Season of Darkness

by Maureen Jennings

  “What is it, sir?”

  “There’s been an accident. Very serious. I can’t go into details over the phone, don’t you know, but I need you to come at once.”

  “And where will you be, sir?” Tyler asked before the magistrate could hang up.

  “Oh, yes. The incident seems to have occurred a mile or so above Ash Magna. On the Heath Road, not far from the crossroads. I’ll meet you there.”

  Tyler hung up and went back into the kitchen.

  Vera pushed a large cup of tea across the table. “What’s up? Sins catching up with you?”

  “For God’s sake, Vera, put a sock in it. There’s been an accident on the Heath Road. Bloody blackout again, probably.”

  She wasn’t that contrite. “That’ll probably take you all day to sort out. Just so you know, I’m at the Institute for the evening. It’s bandage night. Dad gave me a nice pork chop for your tea. I’ll leave it in the oven and you can warm it up when you get back.”

  Vera was nothing if not dutiful.

  He reached for his hat and coat, which he vaguely remembered dropping on the floor when he came home but which were now on a hook by the door.

  Vera wasn’t done with carping. “I want you to have a word with your daughter. She’s been late for work three times this past fortnight, and you know how Dad is such a stickler for punctuality. She’ll get the sack if she’s not careful, granddaughter or no granddaughter.”

  Janet had been adamant about leaving school and “doing her bit” for the war effort, and Vera had pushed for her to go into the family business. Tyler knew that his daughter hated her job at the butcher’s shop his father-in-law owned. He wasn’t surprised she was in no hurry to get there.

  Vera shook her head. “What with her and our Jimmy acting so strange, I’m worried sick about the two of them. Jimmy doesn’t come home until the wee hours. You don’t even know, but I hear him. And he must have already gone out. No breakfast, no notice, nothing. He’s not himself at all.”

  She looked so worried, he softened toward her. “I thought he was looking more chipper lately. I’ll wager he’s found himself a lassie.”

  Her expression changed abruptly. “Not everybody has that on their mind every minute of the day.”

  So much for softening.

  He grabbed his hat and coat and picked up his cup of tea. “I’ll take this with me.”

  When he stepped out of the house, he stood and gulped down some of the tea. Not quite the hair of the dog, but it would have to do. The intensity of his dream about Clare hadn’t really faded, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. He wondered when he’d next see her.

  He crossed the road to the tiny car park at the rear of the station where the sole police vehicle, an ancient Humber, was kept. As far as he was concerned, the wretched thing was more of a liability than an asset, but they had to make do with it. A lot of the time it refused to start, and he thought a trotting cow could move faster.

  He forced himself to control his impatience and turn the crank steadily until the engine caught. Before it could change its mind, he jumped in and drove off.

  The houses were bathed in the soft, golden light of early morning; cattle grazed on the green, lush hills behind the town. People bought postcards of places like this. England at its most beautiful. Whitchurch was too rural to be of interest to the Luftwaffe, and so far the bombers hadn’t touched it. It was only when you saw the black wreaths on some of the doors; only when you noticed that the shop windows were displaying fewer and fewer wares; only at night, when the streets went dark in compliance with the blackout regulations; only then did you have to acknowledge the old life had gone forever.

  Tyler was in no mood to dwell on those thoughts, although they weren’t ever that far from his mind. Right now, he was concentrating on coaxing as much speed as he could out of the Humber. When he reached the turnoff, he was forced to slow down. The Heath Road was rough, dotted with potholes, and he couldn’t risk breaking an axle. He’d driven no more than five minutes when he saw a Land Army lorry at the side of the road. There was no one in the driver’s seat, and he felt a pang of alarm. Over the summer, he’d seen some of the Land girls who were billeted here. They seemed a grand bunch. He hoped one of them hadn’t got into an accident.

  He picked up as much speed as he dared and rounded another bend, stopping just short of Sir Percy’s big white Bentley. The magistrate was standing beside a lanky older man in soldier’s uniform. It was Ron Ellwood, a man Tyler knew from town. He could see how relieved both men were to see him. What on earth had happened?

