Season of Darkness

by Maureen Jennings

  He didn’t answer, eager as a boy to see if she liked the present. She opened it with maddening slowness and revealed the scarf.

  “Tom, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”

  She draped the strip of silk around her neck. He’d been right about the colour. The blue-green of her eyes was intensified.

  “Looks good on you.” He took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “Clare, I will never be just an old friend. If that’s what you want and expect, I’d better go home now.”

  She tapped his nose. “You got too much sun, you’re peeling.”

  “Sod that, woman. Are you going to kiss me or not?”

  She blinked, jokingly. “Don’t you want your sweet? I made apple pie.”

  “You’re all the sweet I need.”

  She leaned toward him and her lips were everything he remembered.

  44.

  THEY STAYED ON THE BED FOR A WHILE IN A POST-coital languor. Finally, Clare propped herself on her elbow and regarded him. He was lying on his back.

  “I told myself we wouldn’t do that. It probably wasn’t such a good idea.”

  He pulled her head down to his and kissed her.

  “Are you sorry?”

  She broke away and rolled away from him.

  “Tom, please, I’m serious. I can’t afford complications in my life right now. You’re married, I’m married.”

  “Clare, I’m planning to leave Vera. We’ve been miserable for years. When I saw you again, I knew what a farce my marriage has been … and I can’t believe you love your husband. You don’t. I can tell.”

  She got out of bed and picked up her robe. “I tell you what, Tom Tyler. I am going to use the loo and I want you to make us a pot of coffee while I do so. Then you can sit down on the couch, and keep your mouth shut, if that’s possible, and I will tell you all you want to know and have been fishing for ever since we ran into each other in the market. Is that a deal?”

  “Sounds good to me. Don’t you want to know my story as well?”

  “No. Not yet. Later maybe.”

  He liked the “later” and grinned at her. “Go on then. Take your time. I’ll have my apple pie now.”

  He went into the galley to make the coffee and cut up the pie. She didn’t take long and returned dressed, this time in a pair of casual khaki shorts and an open-necked white shirt. She had tucked the silk scarf into the shirt.

  “You’ve changed your clothes. Does that mean mission accomplished?” he asked her.

  “No, Tom. It wasn’t like that. I, well, I just wanted to dress up for you.”

  He wagged his finger at her, mockingly. “Come on, Clare. I’ve been seduced before. I can tell when a woman’s laying a trail.”

  “I think that’s your conceit talking. What time should you be getting back, by the way?”

  “Soon, but not until I’ve heard at least Part One. See I am going directly to the couch, and I will sit here and listen without a word.”

  “I think I’d feel more comfortable if you got dressed.”

  “I can listen even better if I’m naked.”

  She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “At least do me the courtesy of covering up your John Henry. It’s too distracting.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  But he plonked the cushion in his lap.

  “I’m going to sit over here. I don’t trust you. Or myself.” She sat down in the chair opposite him. “All right, here goes. Once upon a time there was a little poor princess. In spite of a long, long pedigree, her family was very poor although they went to great pains to hide it. See, even you didn’t know that, did you?”

  “I knew you weren’t rolling in money like your cousin Percy, but I was used to being with a crowd that didn’t have much either. I never noticed.”

  “Hmm. Well, the princess had two very different parents who didn’t much like each other. Her father was kind but distant and took longer and longer absences from home until he disappeared completely. Nobody explained this until she was older when she discovered he had, as the saying was, ‘taken up with another woman.’ The princess’s mother had never been very loving and this separation made her even more bitter. The princess was very fond of her father, although he was a scoundrel in the eyes of the world. She simply couldn’t switch her feelings. Every night, when she went to bed, her mother would say, ‘Make sure you ask God’s forgiveness for all your sins. Ask Him to melt your heart of ice.’ Eventually the poor little girl believed what her mother told her. She did have a heart of ice. She was like Miss Havisham’s Estelle.”

  “And I suppose that makes me Pip with the thick boots.”

