A Blind Goddess

by James R Benn

  “That’s why I want to know about the pleasure men,” I said. “Now.” All I wanted to do was get back to Diana and pass on Cosgrove’s warning. I didn’t like the look on his face; it wasn’t the usual bluster, it was dead serious. Frightened.

  “What are you talking about? Pimps?” Tree asked. Cook gave him the background about inmates serving at the pleasure of the King in the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum.

  “You said you checked all of Sam Eastman’s arrests,” I said to Cook.

  “I did. All dead or in prison, the serious offenders anyway. Might be a poacher or the like we missed, but I doubt that sort would be a threat.”

  “Any in Broadmoor?”

  “Yes, there were two sent there. One way back when Sam was new on the force, and another from nineteen thirty-five. One is still inside, and the other died there. Same with Tom Eastman: no recent releases.”

  “Why the sudden interest, Boyle?” Payne asked.

  “I was thinking how crazy Cosgrove sounded myself, and then I looked at the elder Eastman’s photograph. That made me wonder if we weren’t being too logical about this case.”

  “You mean Tom Eastman being found on his father’s grave,” Tree said.

  “Exactly. That’s nothing Angry would have done if he were the killer. There’s no point to it. It’s as if someone was delusional enough to think Sam Eastman would know his son had been killed. We may well be looking for a lunatic.”

  “I’ll inquire with Broadmoor again,” Cook said. “Perhaps they overlooked someone. I’ll go through the files and make sure none of the chaps who received lesser charges went on to more serious offenses. They might blame their first brush with the law for everything that followed.”

  “Maybe you should check up on anyone from the village who was sent to the asylum,” Tree said. “Criminal or not. It could be any local nut case.”

  “Fair point,” Cook said. “I’ll talk with Doc Brisbane, the coroner. He’d likely know who has been committed over the years.”

  “Good thinking, Tree,” Payne said. “Were you a detective yourself in the States?”

  “Naw,” Tree said, grinning mischievously. “I was a criminal, according to the judge.”

  “Hardly a criminal mastermind,” I said. “But that’s a good idea. I’ll come by tomorrow, Constable, and see what you’ve found out. I’ve got to get Tree back to his unit.”

  “I will be back at the Newbury Building Society in the morning,” Payne said. “I want to find out if Neville might have made any notes after his last visits. I still think finding Razor Fraser in the midst of all this is damned odd.”

  “He’s kept his nose clean, that’s all I can say,” Cook offered. “The gossips say his wife craves the respectable country life. In a comfortable sort of way, of course.”

  “You think he’s reformed?” Payne asked.

  “No, his type seldom do. But quieter than in his youth, I’ll bet. Smarter maybe. I’d say the driving force behind his new image is the wife. She’d not like her reputation besmirched by the inconvenience of her husband going to prison. Certainly not over a bank loan.”

  “Still, there’s something fishy there,” Payne said, “even if it’s not about Neville’s murder.”

  “The missing girl?” Tree asked.

  “No,” Cook said. “Not Razor’s area of interest. Well, good night, gentlemen. I’ll go and see if I can reclaim my office.”

  Cook returned to the station, Payne walked to his car, and Tree and I got into the jeep. I buttoned up my coat against the cool evening air, and was about to start the engine when Cook burst out of the front door.

  “He’s unconscious,” Cook yelled. “Cosgrove. I’ll get Doc Brisbane.” As he raced across the street to the coroner’s office, we rushed inside, Payne not far behind. I didn’t know what we’d find, and I felt a surge of fear it would be a corpse.

  Cosgrove was sprawled on the floor in front of Cook’s desk, but he wasn’t dead. Yet. His face was flushed and sweaty, his mouth agape as he tried to draw in air with ragged, wheezy gasps. One arm clutched the edge of the desk, as if it were a life raft floating upon the deepest sea. Papers were scattered around him, spilled out of the files he’d been carrying.

