The Sleep of the Dead

by Tom Bradby

  There was silence again. Julia wanted Professor Malcolm to put away the photographs now.

  ‘He knew,’ Leslie said. ‘Everyone knew what she was doing.’

  ‘Did you go on wanting Sarah, Adrian?’

  There was another hesitation, Leslie staring at her husband. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice barely audible.

  ‘Did you pester her? Did you follow her?’

  ‘He hasn’t got the balls,’ Leslie said. ‘He longed for her from a distance and suffered her contempt.’

  ‘You were angry with her?’

  ‘He’s not a murderer, Professor.’

  ‘Did you see her in those last few days, Adrian? I mean alone. Did you meet her, did you run into her walking?’

  Adrian shook his head, face down.

  ‘Hoped he would run into her,’ Leslie said, ‘but she was too busy elsewhere.’

  ‘You didn’t go looking for her that morning?’

  ‘He has an alibi.’

  Professor Malcolm turned to Leslie, his face betraying his irritation, but Adrian was looking up now. ‘No.’

  ‘But you’d seen her going off towards the common and you set off to walk your dogs, hoping you would “bump” into her?’

  Julia could see immediately from Adrian’s face that this was true.

  ‘But,’ Professor Malcolm said, heavily, ‘you were too late.’ He leant forward, towards Adrian. ‘Do you know whom she was meeting there, whom she might have run into?’

  He shook his head. Professor Malcolm turned to Leslie, but she also shook her head, neither of them convincing in their ignorance.

  ‘What about Pascoe?’ Professor Malcolm asked.

  They both looked confused.

  ‘Was he having an affair with her?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Leslie said.

  ‘Why, of course not?’

  Leslie looked confused, then realized Professor Malcolm’s question had been barbed and dropped her eyes to her sewing.

  ‘So, Adrian, how was it that you didn’t manage to remember that you had seen Pascoe entering his house in an agitated state until after the war?’

  Julia watched Adrian’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. ‘The evidence I gave was true,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just wanted to know why you didn’t mention it until after the war.’

  ‘Nobody asked me.’

  ‘Really? How convenient.’

  ‘They asked me questions, just not the right ones. Pascoe was a member of my platoon. I didn’t want to implicate him unnecessarily.’

  Professor Malcolm thought about this. ‘So you didn’t believe Pascoe was guilty. You thought he was innocent.’

  ‘Yes. But by the time I returned from the war I was less sure of his innocence. The speculation was intense, even out there.’

  ‘Was Pascoe shunned by the other men? Bullied, needled?’

  Adrian nodded. ‘Yes. I did my best to stop it, but my belief in his innocence started to fade.’

  ‘A useful scapegoat for you all. I shan’t ask how you managed to encourage his confession,’ Professor Malcolm remarked.

  Adrian looked at them. Julia thought his eyes betrayed a mixture of resignation and continuing fear. ‘I’ve tried to help you.’

  Leslie moved towards them. ‘Please go now.’

  Professor Malcolm did not ask Julia if she wanted to accompany him to see Alan, or tell her that this was where he wished to go. He didn’t need to. They got into the car and Julia drove slowly out of the Rouses’ gravel drive. As they climbed the hill, she pulled down the visor to shield her eyes from the sun.

  ‘Adrian didn’t kill them, did he?’

  Professor Malcolm shook his head. ‘No.’

  They crested the hill and Julia coasted down towards the T-junction. There was a honk behind her and she looked in her rear-view mirror to see the de la Rues’ Volvo, Henrietta waving at her out of the window. Julia raised her hand.

  They turned left, towards Cranbrooke and the base, Henrietta honking again as she drove off in the other direction.

  Julia was concentrating on the road ahead, the hedgerows thick here with summer foliage. ‘Where’s Pascoe?’ she asked.

  ‘I called the police last night again. They still can’t trace him. Weston is worried, actually,’ the Professor replied.

  ‘You reassured him?’