  To his surprise, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Forgive me, Tom. Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean that.”

  He felt like a right piece of shite. He saw what he had truly never seen before, what that cool, collected demeanour was hiding.

  “I apologize. Please go on.”

  “All right.” She wasn’t looking at him now, running the fringe of the silk scarf through her fingers, the way he had done in the shop. Her voice was low. “The princess grew up, and one day she met a very wealthy man and she married him. Unfortunately, as it turned out, the man was wealthy because from an early age he had devoted himself to making money. He and the princess had nothing in common and within the year they were living virtually separate lives.” Clare dropped her shoulders. “I am of course talking about me and Valentin. After the first few months we had no intimate life. So … I took lovers –”

  “Of course, why not,” said Tom, stung.

  “Hush. Not many lovers, four to be exact. They were nice young men who were fun to be with and didn’t want anything more from me than a boisterous roll in the hay … and a little money.” She stood up abruptly. “I need a proper drink. Do you want one?”

  “I won’t say no to that. I need a little fortification.”

  She went into the kitchen and returned with two crystal glasses. She splashed generous shots of brandy into each and handed one to Tom. She sat down again, holding the other glass in both of her hands. He took a gulp of the drink, watching her.

  “We are now getting to the climax of the story,” she said with a wan smile. “You’d better take another drink of your brandy.”

  Suddenly, they were both startled by the shrill ringing of the telephone.

  “I’d better answer it,” said Clare.

  She went into the living room and picked up the receiver.

  “Clare Devereau here … Yes … yes, he’s here.” She held out the receiver to Tyler.

  “It’s for you. It’s the station with an urgent call.”

  45.

  GOUGH WAS THE ONE WHO HAD CALLED. HE SAID HE couldn’t talk over the phone but there had been an unexpected development in the Rose Watkins case and Tyler’s presence was urgently needed. Tyler had dressed, kissed Clare, and, declaring he would return that evening to hear the rest of her story, hurried to the car and drove off as fast the ancient vehicle could manage.

  The sergeant was in the front office, and he greeted Tyler with great relief.

  “I took the liberty of putting everything in your office, sir. I’ll get the constables concerned.”

  He was so obviously het up that Tyler was afraid he’d find another corpse on his desk, but there was nothing except a shabby, black leather suitcase.

  Gough came in, trailing behind him Constables Eagleton and Collis and one of the reservists, Stan Richards, a straight-backed former sergeant, now retired.

  “Eagleton, tell the inspector exactly what you found.”

  “This was in the woods, sir. It was buried not too far from where I found the hat and handbag.”

  Tyler stared at the suitcase, which was covered with dirt and bits of leaves.

  “How did you find it?”

  “It was sheer chance, sir,” sputtered Collis. “I had to take a leak – I mean urinate, sir.”

  “I know what take a leak means,
Constable. Go on.”

  “Well, I had rather a lot to, er, discharge, sir and I noticed that I was making a hole in the dead leaves. I thought I could see something underneath. I called to Eager and Mr. Richards to come over and take a look.”

  “I hope you’d finished pissing by then.”

  “Yes, sir. Anyway we soon saw that something was buried there. Not too deep though. We pulled it out and found it was this suitcase. It’s locked but it’s quite heavy. I thought we’d better bring it straight back to the station.”

  “You don’t think it’s a bomb, do you sir?” asked Richards.

  “Good Lord, I hope you had a listen before you brought it to my office. Your ears are as good as mine.” He put his ear to the side of the case but couldn’t hear any ominous ticking, nor did he expect to. He had a good idea what the suitcase contained. He had a try at snapping open the locks. They didn’t budge. “I don’t suppose you found the key handy, did you?”

  “No, sir. Sorry.”

  “All right, we’ll have to pry it open. Give me your trusty Swiss army knife, sergeant.”

  Gough took the knife out of his pocket and handed it to Tyler.

  The locks yielded easily.

  “Let’s see what Father Christmas sent us,” said Tyler.