  “The doctor’s on his way,” I said, kneeling next to Cosgrove. I took his hand from where he was grasping the desk and laid it on his chest. His skin was clammy. I loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, the collar soaked with sweat. Tree took off his jacket, folded it, and slid it under Cosgrove’s head. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” came the answer, a hiss of air, no more. Cosgrove’s eyes darted left and right, looking for something. I prayed for the doctor to hurry.

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “Pa … papers,” he whispered. The papers from the file he had on the desk. Secrets.

  “I’ll take care of them, Major,” I said. “I promise. Relax and wait for the doctor, you’ll be okay.” He didn’t really look like he’d be okay anytime soon. Payne entered the room with a stretcher and set it down next to Cosgrove.

  “How’s he look?” Payne whispered.

  “Bad,” I answered, in a low voice. “I think it’s a heart attack.”

  “Boyle,” Cosgrove said, his voice surprisingly strong.

  “Yes,” I said, my face close to his.

  “Get … the papers. No sedative.”

  “Okay, the papers,” I said. “But do you know what’s wrong? Have you been ill?”

  He thumped his chest, weakly. His heart.

  “Out of the way, young man.” Doctor Brisbane, at last.

  “It’s his heart,” I said.

  “Well, you don’t need me then, do you?” Brisbane pulled open Cosgrove’s shirt and listened with his stethoscope. I decided against further diagnosis as I gathered up the files on the floor. Brisbane checked his eyes, spoke to the major, and got the same insistent rejoinder about sedatives. He and the others got Cosgrove onto the stretcher, and we each took a corner to carry him across the street. He was a big guy.

  “Boyle,” he rasped out. “Call the number, the one I gave you. No sedatives, remember.” His eyes went to the file tucked under my arm, and for the first time since we’d found him, he seemed to relax. “No sedative.”

  Doc Brisbane got Cosgrove settled in his examination room. I reminded the doc about Cosgrove’s insistence on no sedation, and vaguely hinted at state secrets.

  “If he rests quietly, there will be no need,” Doc Brisbane said. “It does look like a heart attack, you were right. Not much we can do beyond bed rest. He could stand to lose some weight, though. I’ll keep him here overnight and check his vital signs. You’ll see about getting him picked up?”

  I said I’d attend to it, then asked Inspector Payne to drop Tree off at his battalion, and to explain the situation to his CO, and to let me know if that wasn’t enough.

  “Thanks, Billy,” Tree said before he got into the car. “I owe you.”

  “What are friends for?” I asked. “Take it easy, I’ll let you know if we come up with anything.” Payne and I made plans to meet at the building society at nine o’clock the next morning, and I went back to the station to make the call.

  I sat at Constable Cook’s desk and dialed the number on the piece of paper. It rang twice, and a female voice answered, repeating the number. I said I was calling for Major Charles Cosgrove.

  “He is unavailable.”

  “No, I’m calling on his behalf. He’s ill, probably had a heart attack.” More questions about who I was, where I was calling from, and how I got this number. I promised to call with an update and the woman said someone would be in Hungerford by morning. Then she hung up, no goodbye, no “tell Charles to get better.” Nice bunch he worked for.

  I hadn’t mentioned the file, and they hadn’t asked. No one had told me not to look in it, but MOST SECRET stamped in red on the cover was a pretty strong warning. I’d had to look at the papers when I picked them up, I told myself, so another glance
wouldn’t hurt, would it?

  They looked like personnel files. Sergeant Eugene Jackson, Inspector John Payne, and me. Photographs, service records, a local address for Payne. My photo was from my identification papers. Tree’s wasn’t so formal, a bit blurry, like it was taken with a telephoto lens. Was MI5 spying on Tree?

  Carla and George Miller were there too, along with their son, in his naval uniform, and their daughter, Eva. Lots of details about their lives, but no conclusions, no assessment of their loyalty. Sergeant Jerome Sullivan was pictured arm in arm with Eva Miller.

  There was Michael Flowers of the Newbury Building Society, along with Miss Gardner, the helpful secretary. Razor Fraser and Ernest Bone. Laurianne Ross and the missing Sophia Edwards. Jack Monk from the pub, and old Tim Pettigrew. Can’t tell the players without a scorecard.