  ‘Yes, but he’ll turn up again soon. I – I’m not sure what is going through Pascoe’s mind, but from the slender evidence available to me, I would say he had unfinished business.’

  ‘In what way?’

  He made no reply.

  Julia slowed as they got to the top of another hill then turned right along the ridge towards the camp. There were fields on both sides, those on the left sloping gently down towards Cranbrooke. It was more exposed here and the trees along some of the hedgerows were being buffeted by the wind.

  They reached the wire fence around the base, turned right and stopped in front of the barrier. With its long, low, prefabricated blocks, the camp looked desolate this morning, despite the sunshine.

  Professor Malcolm got out to talk to the guard. It seemed quiet, for a working day.

  He walked slowly back to the car and got in, then, as she watched the gatehouse, waiting for someone to come and give them a pass, reached over and flattened his hand against hers, to prevent her fingers from drumming the steering-wheel. He smiled at her.

  They had to wait for ten minutes until a young corporal came down in a blue Cavalier to fetch them. He arranged for Julia to get a car pass and they followed him in.

  The journey was familiar – all the way up the central road, past the canteen, then right before the parade ground. Lieutenant Colonel Alan Ford occupied the same office her father once had, in a grey block with large windows and, inside, the big leather chair was the same one he had had, but the desk was new. There was a silver cup on top of a tall metal filing cabinet, the curtains were a dirty yellow, the desk neat and ordered. There was an in tray and an out, the latter full, the former empty, an American flag, with a plaque at the bottom, and a picture of Alice Ford in a small silver frame.

  Alan was in uniform. He was still talking to his secretary as he came in and smiled. ‘Professor. Julia.’

  Like the Rouses, he showed no surprise at her presence. He bade them sit on the sofa, then pulled the leather chair from behind his desk, so that he was facing them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Professor Malcolm said. ‘I’m sure you understand. Just a formality.’

  Alan was still smiling. He glanced at Julia then back to the Professor. ‘Sure.’

  Professor Malcolm looked at Julia too now, as if preparing to offer an explanation, then turned to the window as a lorry drove past. ‘Not much activity on the base today.’

  ‘Most of the men are on leave before going to Ulster.’

  ‘When do you leave?’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘Look, Colonel Ford,’ Professor Malcolm leant forward, ‘I am sorry for this. I know … I can understand …’

  ‘It’s all right, Professor. What can I help you with?’

  Professor Malcolm pulled the photographs from the file and placed them on the desk. ‘I’m sorry to do this.’

  Julia looked up. There was no shock on Alan’s face, or surprise.

  ‘You commissioned these?’ Professor Malcolm asked. ‘You suspected your wife of having an affair?’

  ‘I suspected my wife of having numerous affairs, Professor. I got to the point where suspicion was not enough. I needed to know.’

  ‘I can imagine your anger when you got these.’

  ‘Actually, it was a relief. I had told her before her death that I wanted a divorce. I’ve never really held it against Adrian, because she … well, it’s complicated.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes, Professor. Affairs of the heart often are. I’m sure you appreciate that.’

  Professor Malcolm was looking at the photographs. He picked them up
swiftly and put them back into the folder. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

  ‘I understand. You have a job to do.’

  ‘Could you …’ Professor Malcolm was pushing his hand forward, ‘could you tell us a little more?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Well, you say you weren’t angry with her but you commissioned the pictures. When I spoke to you at the … in those terrible days after it happened, you never … I don’t recall you acknowledging there had been affairs.’

  ‘I was angry with her.’ Alan was staring out of the window now. ‘Of course I was. It’s not true to say that I wasn’t.’ There was a long silence. ‘Sarah is a hard woman to describe.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You never knew her, Professor, but we did.’ Alan was looking at Julia and she was forced to smile. ‘There was something about her, something extraordinarily vital.’

  ‘Desirable.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You thought you could co-exist with her, but it wasn’t possible.’

  ‘Yes, that too.’ He tilted his head now. ‘It’s hard, looking back on it, to work out whether, at the time of our marriage, she had already begun …’

  ‘She was pregnant.’