  He lifted the lid.

  Inside the suitcase was a radio transmitter, clean and gleaming.

  The chief constable of the Shropshire constabulary, Lieutenant Colonel Horace Golding, was not happy. He was snuffling and puffing at the end of the line like an asthmatic piggy.

  “I don’t understand why I wasn’t informed earlier, Tyler.”

  “We only found the transmitter a couple of hours ago, sir. I rang your office right away but you hadn’t come in yet so I left a message for you to call me as soon as possible. I did say it was urgent, sir.”

  “Yes, well, not all calls that are said to be urgent actually are.”

  “That explains it, sir. I did wonder why it took you so long. You were considering the merit of the case.”

  Golding sniffed. “When I say I didn’t understand why I wasn’t informed earlier, I’m not simply referring to that. I mean the fact that you have two murders on your hands. Two young girls. Land Army gals, I understand.”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Lady Somerville herself rang me earlier today. She is most alarmed. Not only is she concerned for the safety of the rest of the girls under her care, she is most anxious that nothing besmirch the reputation of the Land Army. There are some well-brought-up young women in the ranks. We don’t want to scare them away, do we?”

  “No, sir. But so far there is no clear evidence to suggest that any other Land Army girl will be targeted. I’m pursuing the possibility of a lover’s quarrel.”

  Tyler wished he was really as confident as he was sounding. For all he knew the killer was a barmy farmer out to eliminate this scourge of buxom young women who wore trousers. In a world gone mad, anything was possible. Besides, the discovery of the radio transmitter might put a different complexion on the matter.

  Golding was continuing to natter at him. “We must get all divisions involved.”

  “I believe the situation is in hand, sir. I’m sure manpower is short everywhere.”

  “That is the case. I have had a request from Chief Constable Davis at the Shrewsbury constabulary for extra help to deal with the visit of one of the royal family. We don’t know which one yet, but it will be an important occasion for the town and a great boost to morale, so naturally he wants everything to proceed smoothly.”

  “Naturally, sir.” A visit from some no-chinned cousin twice removed was more important than bringing justice to two young women from the east end of London, thought Tyler, but knew he was being contrary. He hadn’t yet asked for help and didn’t intend to unless he had no choice. He also thought Golding was taking the matter of the radio rather casually. Whatever happened to national security? However, the chief constable returned to the subject.

  “Now then. As soon as I heard that you had discovered a buried transmitter, I telephoned the secret service branch of the war office. They said they will have one of their men come over right away. Do you have the damn thing secure?”

  Tyler wanted to say, “Well no actually. I thought I’d put it out in the town centre so somebody could pick it up and have fun.”

  “Yes, sir. Quite secure.”

  “Good. An agent will be with you in about half an hour, I understand.”

  “Half an hour?”

  “Yes. They’re virtually up the road. MI5 has been operating a base in Whitchurch since May.”

  Tyler exhaled noisily. “Perhaps as police inspector for the town, I might have been informed, sir.”

  “It’s all highly hush-hush. The fewer people who know the better.”

  “What exactly are they doing here?”

  “I’m not going to answer that right now, Tyler. You can speak to the director himself. What he tells you is at his discretion.”

  If he could have reached through the wire and wrapped it around the chief constable’s scrawny neck, Tyler would have. There had been a mutual antipathy between him and Golding from the beginning. The chief constable was known as a “by the book” man. An army man who didn’t have a clue about policing, but did have a lot of highly placed friends in Whitehall that he could enjoy chewing the fat with. Tyler had actually heard him say, “Can’t get good recruits these days.” As if he was oblivious to the fact that the young men who might have joined the police force were being conscripted into His Majesty’s army.

  Golding snuffled again. “I have to go now. Please keep me informed as to the progress of the case on a daily basis.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  After they hung up, Tyler remained at his desk. It was all very well to prance and stick out his chest, but he felt no further forward with his case. Whether or not the transmitter had anything to do with the murder of Elsie and Rose he had no idea. And what the hell it was doing in the Acton Woods he couldn’t imagine, except clearly it was serious if MI5 was paying him a visit. He felt like a useless prat.