  But what was the game?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  IT WAS STILL light when I arrived back at the Prince of Wales Inn. The sun was down, but the clouds were backlit from the sunset, casting a soft golden glow over the landscape. It shouldn’t be so pretty, I thought, with a young girl dead and another missing, the innocent behind bars, and a good man dying. I found Kaz, Diana, and Laurianne Ross from the school seated outside, the flagstones warm from the day’s sunlight. I’d half forgotten that Diana and Kaz had paid a visit to the Avington School for Girls today. Diana was in her brown wool FANY uniform, which I guessed she’d worn to interest the kids, since her brass buttons and leather belt were polished to a gleam.

  “Billy,” Kaz said as I sat down on the wooden bench. “You remember Miss Ross?”

  “Of course,” I said. “What brings you here?” She looked nervous, twirling a half-empty glass of what looked to be brandy, the same as Kaz and Diana were drinking. It had to be serious.

  “We brought her back with us, Billy,” Diana said, patting her on the arm. “It was a bit of a shock. And we thought it best for you to hear it directly from Laurianne.”

  “Okay,” I said, slowly, holding back my curiosity. “Tell me about it.”

  “When the baron and Lady Seaton came by today, I of course thought they were bringing news of Sophia,” Laurianne said. Kaz used his title whenever he made restaurant reservations or needed to gain entry. Evidently it worked. “But they wanted to question the girls, as you know. We thought it best if we treated it as a visit, with the baron speaking about his native Poland and Lady Seaton talking about her experiences with the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. The girls were thrilled, especially about the FANY. So many of them want to sign up as soon as they are old enough.” She took a sip of the brandy, and I watched Diana nod encouragingly.

  A roar of engines announced a low-flying pair of fighters, P-47 Thunderbolts by the sound of their growling radial engines. They swooped over the village, probably headed back to Greenham Common air base. It was a routine event, but Laurianne jumped in her seat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Ever since I saw that picture, my nerves have been on edge. I can’t help but feel guilty.”

  “Tell me about the picture,” I said.

  “Lady Seaton—” Laurianne began again, taking a deep breath. “Diana, please call me Diana. That lady business is frightful, really.”

  “Thank you, Diana. Well, Captain Boyle, Diana asked the girls a few simple questions about Sophia, what she was like and so on. Then one of the girls said she looked like that girl who had come by asking for food. Similar hair, that sort of thing. Both were slender girls.”

  “Wait,” I said, trying to understand. “What girl? Not one of yours?”

  “No. She rode up on a bicycle one day and asked for food. She said she was traveling to Southampton and would work for a meal. She looked like a runaway so I invited her in and went to my office to call the constable. She must have overheard me on the telephone, because when I came out, she was gone.”

  “You didn’t mention this before,” I said.

  “No, I hardly recalled it. I wasn’t certain she was a runaway, but thought I should place the call just in case. Then she was gone, and there were a hundred other tasks to attend to. I quite forgot about it until the girls reminded me today.”

  “I showed her the picture of Margaret Hibberd,” Kaz said, taking the photograph out of his pocket. “It was her.”

  “She’d be alive if I hadn’t called the police,” Laurianne said. Her chin quivered and she looked ready to fall apart.

  “Whatever happened to Margaret easily could have happened after a good meal,” I said. “We know she was making her way to London to search for her parents. She said Southampton to throw you off.”

  “I keep telling myself that,” Laurianne said. “But if she had stayed, she might not have met up with whoever killed her. Isn’t that right?” Her dark eyes were watery, tears about to cascade down her cheeks. I searched for the right thing to say, and came up empty. She had spoken the truth, and there was no dancing around it.

  “What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide,” Kaz said quietly.

  “Shakespeare,” Laurianne said. “Romeo and Juliet, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Kaz said. “A story of another doomed girl. Margaret was set upon a course to find her parents, only she could not know they were both dead. Fate led her to them, not you.”

  “Thank you, Baron,” she said, and finished her brandy.

  “Did she say anything at all, other than asking for a meal?”