  Julia saw that there was a brief look of surprise in Alan’s eyes. ‘Yes.’ He looked at his hands. ‘But I’d have married her anyway.’

  ‘The child … I’m sorry to ask this, but Alice was yours?’

  Alan looked up, annoyed for the first time. ‘Of course. That’s going a bit …’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Professor Malcolm inclined his head. ‘I’m sorry. Questions don’t mean to imply or infer.’

  Alan was mollified. ‘All right. I understand.’

  ‘But you realized soon after your marriage that she was – that she slept with other men.’

  ‘I realized, or perhaps always knew.’

  ‘You consciously made that compromise?’

  Julia was frowning.

  ‘Not consciously, no.’

  ‘Did you suspect Sarah of sleeping with men in the village?’

  Julia could tell Alan was hesitating now. She thought he was trying to spare her. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Were you surprised that it was Adrian?’

  ‘By then, Professor, nothing surprised me.’

  ‘You were reluctant to divorce because of Alice?’

  Alan nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I tried to find …’

  ‘A way to live with it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you couldn’t?’

  Alan was staring at the floor again now. Julia wanted to get up and comfort him.

  ‘It must have been terrible for you.’ Professor Malcolm’s voice was soft and sympathetic. ‘I cannot imagine living with someone under those … well, knowing …’

  Alan looked up. ‘Anyway, Professor, is there anything else?’

  ‘No.’ Professor Malcolm was about to stand up. ‘It must be hard for you, Colonel, and I’m sure the search has made it worse.’ He looked up at Alan. ‘I’m sure, if it had been me, the image of my girl would never leave me, night or day.’

  Alan nodded. Julia could not tell if he was warming to Professor Malcolm, or simply embarrassed.

  Professor Malcolm stood. ‘Just one other thing and I know I asked you this before. Was there anything – anything at all – that struck you as odd in the few days before that Sunday? Sarah behaving oddly, phone calls – anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What had you been doing the week before?’

  ‘Well, we discussed this, I remember. The battalion had just finished its turn as the spearhead unit, which meant we were theoretically on twenty-four hours’ notice to go anywhere in the world, but the routine on the camp had been much the same as normal. I’d been getting home a bit later than usual.’

  ‘Working late?’

  ‘Yes. We were to go on a sniping course run by the battalion’s training wing on Salisbury Plain the following week. I was looking forward to the weekend.’

  ‘How was Sarah that week? Did she cook for you, by the way?’

  Alan clearly did not see the purpose of this question. ‘She did, though she had no fondness for it.’

  Professor Malcolm nodded, as though this was the answer he had expected. ‘Did she seem happy?’

  ‘Not particularly. She wasn’t very communicative, but then that was not unusual. As I’ve indicated, we weren’t terribly happy and she had always been moody.’

  ‘But you didn’t talk about it?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the fact that you weren’t talking.’

  Alan tilted his head to the right and ran his fingers along his lips. ‘I’m afraid my response, probably not a good one, was to be taciturn myself. But this had grown into something of a habit over a period of time. There was nothing unusual about that week.’

  ‘And Saturday and Sunday morning?’

  Alan sighed. ‘Saturday. Not much of a day. Raining. Stayed in. I wrote some letters, Alice watched a lot of television – I remember feeling guilty that we weren’t playing with her more.’

  Julia remembered the rain and her father pacing up and down during the morning of that Saturday before going out for a walk.

  ‘And Sarah?’

  ‘She went out for a walk in the morning. Alice went over to …’ Alan looked at her again. ‘She went over to Julia’s house in the afternoon for about an hour.’

  ‘What did Sarah do then?’

  ‘I don’t recall. In the kitchen, I think. Then Alice came back and we ended the day playing Monopoly.’

  ‘You didn’t go out in the evening?’

  ‘No. We had lamb chops and watched some television. Same story on the communication front.’

  ‘And Sunday morning?’

  ‘Nothing to tell. Got up late, had breakfast, read the papers, then went to church.’

  ‘No phone calls?’

