Tyler saw for the first time the pain beneath the doctor’s calm professional façade.
“I’m sure your tribunal will take all of that into account, Dr. Beck.”
“Why don’t you and I stay here a little longer?” said Clare to the doctor. “I wanted to talk to you about preparing some of your lectures for publication.”
“Ah. That is the apple indeed,” said Beck.
Tyler got up to leave when Clare called out.
“Tom! Don’t forget the article.”
“Right! Thanks,” said Tyler, picking up the slim volume from the table, and, with a nod, he left the tent.
He heard Clare say something in German to the doctor and he wondered if she was apologizing for Tyler’s behaviour.
Well done, lad. You sure made an eejit of yourself in front of Clare.
The Humber refused to start and he had to get out and crank it. He did not do it smoothly or gently.
29.
The fox had lost most of his hair and his skin was raw and infected. The mange which had invaded his mouth made it difficult for him to eat. He was slowly starving. He crept through the underbrush of the woods, drawn by the noise of the rooks. They were collected around the base of an uprooted tree. As he darted toward them, they flew away in a black, clamouring cloud and landed on the tree branches, squawking angrily. The fox crept forward, his nostrils quivering at the smell. He pushed through the branches into the dark interior, where he sniffed at the ravaged body.
On the way back to Whitchurch, Tyler kept rerunning the conversation over and over in his mind. He had to admit that the doctor had a point. He and other officers tended to think of criminals as making silly mistakes which led to their capture, but if there was anything to that psycho stuff, it could explain some of the more ridiculous clues the criminals left behind. One silly sod who had tried to rob a Birmingham bank had handed in a note written on the back of an envelope that was addressed to him.
However, what had struck Tyler the most was the doctor’s use of the word “reverence.” The way Elsie Bates had been moved and straightened, her arms neatly at her side, the poppies on her chest, did suggest something like that. Beck said the killer felt remorse. Tyler wondered if that was true, and if it was, whether it could be of help in solving the case.
By the time he arrived in Whitchurch he was thoroughly riled up and in no mood to take any shite from his father-in-law regarding Janet’s situation. Walter Lambeth was always going on about “our Vera” and what a good lass she was, but in Tyler’s opinion, he used her to fetch and carry whenever he could, and he wasn’t above belittling her in front of people. Could be anything, but mostly he made fun of her intelligence. “Not her strong suit,” was his often-repeated remark, and Tyler knew Vera was hurt by this. He’d tried to get her to stand up to the old man and take a strip off him but she wouldn’t.
Tyler parked the Humber in front of the shop, where Lambeth was standing puffing on a long pipe. He liked to cultivate a John Bull persona, which meant in his case a striped butcher’s apron, bushy sideburns, and a walrus moustache. His clay pipe was all part of the image. Never mind the Mr. England act; in Tyler’s view, Walter was ignorant; bigoted and as narrow-minded as any county matron. If, to boot, he was also into profiteering, Tyler wouldn’t be surprised.
“Morning, Tom. What brings you to these parts?”
The butcher shop was only a ten-minute walk from Tyler’s house, but Lambeth made it sound as if they were in different counties.
“Just going by. Thought I’d say hello.”
Lambeth eyed Tyler curiously. “What’s up? Troubled hearth, is it?” He glanced down the street, then beckoned to Tyler to move closer. “Can I give you a word of advice, son?”
Tyler didn’t move. “I think I’m all right for advice at the moment, Dad.”
Lambeth stepped forward, waving his pipe in front of him. “My Vera isn’t as happy as she should be and I’m concerned about that. What goes on between you and her in the bedroom isn’t my business …”
Damn right about that, thought Tyler.
“Vera’s getting on now, and man to man I can understand why that might make a chap’s eyes stray. She does take care of herself, mind, and she’s a good lass for all her being a bit slow. But she’s on the high-strung side, and she’d be better if you paid her a bit more attention, like. Take her to the pictures once in a while or out for a drink. She’s always afraid of what people think. ‘We never go out together, Dad,’ she said to me just last week. ‘What’ll people think?’ Let ’em think what they like, says I, but she worries about it.” He paused and sucked on his pipe, which seemed to have gone out. “Women like a bit of show. Flowers now and again, sweets in a fancy box, the occasional compliment.”
In all the years he’d been in the presence of his in-laws, Tyler had not once seen Walter compliment his wife or hand her a bouquet of flowers. Once he’d given her a bag of sweets to share, but that was all. The same held true for his daughter.
“Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll think about it.”
“Suit yourself. By the way, how’s our Janet? Is she feeling better?”
“I didn’t know she was poorly.”
“Oh yes, she left early. She said she had a tummy ache.” He winked. “Her monthlies, I suppose, but she’s too shy to tell me.”
Tyler knew it wasn’t that. You can’t live in a small house with two women and not be aware when they’re having their monthly. Janet had hers last week.
“What time did she leave?”
“Oh, hardly more than twenty minutes ago. She was all doubled over, said she had to lie down. She’s asked for the morning off tomorrow. Mind you, it’s inconvenient. Saturday’s our busiest day.”
He was eyeing Tyler, looking for him to dispute Janet’s story; to confirm she was a malingerer.