  “She had some story about working on a farm, but being called back to Southampton by her father. She did say he found a place in the country for her because Southampton was so heavily bombed, which is true enough.”

  “Anything else? Anything unusual?”

  “No. She was friendly. She had confidence. It took some nerve to bicycle up and ask for a meal. I imagine she saw the girls and felt comfortable enough about it, but still, it would be hard for any girl her age to do that.”

  “She was trusting,” Diana said.

  “Yes. Open and trusting,” Laurianne said, clasping her hands around her empty glass. “Now she’s dead, isn’t she? So much for confidence.”

  Kaz offered to drive Laurianne back to the school, and Diana and I stayed outside in the cool air under the feeble lamplight. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her or Kaz about Cosgrove’s heart attack, much less pass on his warning.

  “Diana, I—” She held up her hand, watching as Kaz helped Laurianne into the jeep and started the engine.

  “Wait, Billy,” Diana said, “but there’s something else. Before I left, I had a chance to speak to several of the girls alone. They all saw Margaret ride in on her bicycle. They were coming in from the playground when she knocked on the front door. But none of them actually saw her leave.”

  “Where were they? Could they have seen her?”

  “They’d come in through a side door from the playground. The girls I spoke to were in a classroom at the front of the house with a clear view of the drive. They saw Margaret waiting in the foyer as they entered, and then never saw her again.”

  “Is there another road or path leading away from the house?” I asked, leaning back in my seat, trying to remember the layout of the place.

  “I don’t know,” Diana said. “Laurianne escorted us throughout the building, so it seemed impolite to wander about. I thought it best to tell you. Perhaps Margaret hid herself there.”

  “I’ll check it out,” I said. “Good work.”

  In my experience, runaway girls don’t end up tucked safely away in a girl’s school, but no reason not to let that remote possibility stay with us. Chances were the girls missed seeing her leave, or she went out a different way. Miss Ross didn’t seem the type to store bodies under the floorboards, but I knew I had to look into the possibility that Margaret had come to grief not far from the school. Or at the school, which was much more sinister. Laurianne Ross was in charge at the school, she had the run of the entire building. She could have brought Margaret wherever she wan
ted, and quietly disposed of the bicycle. But why? There was no motive I could think of. Still, it was odd that she had forgotten to mention Margaret Hibberd until one of her schoolgirls brought it up. With one child missing, why not report a runaway who showed up and then disappeared?

  “Sorry, Billy, what were you about to say?”

  “It’s Major Cosgrove. He’s had a heart attack,” I said.

  “How terrible,” Diana said with a gasp of surprise. “How did you hear? Will he recover?”

  “It happened this afternoon, at the Hungerford police station. He came to read me the riot act about the investigation.” I gave Diana an account of our meeting, and how we’d found Cosgrove on the floor. “He’s at the doctor’s now. Luckily the surgery is right across the street from the station. Doc said he’d keep him there overnight.”

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He was able to speak, but he looked terrible. He had a message for you.”

  “What was it?” Diana asked, worry furrowing her brow. Her hands clasped the empty glass in front of her as if it might give off warmth.

  “It was off the record,” I said. “He seemed very concerned about you. He said they have their eye on you, and that you should stop talking about the extermination camps.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Roger Allen, for one. Cosgrove said that your father may have inadvertently gotten you involved with people who do not want the truth about the camps to come out.”

  “I know I ruffled his feathers,” Diana said. “He certainly didn’t like being confronted by a woman, much less a woman concerned about Jews. But what did poor Charles mean when he said they had their eye on me?”

  “I asked him if it was the same as him keeping an eye on me. ‘Not like that at all’ was his answer. He was truly worried for you Diana, and now I am too.” I didn’t think Allen and his ilk would cause Diana harm, not directly. What I wouldn’t put past them was a dangerous assignment, dangerous enough to silence her indirectly.

  “Billy, we have both been in danger before. Just yesterday someone tried to kill you. That is the price we pay for being who we are and the times we live in. I’m not going to be told to be quiet like a schoolgirl because it’s inconvenient for some politician. People are being murdered, Billy, by the thousands. We can’t pretend it isn’t happening.”