by Kay Kenyon
It was very late. Tomorrow, the Chief Constable would be brought in on the facts—most of them—and promptly told to forget them. Julian could imagine how that would go over.
He turned to find that Alice was waiting for him in the lobby. He had summoned her from her hotel; no point in trying to separate her from the group, preserve his cover, when he’d need to debrief her. Keeping his cover with Alice was the least of his concerns right now.
When he explained why he was here, he was taken aback when she seized his hands with unfettered joy. “You aren’t one of them, then!” she blurted.
Not a fascist, Hitler-loving apologist, quite right.
Good God, how people must view him.
PENGEYLAN
Despite the lateness of the hour, Julian knocked on Martin’s door.
Martin answered promptly, looking askance at the constable sitting in a chair in the hall. “Am I under arrest?”
“For your protection.” Julian gestured for them to go into the room. The police officer was treating Martin as a runaway, and was under orders to make sure he didn’t leave his room.
Martin was disheveled, the circles under his eyes giving him a sunken look. Julian wished they were home, where Mrs. Babbage could work some of her magic with a Yorkshire pudding or bangers, and Martin could be in familiar surroundings. But that would have to wait.
Julian broke the silence. “We have some things to talk about, Martin.”
“I’m sorry I ran away.”
“Yes, well. That is a problem. But before I mention that, I need to say that you have done a tremendous service to a police investigation—”
Martin interrupted, “I have?”
Julian went on. “—despite not knowing how to do it quite properly.” He gestured for Martin to sit on the bed, while he took the only chair. “From what you told the police, you had a remarkable site view at St. Mary-le-Bow.”
“I really saw it. I wasn’t lying.”
“I believe you. It’s why you came to the castle. To warn Kim. As it happens, Martin, that was a very foolish thing to have done.”
“I know.”
“But Kim learned you were here, and because of that, she was able to prevent the killer from escaping. But it could have ended differently.”
Martin nodded. He, more than anyone, knew how close he had come to being another victim of Dries Verhoeven.
“For tonight, let’s leave it at this: your parents will be very upset with you, and with us for not supervising you properly. You will have to go home and face the music.”
“But they—”
“None of that, now, Martin.” From what Alice had told him, he had a clear understanding of one of the reasons Martin didn’t want to go home: the boy’s father had struck him, and likely more than once. But they would have to work with the family he’d been given.
“The way this is going to work is that you will tell your parents exactly what you did, and that when you ran to London, you thought you might be able to see details of Jane Babington’s death. However, I would like you to refrain from saying that you saw anyone specific in your vision.”
“But I did!”
“We will talk more about this tomorrow. But for now, all you need to know is that site view is not admissible in court. Any unproven allegations against a peer of the realm would not be well received, Martin. I would also like you to apologize to your parents for how you behaved.”
Martin by now was looking very glum.
“If you do that to your parents’ satisfaction, I will arrange for the police to pay a visit and say that you were a substantial help in catching the youth killer. Which—in a way that will remain unspecified—could not have happened except by knowledge you gained with your Talent.”
“Which they think is a lie.”
“They do think so. We all thought so, because of some of your own actions. However, if the police explain that your site view was helpful in the apprehension—it may help reconcile your parents, particularly your father, to your special ability.”
“You’d do that? The police would?”
“I’m going to arrange it. But I have some conditions.”
“Anything, sir.”
“Well, let me make clear what the expectations are, and then you can decide. First, you’re going to have to work at earning back your reputation. And I think you can do it, as long as you step up to whatever penalties your father imposes. You did run off from Wrenfell, where your parents trusted you would be under supervision. Secondly, I am going to ask the police to speak to Vicar Hathaway and apprise him of your notable Talent and the damage done when you are accused of lying about it.”
“But—”
“Let me finish, Martin. The vicar does not give credence to Talents, but he may come around a bit if the authorities inform him that Talents played a role in ending the youth murder spree. Even if the vicar doesn’t change his stance, you will resume your conversations with him, and on a new footing. You will undertake to become more trustworthy, giving up the Adder club until such time as the school might approve such things. I believe your parents will be reassured if you take instruction from the vicar, who is their close friend.” The lad’s expression became quite downcast. “We know that your father can be . . . harsh.”
Martin flashed a look at him. Julian could not say how he knew.
He went on. “That is going to stop, with the vicar’s help and with your new attitude. So, you will go home at the start of the school term, and the vicar will monitor how things are going.”
“Will he be on my side? Because before—”
“I’ve known James Hathaway since he came to Uxley fifteen years ago. He has genuine care for his parishioners and for young people, and especially those in need. He has not had the full picture up to now, Martin, but he soon will if you agree.”
Slowly, Martin nodded. “All right, then. Yes. If you’re sure I can’t stay with you?”
“We would love to have you, Martin, truly. But it’s time for some family healing. And you can visit Wrenfell. As you continue to prove yourself at home, I think it would be allowed.”