“I’ll look in on her. Well, I’d better be off …”
“Any development on the Land Army girl case?” Lambeth asked. He had an expression of prurient curiosity on his face. “I’d see her in town. Nice bit of crumpet. Too bad. I hear another one’s missing?”
“Who told you that?”
“Our Vera. It put the wind up her. She thinks there’s a Jerry on the loose.”
“There isn’t.”
“Who’s done them in then?”
“First of all there is no confirmation that the second girl is dead. She was good pals with the one who died and she’s probably gone somewhere to be quiet for a while.”
If he said that often enough, he might start believing it, thought Tyler. But it irked him that rumours about Rose had rushed through the town. It seemed a bad omen.
“I hope you never let our Janet join the Land Army,” continued Lambeth. “Some of those gals are no better than they should be … Speaking of the devil.” Two girls in Land Army uniform, riding bicycles, were heading toward them.
“Oi, hello! Inspector!” It was Molly and Freckles.
They pulled up in front of the shop.
“What good luck we ran into you,” said Molly. “We need to talk to you.”
“I’ll leave to your business then,” said Lambeth. A woman had just rounded the corner with her shopping basket dangling from her arm. A customer.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Walker,” said Lambeth. “I’ve got in a nice bit of pork, not too dear all things considering.”
Tyler tipped his hat. “Hello, Barbara. How’s Bobby?”
“Hello, Tom. No change.”
She looked as if she wanted to stay and talk, but the two girls were waiting for him. She followed Walter into the shop. Tyler felt a pang of sadness. She was the same age as he was, but she seemed stooped and careworn. He’d known Barbara since they were children and he’d always liked her. A quiet, rather shy girl; as a woman, she was the kind who could easily vanish into the woodwork. Decent, hardworking, uncomplaining, he’d been sweet on her once. The situation with Bobby had to be very hard for her.
He turned his attention bac
k to Molly and Freckles.
“What’s up, ladies?”
“It’s nothing we can talk about on the street,” said Molly. “Can we meet at De Berg’s?”
“Fine with me. Go ahead and get a table. Order some cakes as well.”
They remounted and biked off. He followed, walking briskly. These young women tended to make him feel as if he had to suck in his stomach, stick out his chest, and move with vigour.
The girls had nabbed a quiet spot at the back and he joined them.
“We ordered a pot of tea,” said Molly. “Neither one of us is hungry.”
“I am,” he said and when the waitress arrived, he ordered a plate of cakes. Both girls were decidedly subdued but they were young and worked hard. He had a feeling the cakes would be welcome.
“No word on Rose yet, is there?” Molly asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
The waitress returned with their order. He was right. The girls were happy with the cream buns.
He gave them a chance to tuck in. “So what is this important information that you’ve got for me?”
Molly as always spoke first. “We talked a long time among ourselves – Freckles, Titch, Sylvia, and me. We don’t want to snitch on anybody, but we’re honestly dead scared. You said that we should report anything at all that might be relevant –” She stopped. “Oh you tell him, Freck. I feel like a rat.”
Freckles swallowed down a piece of bun. “It’s to do with Florence Hancocks. We don’t think she was telling the exact truth yesterday. We don’t think she was at home looking after her mum. She was having a, er, what do you call it, Moll?”
“A liaison. She was having a secret liaison.”
Freckles continued. “She told Miss Stillwell her mother was ill, but just before she was getting ready to leave, I happened to be in her room. Muriel was lending me some socks and I had come to get them. Florence was packing her suitcase and she held up a pair of cami-knickers, lovely item in pink silk with black lace trim. ‘My, you’re dressing very swank for your mother, aren’t you?’ I said. She got all flustered. ‘They belong to my sister. I’m returning them to her.’ I just couldn’t believe her. They were really nobby camis. The kind of thing Collette’s sells.”
Freckles paused and fidgeted with her teaspoon.
“That’s it?” Tyler asked.
“We thought you should check on her … er, on her alibi.”
“I am in the process of doing just that,” he answered.
Freckles pointed her finger at the other girl. “That’s only half of it. You tell him the rest, Moll.”
Molly bit her lip. “We told you that little things appeared to be going missing. Well, last week Florence and Elsie had a big barney. Flo accused Elsie of stealing. She said she had some silk stockings in her chest of drawers and they had disappeared. She said Elsie had taken them. Elsie denied it and they started to call each other all sorts of bad names. It was very nasty …”
“We were afraid they would attack each other,” interrupted Freckles. “I’ve never seen Florence like that. Nor Elsie either for that matter. She could be shirty sometimes, but not like this, not all-out screaming. Florence seemed to have got her goat good and proper.”
“What were the bad names?”
“Florence said that Elsie was a cockney guttersnipe and that she was a hoor and everybody knew it.”
Tyler whistled through his teeth.
“I left out all the bleedings and soddings,” said Freckles.
Molly picked up the narrative. “It was being called a whore that seemed to send Elsie off the deep end. She said, ‘That’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black as you know only too well.’ ” Molly put her head in her hands. “It was horrible to hear two of our girls screaming at each other like that. I remember thinking, ‘This will never be fixed. This is irrevocable.’ ”
“We didn’t know what to do,” added Freckles. “Then Florence just turned and ran out of the room. Elsie was livid. She said, ‘Bloody cow’ – excuse the language, but those are her words, ‘I’m going to my digs.’ And she left too.”
