ring.
“Where did you get this, Private Iaquinta?”
Angelo ducked his head. “I found it.”
“Where?”
“Outside the barn somewhere.”
“You should have turned it in,” said Captain Beattie.
“I am knowing that, sir. I’m sorry.”
“When did you find it?” Tyler asked.
“Sometime on Sunday afternoon.”
“And the piece of silk?”
“It was lying in the kitchen.”
Captain Beattie came forward. “Private Iaquinta, I will have to put you on a charge. The rules are strict about found property where you are working. You are not allowed, ever, to keep anything you find on English soil.”
The POW was looking suitably chastised. The watching men were silent.
“You will be held in the detention hut for the next few days while we sort this out. After that, you will be confined to quarters until the end of the month, with extra KP duty. Sergeant Pullham, please take note and write this up. Inspector, perhaps we can reconvene in my office.”
Together with the sergeant and Angelo, Tyler followed Beattie out of the hut. He had to admit to a twinge of sympathy for the young Italian. No, make that several twinges. He wasn’t likely to be seeing his Juliet in the near future.
—
The captain made a fresh pot of coffee and this time Tyler accepted. Beattie was right, it was strong. Tyler loved it.
“I will be continuing my investigation as I would with any civilian,” Tyler said. “If I do determine the fellow has committed a felony, how do you want me to proceed?”
Beattie gazed at Tyler over the top of his cup. “Frankly, Inspector, I don’t know. No such situation has arisen under my command before that crosses into the province of nonmilitary law. I’d better look it up. Of course, denying that he’d kept property he shouldn’t have doesn’t necessarily mean he assaulted the old man, does it?”
“No. But according to Susan Cartwright the wedding ring that belonged to his deceased wife was among the objects her father-in-law always kept in the case. The same case that Iaquinta says he didn’t touch.”
“I see.” Beattie leaned back in his chair and made a tent of his fingers. “You said that the old man may have been dumped in that hideout?”
“It’s hard to tell for sure. The entrance is by way of a metal ladder. It is very narrow. Mr. Cartwright would have to have been unconscious to get him there against his will without a struggle, and there is no sign that one took place. On the other hand, Dr. Murnaghan says he could have remained mobile for a little time after he was stabbed, so he might have climbed into the hideout himself. For shelter, perhaps.”
“The first case presupposes somebody other than the victim himself knowing the whereabouts of the hideout as well as having the freedom to move about the countryside. Surely neither is applicable to Private Iaquinta?”
“As I told you earlier, he was not in fact secured during the night. The two boys claim to have come across it by accident. Private Iaquinta has worked on the farm since harvest. He could have run across it too.”
“But you said it was well hidden.”
“It is. I’m going to pursue that line of enquiry. I’m going to get the list of the members of the Auxiliary Units who would know it was there. They have to be local men.”
Beattie nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. I’d say that the hideout is the key to the whole tragedy.”
Tyler was inclined to agree with him. It was certainly a place to start.
—
On the way back to the police station, Tyler told his constables what he’d found underneath Angelo’s mattress.
“I find it hard to believe the ring just happened to fall conveniently out of the case, which seems to fasten quite securely. Angelo must have taken it. Ergo, his thumbprint.”
“We still don’t know when, do we, sir?” said Mortimer.
“He might have found it, like he claims,” said Biggs from the back seat. “My cousin found a Viking helmet once. He thought it was some old bucket. It was in a pond on his farm. He took it home, but my auntie thought it might be special and they called in a local archaeologist. Sure enough, it was a rare and very valuable museum piece. Auntie Pauline kept the compensation money but she did give my cousin Vic a pound. He became totally obsessed with finding more treasure after that, and spent the entire summer holidays searching the fields. He was like a dog looking for a bone.”
This was a long speech for Biggs. He fell silent.
Tyler said, “And? Is this relevant to our investigation, Constable?”
“Not exactly. Sorry, sir.”
“No, that’s all right. It is interesting.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyler was sorry he’d caused his constable to clam up like that.
“Did your cousin ever find anything else?” he asked.
Biggs brightened. “Oh yes, sir. Not as valuable as the helmet, but he dug up a Roman die made from bone. And a couple of coins from George II’s time. For a while he was going to be an archaeologist but he lost interest when he found out how much extra schooling it involved.”
“When did all this happen?” asked Tyler, glancing over his shoulder.
“Three years ago. He’s in the army now.” Biggs actually grinned. “Would you believe he’s a sapper? His job is mine-detecting.”
“That’s dangerous work.”
“I know. Auntie Pauline nearly had a fit when she heard what he was doing. But he says he likes it.”
I hope the lad eventually comes back to search for treasure, not death, Tyler thought.
They drove on quietly for a while, then Mortimer said, “The big treasure in our family is the head of one of my ancestors.”
“What?” exclaimed Tyler. “Lost it, did he?”
“In a manner of speaking. He was implicated in a rebellion against Henry I. He was executed, head chopped off, but, as was the custom in those days with so-called traitors, the body was buried in one place and the head in an unmarked spot. We know it was near the house but not exactly where. We keep expecting it will surface one of these days and we can reunite it with the rest of his body.”
“And where is that?”
“In the family crypt in St. Laurence’s Church.”