  ‘A few.’

  ‘None for you?’

  Alan seemed uncertain about this. ‘There may have been. I honestly don’t remember that kind of detail.’

  ‘No,’ Professor Malcolm said. ‘Sure.’ He had his hands in his pockets now and looked as if he might sit down again. ‘Were Adrian Rouse, Michael Haydoch and Robert Pascoe all in the camp that week?’

  ‘Yes, so far as I remember. Pascoe was in my platoon, so he was there. Adrian had just returned from the Junior Division of the Staff College at Warminster.’

  ‘It must have been so … difficult.’

  ‘What?’

  Professor Malcolm looked at him as if he should have understood. ‘The war. Pascoe.’

  Alan shook his head. ‘It wasn’t an issue until the war was over.’

  ‘But you must have heard rumours?’

  ‘On the way down. But there were many rumours. That was just one.’ Alan looked at his watch. ‘Is there anything else? It’s just …’

  ‘No. I’m sorry again. I just wanted to …’ He held up the folder. ‘You can see, having got these, why I felt I had to talk to you, but that’s it. That should be it. And I’m sorry, again, for the search.’

  Alan did not know what to make of this.

  ‘That must have been difficult for you, too.’

  Alan looked as if he would not answer, then he sighed. ‘It’s all difficult.’

  Professor Malcolm nodded, as if satisfied. ‘Thank you for your time, Colonel.’

  While Professor Malcolm had been talking, Julia had realized that she did not want to leave without making some gesture to acknowledge the depth of feeling between herself and Alan.

  Professor Malcolm was in the doorway, Alan in front of his desk. She walked forward and touched his forearm. He mistakenly thought she was leaning forward to kiss his cheek and they clutched each other in an awkward embrace.

  As she went out, Julia turned. Alan smiled at her reassuringly.

  Outside, they walked to the car, drove round to the gate and handed
in the pass. Julia thought about the way Professor Malcolm had been labouring his apologies and was certain that he had had some purpose in that interview that she could not divine.

  She sensed that, somehow, he had moved far ahead of her.

  ‘Where to now?’ she asked.

  ‘Welham,’ he said.

  They drove in silence for the first few minutes.

  ‘It must have been agony,’ Professor Malcolm said.

  When he didn’t explain, Julia said, ‘What?’

  He turned to her. ‘Living with a woman so alluring, knowing that she was making herself freely available to others.’ There was a long pause. ‘I don’t know many men who could do that.’

  ‘Absolute love of a child. Don’t they say that’s the most powerful force in the world?’

  He was looking out of the side window now. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ he said.

  Mac was waiting for Wilkes, leaning against the wall by the lift on the fourteenth floor, looking out over the A3.

  The Browning was uncomfortable in his waistband, so he switched it to the inside pocket of his jacket, took a pace to his right and looked down. It was a long drop from here.

  Mac heard Rigby’s loud, truculent voice just before he came into view and it gave him enough time to slide up the stairs out of sight, but peering round the wall he saw Rigby’s bald dome first, followed by Sanderson and another man he did not recognize. They knocked on Wilkes’s door and waited. Despite his proximity, Mac could not hear what they were saying.

  They thumped louder.

  Then Mac heard a loud bang as they kicked and broke down Wilkes’s door. He put his head round the edge of the concrete pillar, but they had gone inside.

  After about ten minutes, he heard typically foul-mouthed voices emerging and echoing in the stairwell.

  Mac found that he was breathing hard and clutching the Browning, which he had removed from his jacket. He waited another few minutes, then put the pistol back into his pocket, walked down the last few steps and into Wilkes’s flat. It had been turned over as comprehensively as his own, but had probably been dirty and squalid in the first place. It had a seedy, run-down, unlived-in feel. Mac noted the picture of Wilkes’s mother on the mantelpiece, but otherwise it was devoid of personality.

  He moved among the debris, picking through it carefully. He did not know what Rigby had been looking for, but there was certainly nothing of interest here. Just clothes, some records. Not much, by any standard.