Beck shook his head. “We kept no such things. Poor Otto. He showed so much promise. I had no idea he had such a weakness.”
Clare murmured sympathetically. She glanced around. Most of the others had drifted off to read their mail or to share with each other.
Clare handed Beck the package, making sure it could be seen. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.”
Still shocked by what she’d told him, Beck showed little interest in the package.
“I believe it’s from the London Institute,” said Clare, feeling like a hypocrite as she tried to tempt him. “Perhaps it’s the papers you’ve been hoping for.”
Beck opened the package and started to read Schreyer’s letter. Clare pretended to be paying attention to the other internees, some of whom wanted to share parts of their letters with her. She saw Beck open the envelope containing the incriminating photographs. He didn’t reveal much reaction but she supposed that was his training. A psychoanalyst can’t indulge in his own personal feelings. She called out to him in German.
“Is everything all right, Doctor?”
Quickly, he stuffed the photographs back into the envelope. “Not exactly.”
Hoeniger was on the fringes of the group, and Beck beckoned to him.
“Hans, where is Father Glatz?”
“In his tent.”
Beck nodded at Clare. “Thank you, Mrs. Devereau,” he said politely, and clutching the package as if it were on fire, he hurried off to the priest’s tent.
“Did he receive bad news?” the seminarian asked Clare. “He seems upset.”
“One of his former students has died suddenly.”
“What a shame. I shall go and see if I can be of help.”
He too went off to the tent. The internee whom Grey referred to as “our chappie” hadn’t yet shown up to receive his mail. Clare dropped it off at his tent, then returned to the hut. She sat down at the rickety table. The game was afoot. Except it wasn’t a game. It was in deadly earnest and the stakes were very high indeed.
Beck patted the seminarian on the shoulder. “I’d like a private talk with Father Glatz if you don’t mind, Hans.”
“Not at all. I believe Kurt is expecting me to show up for a game of chess. He thinks he can trounce me.”
“No chance of that,” said Beck.
Hoeniger bowed himself away and left the two of them together. Beck sat on one of the cots and Glatz pulled up a canvas chair.
Beck took out the letter from Schreyer and handed it to the priest to read.
Glatz grimaced. “Are there photographs?”
“Indeed there are.” He handed over that envelope as well. “And worse, my dear Philipp, I heard just now from Mrs. Devereau that Otto has died. A completely unexpected heart attack.” Beck’s professional calm demeanour was disappearing. He was becoming very agitated. “Am I to accept his death as a coincidence, or is it related to the situation he describes? The woman says her husband discovered she has the photographs, so I presume she has also revealed what she did with them.”
“Is she alive?”
“I have not heard otherwise.” He looked at the priest. “I am quite at a loss as to what to do. I consider all case notes, whether mine or those of a student of mine, to be completely confidential. I have always considered the nature of the analysis to be as sacrosanct as the confessional. However, this material is another matter. It is quite subversive and concerns men with whom we are now at war. Does that release me from all obligations? The woman in question, the analysand, is not a soldier. Should I respect her privacy regardless? I was Otto’s supervisor and therefore she is nominally under my protection. I have never had a situation quite like this before. I would most value your advice.”
The priest studied his hands. “With all due respect, Bruno, our situations are not exactly the same. I am bound by canon law and I am exempt from criminal law. I have priest-penitent privilege. In equivocal cases I would consult with the Holy See. Each situation would be judged on its own merit. You are not so exempt. Your decision to keep your own counsel is a professional one, not a religious one.” He indicated the package sitting between them on the side table. “If the subject of these photographs was anonymous, would you be so eager to hand them over to the authorities?”
Beck shrugged impatiently. “But he is not anonymous.”
“He is breaking the law; surely you cannot countenance that?”
“I realize sodomy is on the criminal code in both Germany and England but frankly, if the act is between consenting adults, I am not inclined to interfere.”