  As Tyler parked the Humber and got out, Sir Percy hurried over to him, hand outstretched. Ellwood gave him a crisp salute, presented arms, then stood at attention with his rifle at his side.

  “Ah, Tyler, thank goodness,” said the magistrate. His hand was cold, the handshake the usual limp kind he always gave. “The, er … the victim is over there.”

  There was a tarpaulin a few feet away in a narrow pass-by. A swarm of flies hovered above the mound.

  Tyler walked over, and pulled back the cover.

  Underneath was the body of a young woman. She appeared to have been shot.

  Her left temple was completely shattered. Pieces of white bone protruded from the blood and brain tissue.

  “Oh, Lord. I know this girl,” exclaimed Tyler. “Her name was Elsie Bates.”

  3.

  TYLER LEANED OVER AND BRUSHED AWAY THE BUZZING flies. The congealing blood had sealed closed one of her eyes; the other, once blue, now already darkening, stared at him. The entire left side of her face and throat was caked with blood, as was the front of her tan coat. Gingerly, he pulled the tarpaulin farther down. Her snug dungarees were tucked into dusty gum boots and appeared to be undisturbed. Thank God for that.

  The girl’s arms were beside her, and a gun was lying underneath the fingers of her right hand.

  “Look at that, will you,” exclaimed Sir Percy. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice. “God forbid, have we got a suicide here?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. The wound is on the wrong side of her head for one thing. It would be on the right if she’d done it herself.” Besides, Tyler couldn’t believe this girl would kill herself. Not Elsie Bates with her palpable hunger for life. He’d last seen her on Saturday night as she walked down the street to the church hall where the dances were held. Her skirt swung around her tanned knees, her scarlet lipstick drew attention to her full lips.

  He eased the gun free, holding it carefully by the tip of the barrel, then shook out his handkerchief, wrapped the gun, and examined it more closely. It was an older model German Luger P-08. The stock was blue and the letter B was carved on one side. He slipped off the safety catch, removed the magazine, and cracked it open. Only one bullet had been fired, and that recently.

  He put it aside and turned his attention back to the body. Elsie had brown, straight hair, which she wore parted down the middle and swept up at the sides, where it was secured with two plain green combs. It was neat and tidy. Carefully, he lifted each limp hand. In life, they had been strong and capable, the palms showing signs of calluses and the fingernails cut short. What he’d expect from a Land Army girl. There was no smell of cordite on the hands, no sign of gun residue, no blood.

  Curiously, there was a bunch of white flowers lying on her chest.

  “Did you put these here?” he asked Ellwood.

  “No, I didn’t. Can’t say I even noticed them. I just wanted to cover ’er up as fast as possible.”

  Tyler laid the flowers on the grass. They were white poppies.

  Sir Percy inched closer and peered down. “Are they significant, Tom? I know all those conchies sell them. They’re the emblem of the Peace Pledge Union. She’s a Land Army girl. I can’t imagine her being in with the Bolsheviks.”

  “I’ve no idea. They grow all around here and these are fresh.”

  He fished in the pockets of the dungarees. There was a shilling and a motor car
key in one pocket, a packet of cigarettes and a handkerchief in the other. He put the key in his own pocket and placed the other items beside the flowers.

  She was partly propped up against the hedge, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her body forward. Her head tilted sickeningly to the side before he could stop it.

  “The bullet exit wound is here, right at the base, but there’s hardly any blood on the hedge where you’d expect it to be. Corporal, did you move her?”

  “No, sir. She were exactly where she is now. All I did was cover her with a tarpaulin we had in the lorry.”

  At that moment, the sun winked through the trees and glinted red on a nearby sharp-edged rock. Tyler lowered the body gently and walked over to the spot. He dropped to his haunches.

  “There’s blood here.” He saw the metal bullet casing lying about two feet away, and picked it up. “This is definitely where she was shot. I doubt she put a gun to her head over here, blew out her brains, then got up and sat down against the hedge.”