Ah yes, those Mortimers.
Tyler had no idea where his distant ancestors were buried. His grandparents on his mother’s side had been laid to rest in Whitchurch in the parish church. His mum had taken him to replace the flowers on the grave on a regular basis when he was in school. As for his father’s side, he’d come from the south and they were buried down there as far as he knew. Family lore had it that they were descendants of the rebellious Wat Tyler, “leader of a lot of revolting peasants,” as his father was fond of saying. His mother said that Tom got his red hair and his restless nature from that long-ago man, but maybe that was a convenient myth.
They turned into Corve Street. Not many people were out and about in town, and the pavements were slick with rain. It was the time of year when all you could do was long for a bit of blue sky, “enough to make a sailor’s trousers,” his mother would say. So much for “this green and pleasant land.” He’d take the North African desert any day. Brilliant blue cloudless sky, white sand, exotic palm trees where coconuts containing cool delicious milk dropped into your hand…Even if it was sown with land mines; even if the sand storms were cruel; even if the irritation of the sand caused sores that wouldn’t heal; even if you could go blind from the sun…Even if…oh, forget it.
Mortimer guided Annabel into the car park beside the police station.
“I’ve got to go into Shrewsbury this afternoon,” Tyler said to the constables. “You can report to Sergeant Rowell. You’ve both done good work today. I’ll tell the sergeant you can leave an hour early.”
Biggs’ face lit up.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mortimer. “That won’t be necessary. We were just doing our job.”
Briggs grimaced.
As it turned out, Tyler’s offer had to be immediately rescinded. Hurrying toward him across the car park was Nuala Keogh.
—
“I’m just going to get a start on the milking,” said Edie.
“All right. Good idea. I thought we’d have an early supper, all things considering,” said Susan.
Ned was huddled close to the wireless, apparently listening intently to the organ recital being broadcast at that moment.
“Do you want some help?” he asked.
“You, with the cows?” His mother scoffed. “You know how you are. They’d let down sour milk more than likely. I’d sooner you help me with the supper and let Edie get on with her job.”
He ignored her. “Edie?”
“I’ll be fine, thanks, Ned. Better you give your mum a hand.” She touched Susan’s arm gently. “How is Mr. Cartwright bearing up?”
“I haven’t seen him since the police left. He’s very upset, I realize that, but Jasper was old. He’d lived his life. Death happens to us all sooner or later.”
Edie almost gasped at the words. Surely the point was that Jasper’s death hadn’t just happened. Somebody had caused it. Susan seemed to have wiped that completely out of her consciousness.
“I shouldn’t be too long,” Edie said and escaped.
As always the warm smell of the cows and the straw was comforting. Edie hung up her raincoat and hat and lit one of the oil lamps.
Clover, already uncomfortable with her full udder, bellowed.
“I’ll be right there, girls,” Edie called.
Carrying the lamp, she walked around the half-wall that partitioned off the area set aside for the POWS. At the sight of the cot, she felt a glow of pleasure. This was where she and Angelo had lain together. What phenomenal luck that the weather had turned so bad and John had decided Angelo should stay overnight and not have to bike back to the camp. As soon as she knew that, Edie had
made her decision. Who knew when or if ever they would have the chance again?
Feigning nonchalance she had spoken to Angelo in Italian. Both John and Ned were mucking out the barn, but she’d been clever. First she’d said, “Don’t look surprised.” Then, as if she were instructing him where to sweep, she’d pointed and said, “I’ll come to you tonight.” She could see his fair skin redden but the others weren’t close enough. He didn’t speak immediately, and for a minute she was afraid she’d overstepped the mark. That he was offended by her boldness. But that was not the case. He fell just as easily as she had into subterfuge. He replied in Italian, “That would be good.”
At which point Ned called out, “Oi. English only, if you don’t mind. What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” said Edie. “I was just telling him he’d missed a spot in the corner.”
They finished the chores and all of them returned to the farmhouse for the evening meal. Edie thought it would never end. John turned on the wireless and they listened to the news. It wasn’t as dire that night as it often was. Another thing she was grateful for. Bad war news was very likely to set Jasper off on one of his tirades.
She made herself pick up the darning she was doing. She thought her hands might even be shaking.
“Are you feeling all right, Edie?” Ned asked. “You look flushed. Hope you’re not coming down with anything.”
“You know, I am feeling a bit seedy. I think I’ll have an early night.”
Susan didn’t react, and John as usual seemed oblivious, concentrating on his Bible. Surely he knew it by heart by now, thought Edie. But she was grateful he was preoccupied. Thank goodness Jasper Cartwright was in one of his withdrawn moods rather than the belligerent, rude state that he could fall into. Tonight had been blessedly peaceful.
Edie put away her darning. “I’m off to bed, then. Nightie-night. See you in the morning.”
Somehow she forced herself not to look at Angelo, although she wanted desperately to meet his eyes. To know that he was as eager as she was.
She went to the parlour that doubled as her bedroom. Her cubbyhole, really. She didn’t undress but lay under the blankets. Not too long afterwards, she heard the creaking of floorboards. Angelo called out “Good night,” and she knew Ned was escorting him over to the barn.
Dead Ground in Between Page 19