“Maybe the police would like my help again. You know, on other cases. I could be a big help.”
That was quite possibly true. From what Julian had learned of what Martin had seen at St. Mary-le-Bow, he might be a profoundly strong site view Talent.
“If you ever want to work for the police, you’ll have to get good marks in school and earn a solid recommendation from the headmaster. Maybe even go to university. So, if that’s your goal, you’ll have to start doing things differently.”
The boy started to perk up.
“And if you buckle down in school this year, keep your nose clean, I’ll ask your parents for permission to have you tested for Talent capacity.”
That got his attention. “Would you, sir?”
“Yes. One last thing, Martin. You must never tell anyone that Kim was assisting a police investigation. She was working undercover with her reporter role. This is not something either she or I want anyone to know. Not your schoolmates, not Vicar Hathaway, no one.”
“Are you with the police, too?”
“Martin. You are never to mention me in this capacity again. I do help out from time to time. But this must be our secret. Do you understand? If there is any breach of this trust on your part, even to your parents, I will take it very seriously indeed. Do I have your word?”
Martin nodded slowly. “I swear it.”
Julian smiled at the youngster. “Get some sleep now.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He frowned. “Can I tell the chief inspector that you’re with the police, though? They acted like they didn’t understand that.”
“Martin. You must never purport to know anything about my role in this, other than I came up here to look for my daughter.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I’m just tired, or I would have known that.”
Julian was surprised the boy could put two
words together, much less keep all of this straight. “Good night, Martin.” He nodded at him, making firm eye contact. “You did well, son.”
Martin did something that Julian hadn’t seen before. He smiled. He looked fifteen again. Rumpled and tired, but a healthy, resilient fifteen.
When he came out into the hallway, Kim was waiting for him.
“They said you were in there.”
“No secrets tonight,” Julian responded, looking at her with great affection.
Elsa stood at the doorway to their room. He nodded at her, and she closed the door.
“Shall we take the air?” Julian suggested.
They walked out into the cool August night. It was almost September, and the air bore a promise of the season to come. They made their way slowly down the silent street, Kim wearing Elsa’s jacket, several sizes too large. The village was lit only by streetlamps.
“Elsa hasn’t told me anything,” she said, “so I guess you’ll have to do it.”
“Well. It’s the world’s most secret club.”
“Are we in the same one, then?”
“Yes. I knew when I came up here that there was a chance I’d blow my cover. I wanted to avoid it if possible.”
“And it wasn’t possible.”
“Maybe it was. The fact is, it did no good for me to come looking for you. You had it all wrapped up without me.” He cut a pleased look at her as they walked. “Well done.”
They approached a village green encircled by cobblestoned streets and the frontages of eating and shopping establishments. They took a path into it.
“You’ve played your part very well,” she said. “I was totally convinced.”
“Yes. That hurt, rather.”
She looked at him in chagrin, and he gave her a one-armed hug. “I don’t mean it. What else could you do except believe what I said, that I admired them?” The Nazis.
“It had been so long since I’d seen you,” Kim said. “I didn’t know you anymore. And a lot of people are German sympathizers.”
“That isn’t me, Kim.”
She stopped for a moment. “How could you let me believe you were a Nazi sympathizer?”
“It’s the way of things. But it was very hard, Kim, I want you to know. Very hard.”
She took a deep breath, trying to sort it.
He held her gaze. “Do I still look like a Nazi?”
“Yes.” But she smiled.
“Good. The moment I don’t, the service will cashier me.”
She looked at him with a new sort of expression. He thought, if he wasn’t mistaken, it might be admiration.
They sat on a bench. The view straight north was out to the bay, a black mass at this distance, pinched by the narrow street.
“What is your job, exactly? I presume it’s all right to say now?”
“I’m a case officer. I work at SIS headquarters in London, and I run a team of agents, some of whom you’ve met, others whom you never will. It’s been eleven years since I was brought into the Office. I frankly jumped at the chance to do something useful.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “Walter Babbage is one of ours, running courier for me and odd jobs.”
Her voice was incredulous. “Walter?”
“He’s not a trained agent. An asset of mine, in the terms of the trade. We can rely on him.”
“Does he know about me?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
Julian didn’t blame her for her reaction. Once the clandestine world started to cast off its disguises, it often left people blinking and wondering. If Kim stayed in the business, she would become familiar with the undercover world in all of its layers: The truths, half-truths, and outright deceptions. In the cracks between were things viewed aslant. To walk among the layers and keep your bearings was one of the great tests of the intelligence services.
There were others. But she seemed to be doing all right so far.
“I’m sorry that I had to deceive you,” he said. “It’s been hell on our view of each other. But it did help my credibility as a fascist, that you were so outraged. Unfortunately, in this line of work we take advantage of everything. It’s nasty and unforgiving.”
“I’m learning that.”