“Come, Bruno. It is you who are being a generalist. The participants shown in the photographs, except for the main actor, appear to be quite young, barely pubescent. Even more serious an offence.”
“But they are beyond the reach of British justice. Are you suggesting I should send all of this to Herr Hitler? They might be executed. In Nazi Germany, capital punishment is on the statutes for such men, whatever age. We know that homosexuals are being imprisoned under the most brutal of conditions.”
“If that man were to be executed, or disgraced even, it might be of benefit to the Allies, don’t you think?” Father Glatz pulled at his lip. “You know what I would advise, Bruno? I would advise you to sleep on it … No, I am quite serious. Nothing will be altered by one more day, and in the morning you may be clearer in your mind as to what you want to do.”
Beck had been about to protest, but he nodded. “You know, I do believe you are right. What I need to do is to turn the problem over to my unconscious mind. Perhaps I shall have a dream that will give me some direction.” He pointed at the package. “I wonder if you would mind if I left the thing with you. I’m sure I would be tempted to examine the notes in the middle of the night if it sits beside me and—” Just as he said that, the flap of the tent was lifted and Hoeniger came in.
“Oh sorry, Father, I didn’t know you were still here.”
“That’s all right, Doctor Beck and I are finished, are we not?”
“Yes.” Beck turned to the young man who was hovering on the threshold. “I think a game of chess will clear my mind. It helps me to focus on something other than the current problem. Did you defeat young Bader?”
“I did. He was reckless.”
Beck chuckled. “I would have bet on it. Come then, Hans. I am cautious to a fault. Let’s see what you do with that.”
The priest took the package and stashed it in the little cupboard beside his bed.
“Wait one minute and I will come with you.”
He put his arm over Beck’s shoulders and guided him out of the tent.
55.
THE DAY SEEMED TO BE TAKEN UP WITH ENDLESS RED tape, reports being the bane of a police inspector’s existence. Tyler couldn’t even claim greater priority as there were no new developments in the murder cases. Arthur Trimble was nowhere to be found. The lorry was missing as well. Tyler repeated the “hold if seen” warning to other stations and set the available constables to renew their follow up in Whitchurch. He kept another man on watch at Trimble’s cottage. He was afraid he may have acted too soon and frightened the man off.
He’d gone back to confront Lambeth, but his father-in-law was adamant he had nothing to do with Trimble on Thursday morning. He also said that Trimble occasionally drove down to London to see a friend. No, he didn’t know what her name was. Maybe it was more than one friend. Tyler could do nothing else at the moment but fume.
When he finally finished what he had to do, it was late. Sergeant Gough had waited for him and on him, bringing him fish and chips for his tea. At ten o’clock, he sent Gough off home, and he walked slowly across the dark street to his own house. He let himself in, relieved that Vera had already gone to bed. Janet was at her friend’s house and Jimmy’s room was empty. God knows where he was. Tyler wished Alice Thorne was on the telephone but of course she wasn’t. As always, his anxieties about his son hovered in his head like so many midges. He was going to have
a talk with him tomorrow if it was the last thing he did. He contemplated calling Clare, but it was late and it seemed too furtive to phone from his own house. For a moment, the yearning to be with her was almost overwhelming.
He didn’t want to lie beside Vera in the marital bed, so he made up the couch for the night. Eventually he fell into a restless sleep.
He was at the station and the intercom telephone was ringing but when he lifted the receiver it was dead. He jiggled the hook, trying to summon Gough, but there were all sorts of complicated buttons that he had to press and nothing was working. The bloody thing kept on ringing.
He opened his eyes, disorientated. Finally he realized it was his own telephone that was clammering relentlessly. The clock showed five o’clock. It was pitch dark. He swung his legs off the couch and hurried into the hall.
Major Fordham’s voice came through immediately. “Inspector Tyler. Can you get over to the camp right away? We’ve had a serious fire. We’ve got it under control but there have been casualties. At least five men dead as far as we can determine.” Fordham made a sort of throat-clearing noise. “I thought I had better contact you right away because I suspect arson is involved.”