  The grass along the verge was slightly flattened and he could see scuff marks in the dust of the road. Here and there were more splotches of blood. “And then she was dragged over to the pass-by … We’re looking at a homicide, all right.”

  “She’s just a young lass,” said Sir Percy. “What savage would do a thing like this?”

  Tyler indicated the gun. “Whoever they are, they used a Luger.”

  “Gracious me, Tom, surely you’re not suggesting we have a Jerry paratrooper prowling around?”

  “Off hand, I’d say that’s very unlikely. I don’t know why Jerry would drop off a parachutist in rural Shropshire unless it was to subvert the cows. And if it was a Jerry, I’d think he’d take his gun with him. Besides which, it’s an older model. The stamp says it was manufactured in 1917. It could belong to anybody. Guns like this aren’t that difficult to obtain. A lot of soldiers brought them back from the Great War as souvenirs.”

  “Quite true,” said Sir Percy. “I meself picked up a couple of cap badges.”

  “If it’s a German gun you’re after, sir,” said Ellwood, “there are plenty of Krauts over in the internment camp.”

  “Surely they’re all under guard?” Sir Percy wiped at his damp face. His white handkerchief would have been adequate as a flag of surrender.

  “According to what I’ve heard,” said Ellwood, “security at the camp is lax.”

  Tyler knew that was true. Nobody considered the enemy aliens a serious threat to national security anymore, and the fear of invasion was abating. His own son, who had sentry duty occasionally, had remarked that the internees were mostly soft-bellied, middle-aged eggheads. But it was also true the majority were German. Like most people who were imprisoned behind barbed wire, they probably were able to maintain a brisk business in barter. A Luger for a packet of cigarettes.

  He straightened up. “Who found the body?”

  “I did,” answered Ellwood. “At least, that is to say, me and Private Walker did.”

  Sir Percy jumped in. “Walker arrived on my doorstep, and frankly I could hardly make sense of his story because he was as hysterical as a woman. According to the corporal here, he’s suffering from shell shock, which is why he’s been assigned to the camp and not to active service. Feather bed, really.”

  “He was at Dunkirk,” said Tyler.

  “Quite so. Didn’t mean to imply … we have to give all those fellows some leeway then, don’t we? Although as Mr. Churchill said, a retreat isn’t going to win the war, and we mustn’t fool ourselves, Dunkirk was a defeat.”

  Tyler tried not show his annoyance. It was so typical of Percy to make a tactless remark like that, the silly sod.

  “Bobby Walker is a good lad,” said Tyler, keeping his voice as neutral as he could. “I’ve known him since he was a nipper. He’s a mate of my son’s. They got off the beach together. By all accounts, it was a rough time.”

  Not that Jimmy had said much of anything. Neither one did, but Bobby Walker shook constantly and jumped at every sound. A door slamming, a car backfiring, would have him on the ceiling.

  Sir Percy blew his nose. “Quite so.”

  “What did Private Walker say exactly?” Tyler asked.

  “There’s no exactly about it. All I could get out of him was that a girl was dead. I could hardly make tops nor tails of what he was saying. I suppose I should have packed him off to do his duty. Might have put a bit of steel in his backbone if he started acting more like a soldier.”

  He must have caught Tyler’s expression because he added hastily, “Frankly, I took pity on the chap and I sent him home. Then I got hold of you, Tom, and got over here post-haste.” His gaze flitted to the dead girl. “Should we cover her up, do you think?”

  “I was just about to do that.”

  Ellwood helped him with the tarpaulin.

  “What’s our next step?” Sir Percy asked.

  “We’ll have to get the body out of here and have a post-mortem done as soon as possible. I suggest we bring in Dr. Murnaghan from Whitchurch. He’s retired now but he was a highly competent coroner in his day.”

  “Shall I ring him for you? You’ve got a lot to take care of here.”

  “Thank you. That would speed things up considerably.”