Molly reached into her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes. “Wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?” she asked Tyler. She put a cigarette in her mouth and waited for him to snap his lighter. As he did so, she held his hand lightly and looked into his eyes. She took a draw, then grinned at him. “Elsie, God rest her soul, she taught me that.”
“How to smoke you mean?”
“No, how to flirt,” interjected Freckles. “She gave us all a lesson one day. Molly did it just right. You lean forward, put your delicate little paw on his hand, and look into his eyes like he’s the best thing you’ve seen since last night’s dinner.”
They both laughed, then Molly abruptly looked at her watch and pushed back her chair.
“We’ve got to go. We decided to work today. Couldn’t stay in, to tell the truth. Too fidgety. We hope we haven’t been out of line, telling you all this, Inspector. Florrie is a good sort really. It’s just that given the circumstances we thought you should know what happened.”
“You haven’t been out of line at all. I’m sure it will all be sorted out. Is she out working today?”
“No, she wasn’t feeling well, so she stayed at the hostel.”
Tyler waved the waitress over. “This is my treat, ladies. And why don’t you take those last couple of cakes.”
“Thanks. Thanks for everything.” Molly took out her handkerchief and wrapped the cakes carefully. “I do hope Rose is all right. You will let us know when you hear anything won’t you?”
They left, and to his eyes, in spite of the sheen of youth, they both looked vulnerable.
Given the brutality of the attack on Elsie, he doubted a young girl had committed the crime, but Florence Hancocks did own a car, not to mention a Luger. Now, according to the girls, she may have hated Elsie Bates.
30.
TYLER LEFT THE TEA SHOP AND WALKED ALONG MAIN Street. Near the corner was a ladies’ wear shop called Madame Collette’s. About three years ago, a London woman had bought out old Mrs. Kilpatrick, who had been there ever since he could remember. The new owner had introduced fancy, high-priced frocks and imported lingerie. Today, the window displayed a single mannequin in a long nightgown of shimmering scarlet with thin straps; not particularly practical for the English unheated bedroom, but definitely provocative. All the other shops crammed as much of their merchandise as they could into their windows, but Madame Collette’s message was clear: “We don’t need to do anything as vulgar as display everything we have. We cater to the discriminating customer of taste, not to mention money.”
As he entered the shop, the bell on the door tinkled softly. The place was empty of customers and looked more like somebody’s front room than a shop. The carpet was light blue and thick, the walls papered in a delicate green and fuchsia. By the window was a grouping of chintz-covered chairs around a low table. Shelves stacked behind a counter at the far end of the room were the only concession to commerce that he could see.
A woman stepped out from the back room. She was wearing an elegant, simple black frock. She might have been forty, she might have been sixty; it was hard to tell with her immaculately made-up face and stiffly coiffed hair. She gave him a smile, perfectly balanced between warm (must look welcoming) and cool (mustn’t look too eager).
“May I help you?” She had a French accent but he couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.
“Good day, ma’am. I’m Inspector Tyler. I’m conducting a police investigation right now and I wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions.”
“But of course. I have heard of the tragedy that has occurred.”
“Did you know the young woman in question? Her name was Elsie Bates.”
Madame Collette, if that was indeed who she was, thought for a moment. “No, that name is not familiar to me.”
“As part of my investigation I’m interested in tracking down, er, a pair of pink silk
cami-knickers with a black lace trim that you may have sold recently.”
One pencilled eyebrow rose slightly. “Yes, I remember very well the article you describe. They were an original design from Paris. Quite lovely appliqué in lace. Most feminine.”
“Do you recall who bought the, er, article?”
“Certainly. It was a young man. He said he was purchasing them for his fiancée.”
So much for Florence’s story about the cami-knickers being on loan from her sister.
Madame eyed Tyler shrewdly. “A most generous present I would say. They were not cheap.”
“Will you describe this young man to me?”
She pursed her lips. “I regret to say I am not good at paying attention to such detail. He seemed quite an ordinary young man, a soldier.”
“You mean he was in uniform?”
“Yes. But then they all are these days, aren’t they?”
“How tall was he? Fair or dark?”
“As I said I don’t particularly pay attention to such things. He was quite undistinguished. Darkish hair, about your height. I’m afraid that is all I can say.”
She was acting like the madam of a brothel and Tyler wondered where the hell she came from. This was only a bloody lingerie store surely.
“Did this young man buy anything else?”
“A pair of silk stockings. He did consider my best imported scarves but he did not buy one. Allow me, monsieur.” She went to the counter and took out a long, narrow scarf that was the colour of a robin’s egg. She draped it across his hands.
“Feel how soft and silky it is. It would make a wonderful gift for a special woman.” She waited while he let the fringes run through his fingers like water. “I can see there is indeed such a woman in your life, Inspector. These scarves are made in France and it will be impossible to get any more. Why don’t you surprise her with this gift?”
Season of Darkness Page 18