Tyler scrubbed at his face to make himself wake up. “Why is that, sir?”
“I didn’t think so at first. We’ve warned the internees to be careful when they smoke in their tents – their palliasses are filled with straw, and with this dry weather everything is such a fire hazard. But there’s no doubt. You can smell the petrol. And we’ve since found two empty petrol cans over by the latrine.”
“I’ll be right over. I’ll just pick up one of my constables.”
They hung up, and Tyler hurried back to the living room for his clothes. He heard a door open upstairs. Vera appeared on the landing, tousled and fearful.
“What’s happening? It’s not Jimmy, is it?”
“No, don’t worry. A fire broke out in the camp and the major wants me to come over and represent calm and order.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She started down the stairs. “Do you want me to make you a cup of tea to take with you?”
“I don’t have time, Vee. I can get one at the camp. Thanks.”
“Tom …” Her voice trailed off. “Never mind.”
She turned around and went back upstairs.
Tyler hurried across the street to the police station. What had he been thinking? That he could just pack a suitcase and move away? Too many people would be hurt if he did that. He stopped, fished out his cigarettes, and lit one, shielding the match with his hand. He looked up at the sky, overcast, with just the hint of silver where the moon was. No stars.
Tom Tyler had never considered himself to be a religious man since he had grown to adulthood. More agnostic than anything was how he described himself, but in the cool earth-scented night, he was moved to utter a kind of prayer. Please help me, Lord. I need some guidance here. I’m bloody lost, if you must know and will excuse the profanity. I am, my family is, the entire bloody world is, if it comes to that. I’m not going to say that you’re on our side because the Germans probably think the same thing, but I know there are forces at work here that I’ve never seen before. Not even in the previous war, and I was witness to lots of bad things. We are in the grip of a terrible darkness. I’m not going to promise to be a good man from now on, I’d probably renege at the first opportunity, but I also want to do the right things by the people I love. However small, if there is anything I can do to protect this country of mine, I will do it. As Winnie keeps nattering at us, we must overcome. And we must.
He continued on to the car, slightly embarrassed with himself, although he hadn’t spoken out loud. No thunderclap, no burning bush presented itself, just the far-off barking of a dog, telling somebody or something that he was the boss.
56.
TYLER COLLECTED EAGLETON WHO, WITH THE resilience of youth, was immediately alert and ready to accompany him. They drove as fast as they could to the camp, and as they approached along the north road, they could smell the acrid smoke on the air. The generator lights were on and the entire camp was bathed in light. Tyler parked the Humber, and a sentry let him and Eagleton through the gate.
They headed in the direction of the thin wisps of smoke. It looked as if all of the internees were awake and standing in small groups outside of their tents. Nobody was moving, and they watched him silently as he went by. The fear was as palpable as the lingering stench from the fire. Some of them had cloths over their mouths and nostrils and as he got closer, Tyler could understand why. There was a sickening smell of roasted flesh in the air. What was left of the tent was a blackened mess, and on the grass there were mounds, covered with tarpaulins, that he assumed had once been the occupants.
Here he found Major Fordham and a couple of soldiers. A few feet away, Dr. Beck was sitting on a camp stool.
The commandant greeted Tyler immediately. “Inspector. Thank goodness. What a terrible thing this is.”
“Do you know what happened?”
The major waved his arms vaguely. “I was called about an hour ago, but by the time I got here the sentries and internees had managed to extinguish the fire. Although, according to my corporal, the bloody tent had burned itself out. Nothing left of it.” He coughed. “The bodies were still burning but the men succeeded in smothering the flames.”
Tyler glanced around. The tents were packed close together, and he could see the ones in the immediate area were blackened but otherwise untouched. They were lucky. The fire had been so fierce that it actually hadn’t spread once it consumed the tent.