He wondered what she had learned. Now they would be able to talk about these things. It filled him with a measure of relief that surprised him, a gauge, perhaps, of the loneliness he’d experienced.
“Powell Coslett killed himself. Is that true?”
“Yes. He jumped off an upper-story balcony. It may take days for the body to wash up, if it ever does.”
She shook her head. “A bad way to die. So alone.”
“He was with his mother.”
“Oh, God. Even worse.” She rubbed her wristwatch, the Elgin her mother had given her that he never saw her without. It was her habit when distressed.
“He said that he helped in the killings for the spiritual power. That was the last time I saw him, when he came to my room to drive me to the station. He told me that he’d been wrong about how the power would come to him. He and his mother had been wrong. So, it had all been a ghastly mistake. I don’t know how he figured that out, but I think it was why he killed himself.”
“Ritual murders along special paths.” Julian shook his head. “Symbolized in the Coslett emblem, you said?”
She nodded, staring out into the distance. “Another part of this, maybe the thing that started it coming unraveled for them, was when Lloyd Nichols showed up.”
She told him how Nichols had discovered her connection with the intelligence service and had exposed her cover to Powell Coslett, and how she believed that action had been the catalyst for Verhoeven deciding to escape.
“What will happen to Nichols?” she asked.
“We’ll pay him a visit. Put the fear of God into him.”
“He knows who I am.”
“Not for long. He’ll be made to understand that it’s in his best interests never to have heard of us.”
The moon had set, and the park slumped into a profound, tarry night. But Kim made no move to go back.
“I keep replaying it,” she said. “The cove.”
He took her hand in his.
“I never would have found him if not for the lantern. I knew he had gone to the cove, because Martin had overheard. I didn’t know exactly where the cove was, but I’d been there with Powell, and thought it would make a good landing spot. I saw someone standing on the headland with a lantern. When he went down, I followed him.”
She had told him this, in bits and pieces, as they’d made their way back to the castle last night, but she needed to talk about it, and he wanted to hear.
“Verhoeven waded out into the surf. But he turned around and saw me. He held up his hands to surrender. Then he got pulled down into the sand. It was in an area that Powell told me one must never go. Because it was sacred. A circle of stones only exposed at low tide. But that reputation wasn’t about being sacred; it had always been about the danger, where the ground looks solid, but is just a batter of water and sand. I tried to pull him out, using my jacket as a rope.”
A new detail. By God, she had tried to save him.
“Every time he tried to move, he sank deeper. He saw the tide coming in and was crazy with fear. He begged me to shoot him.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. It was awful to think of, that she had been faced with this decision, she of all people.
“I raised my gun and took careful aim, afraid I would miss.”
They stared into the night.
“I didn’t.”
Julian would have let the bastard drown. She had only had a few moments to make up her mind, but perhaps her actions were never in doubt. One thing he knew: it shouldn’t have ended that way. But since it had, they must deal with it.
“This won’t be our story, however,” Julian said. “The German boat came in, and seeing that Verhoeven was about to be apprehended by you, they killed him to keep him fr
om being interrogated. Then his body fell into the water. The tide was coming in fast, and you ran up the beach to escape hostile fire from the German boat. You don’t know about the sand trap. That will be a surprise to you.”
“I can’t say that. I’m not trying to escape what I did.”
The wind had come up, bringing a briny smell from the water. “I’m sure you are not. But that’s how it’s got to be.”
She shook her head. “Your boss says so? The Prime Minister says so?”
“The PM will get a briefing on the whole Crossbow operation. And he’ll hear that the Germans killed Verhoeven.”
“You’ll lie to the Prime Minister?”
“We’ll provide him with deniability. And save the intelligence service from an embarrassing investigation. Which the Office does not want, His Majesty’s Government will not want, and you and I certainly do not want. What we need is a perfect end to the murder spree, one that will satisfy everyone, not leave people thinking it should have gone otherwise.” He got up. “Time to head back.” She faced questioning tomorrow. She’d need some sleep, if she could.
When they got back to the hotel, she stopped at the entrance. “Julian. I don’t think I can. Lie about it, I mean. I did it, and I knew what I was doing. I just want . . . to take what comes.”
He paused. The next part was hard to say. “It’s an order, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” Her gaze slid away from him.
This was the other thing she had to learn about the clandestine services. There was a chain of command. He knew she wouldn’t like it. She had never been good about obedience and tended to act according to principles strictly her own. It had begun with setting the animals free from the pound when she was eleven, and she might not be over it.
“Another thing,” he said. “And you’re not going to like this one, either. But we don’t have a strong case against Dorothea Coslett. Nor Powell Coslett, for that matter. In fact, we do not have any evidence of the sort that could hold up in court.”
She made a rumpled smile. “I know we don’t.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “We will, however, lay out the facts for Chief Constable Voyle. This is his jurisdiction, and he will hear what happened. With the exception of how Verhoeven died.”