  There was a tap on the door and Gough popped his head in.

  “A Mr. Grey to see you, sir.”

  “Who’s he when he’s at home?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but he said you were expecting him.”

  “What the f– Oh shite.” It had to be the MI5 man. “Show him in. And make us some tea or coffee, will you.”

  “I’m not sure we have coffee, sir.”

  “See what you can find. He’s probably the kind of bloke that will only drink coffee. And some biscuits.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir. I didn’t expect we’d be entertaining the gentry today.”

  He withdrew, and Tyler shut his own dirty tea cup into the drawer.

  The door opened and Gough ushered in a tall, bespectacled man in a grey trilby and baggy tweed suit. He looked like a schoolmaster. Tyler came from behind his desk and they shook hands. Grey’s hand was dry and bony.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Grey. Can I offer you something, a cup of tea? Coffee?”

  “Good heavens, if you have coffee I’d love that. I haven’t had any in ages.”

  He had a slight accent that Tyler couldn’t quite place but might have been Dorset. He went to the door and called through to Gough to bring them some coffee. The sergeant held up a bottle of Camp Coffee and pointed at it, silently questioning.

  “That’ll do nicely, Sergeant, thank you. We’ll both partake.”

  The last time he’d drunk Camp Coffee Essence, Tyler had loathed it, but he wanted to go step for step with the new man. He returned to his desk. He’d half expected the agent to be having a look at the suitcase, but he wasn’t. He was studying one of Tyler’s photographs. The winning football team from C district. They’d triumphed over their archrivals from the Bridgenorth E division at last year’s championships.

  “You play football I see. What position?”

&nb
sp; “Centre half.”

  Grey turned around and smiled. “Football is a game I enjoy to watch but alas was never good enough to play. Not well co-ordinated.”

  Another tap and Gough entered with a tray. He’d found some biscuits somewhere and decent china cups and saucers. Tyler wondered how he’d managed that in so short a time. He moved a file folder off the desk to make room for the tray.

  Grey took one of the cups and sipped at the turgid-looking coffee. He beamed. “Wonderful. It makes a change from the ubiquitous tea, doesn’t it?”

  Tyler was certain now the man had been a schoolmaster. Who the hell would use a word like ubiquitous in ordinary conversation? He drank some of the coffee, which he found as unpalatable as ever, and waited. There was something rather peculiar about the way his visitor was behaving. He’d expected a secret service man to be quite excited about what they’d found, but in fact, he appeared almost uninterested.

  Finally, he said, “Am I to assume from your presence here, Mr. Grey, that we have a spy in our midst?”

  Grey put down his cup and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the tip of his fingers. “Yes, as a matter of fact that is the case.”

  “And you obviously knew about it?”

  “Yes, we do. To tell you the truth, Inspector, it is most unfortunate that you have unearthed the transmitter. And even more unfortunate that you moved it from its location.”

  Tyler forced himself to swallow more of the soupy coffee. “I think I deserve an explanation for that remark, Mr. Grey.”

  “Indeed you do, but I must warn you that what I am about to tell you comes under the Official Secrets Act and you must not under any circumstances disclose the information I will impart.” He tentatively touched his jaw and winced. “I beg your pardon, a little tooth problem that I must have tended to. Now, where was I? Ah yes. Explaining to you what MI5 is doing in Whitchurch and so on.” He pointed at the coffee. “Do you know, I have found this quite soothing to my aching tooth.”

  No wonder, thought Tyler. It tastes like mouthwash.

  “Please continue, sir.” Strictly speaking, Tyler didn’t have to address the agent as sir, as he didn’t know his rank or if he even had one. But there was something about the man that made him address him that way. Grey seemed distracted, but whether it was the pain in his jaw or something else, he didn’t know.