  Sir Percy took off his tweed cap and mopped at his head again. He was a year younger than Tyler, but his hair was already greying and sparse. Right now, it was sprouting from his head in tufts as if he’d neglected to comb it when he got out of bed. He hadn’t shaved and his stubble made him look grubby and down at heel. Tyler usually saw him in magistrate’s court, all shiny chin and smooth hair. This current dishevelment made him more human. That and his obvious distress. Percy wasn’t cut out to be a magistrate and lord of the manor. All he wanted was to be left in peace to build up his prize herd of Ayrshires. Tyler felt the usual mixture of pity and exasperation towards him.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d also ring the station and have Sergeant Gough send me all available men,” said Tyler. “I don’t want people traipsing through the area until I’ve had a chance to look it over. Tell him we’ll need the police van and to bring the camera.”

  “Should we notify the war office … in case there are parachutists?”

  “Let’s investigate a little further before we do that. We don’t want to distract those blokes from fighting a war, do we?”

  “Quite so. I’ll hoof it back to the manor, then, and make those telephone calls. And I’ll notify the camp that Corporal Ellwood is delayed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good, excellent. I will wait for your further report.” He dithered. “I was planning to take a run up to Edinburgh on urgent business … a rather splendid bull I’ve been told about. I’m afraid I’ll be incommunicado for a few days. That is, unless you need me here.”

  “That’s all right. This is my job.”

  “Quite so.” The magistrate’s relief was palpable. He gave Tyler another hurried handshake and went back to his Bentley. With a hiss of tires, he backed up and drove away.

  Tyler turned to the corporal. “Ron, give me your version, for God’s sake.”

  4.

  LIKE MANY LOCAL MEN WHO WERE TOO OLD FOR ACTIVE service but were still reservists, Ron Ellwood, a veteran of the Great War, had been enlisted as a guard at the camp on Prees Heath. There were over a thousand men incarcerated there, most of them classified as enemy aliens. As Jimmy had said, they were typically German intellectuals and professional men living in England who hadn’t got their nationalization papers in order. They had been swept up in the fear of invasion that gripped the country after Dunkirk.

  Tyler liked and respected Ellwood. He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one. Ellwood leaned his rifle against a tree and accepted gratefully.

  “I picked up Bobby Walker about six-thirty. He lives on Green Lane, and we always take the Alkington Road to the camp because it’s faster. We’d just reached the crossroads where we turn
when we encountered one of them Land Army girls. She was walking along the road, pushing a bicycle. She said her friend was their forewoman, and she was more than a half-hour late getting to the hostel where she’s supposed to pick them up.”

  “They’re the girls who’ve been billeted in Beeton Manor, aren’t they?”

  “That’s it. I was surprised Sir P. didn’t recognize the dead girl right off the bat. But then I didn’t either, did I, although I must have seen her in town.” Ellwood chewed on his lip. “It was the shock I suppose, and the mess the bullet had made of her face.” He drew in a lungful of smoke. “Well, the girl said as how she thought the lorry might have broken down seeing as it had done that before, and she was on her way to find out. She’d started off on her bike but she had a flat tire. She asked if we could give her a lift up the road a ways to see. We had a bit of extra time, so I said as how we could do that.” Another deep draw on the cigarette.

  “What’s the girl’s name, by the way?”

  “Rose, Rose Watkins. A little bit of a thing she is. You’d think she was no more than thirteen to look at her.”

  “That’s not her bike, is it?” A maroon-coloured woman’s bicycle was lying by the hedge a few feet away.

  “No, it isn’t. That one was there when we come up. We put Rose’s in the back of the lorry.”

  Tyler went to have a look. “This one is certainly a good one. Not an official government issue like most of the girls have to ride. The back light is cracked, but other than that, it’s in good shape.” The cloud of flies was getting more dense and a few curious birds had hopped closer.

  “Did Rose see the body?”

  “She did. Me, I knew right off something serious had happened.” He gave a little cough. “I seen action in the last war, as you know, Tom, and there’s a stillness to a dead body that is unmistakable. I told Rose to stand back while Bobby and me checked, but she wouldn’t. She came right up. Course, she turned white as a sheet when she saw all the blood. I was afraid she was going to faint on us. But she’s tough for all she’s small. She’s a Londoner.”