Fordham indicated Dr. Beck. “Fortunately, the doctor detected the fire before it got completely out of hand. He attempted to pull out the men from the tent that was on fire, but the flames were too fierce. He’s still rather shaken.”
Beck saw them and got to his feet uncertainly. Tyler could see the burn marks on the doctor’s hands, and his beard and hair were singed. He smelled of smoke. He was wearing an elegant dressing gown which was darkened with smoke residue.
“Doctor, will you tell the inspector what happened?” asked the major.
Beck nodded. “I couldn’t sleep and I had just stepped out of my tent to get some fresh air. I heard a sort of swoosh, and suddenly there were flames leaping up from this direction. I yelled ‘fire’ and ran over as fast as I could. By the time I got here, the tent was completely ablaze, although it was a matter of seconds only.” He paused. “I did try to get through to the occupants but I was unable to do so.” He swallowed hard. “Father Glatz was my good friend. I’m afraid he has perished.”
Fordham took up the narrative as Beck was clearly struggling with his emotions.
“We have always made sure there are sand and water buckets at every entrance After Dr. Beck’s call, many of the men were awakened. The sentries came running. We’ve had fire drills so everyone knew what to do, but all they could do was extinguish sparks landing on nearby tents. It’s a miracle more people weren’t seriously hurt.”
“What time did this happen?”
Beck shook his head. “Frankly, time has stood still, but I would say it was around half past three.”
“Did you hear anything other than the swoosh?”
“No …” he hesitated. “I heard no screaming from inside the tent when I got close enough. Nothing at all.”
Meaning the men were all dead before the fire started.
“Do we know who was in the tent?”
Fordham turned to the guard, who pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.
“This was tent number thirty-three. Here are the names of the occupants, sir.”
There were seven names on the list. Five mounds.
“We seem to be missing two men,” said Tyler.
Another clearing of the throat by the major. “In a camp this size not everybody is inclined to stay where they are assigned. I don’t mind if they go visiting, as it were, as
long as they answer to the morning roll call.”
It dawned on Tyler what the commander was referring to and why he seemed so uncomfortable. He meant assignations.
“I’d appreciate it if you would start a roll call now, Major. And I’d like to clear the immediate area of all internees.”
“Of course. Er, I am wondering whether or not I should ring Mrs. Devereau. I will need to address the camp and you may have questions yourself. It makes it so much easier to have an official interpreter. Besides, having a woman present at a time like this can be so comforting, can it not?”
“I think that’s an excellent idea. Eager, come here for a minute.”
A rather white-faced Eagleton stepped over to him.
“Go to the commandant’s tent. He has a field telephone and the corporal will show you how to use it. Get hold of Mrs. Devereau. Don’t alarm her any more than you have to, but tell her to get here as soon as she can. If she doesn’t answer, she may be in Whitchurch. In which case, you’ll have to rouse Sergeant Gough and have him fetch her. She’ll be at Mrs. Pettie’s house in Orchard Lane.”
“Yes, sir.”
Obviously only too glad to get away from the horrors, Eagleton scooted off. Fordham clapped his hands as if he were in the playground and was summoning the children back to classes.
“To the mess tent, gentlemen, if you please. We have to take roll call. We will give you information as soon as we can. Move along now, there’s good chaps. Tea will be served. Come along.”
Tyler waited until the area was completely cleared. Beck had returned to his camp stool, waiting for his directions. Fordham came back from his shepherding task.
“All right then, Inspector. Ready when you are.”
“Let’s have a look shall we, Doctor? Can you handle this?”
Beck nodded.
Tyler walked over and lifted one of the tarpaulins.
The head was burnt beyond any recognition, all of the flesh charred to the bones. The exposed teeth grinned at him. He uncovered more of the body, aware of the strong odour of petrol as he did so. The upper chest and arms were likewise severely burned, but from the waist down, although the clothes had gone, the skin was less destroyed.
Season of Darkness Page 32
