Anthem for Doomed Youth

by Carola Dunn

  ‘Inspector Gant? Who is this man?’

  ‘Oh dear, I shouldn’t have mentioned him without asking you all to promise not to breathe a word.’

  ‘I promise!’ they chorussed, leaning closer.

  ‘Thanks. Alec didn’t tell me not to talk about this bit, but I’m sure he’d be as angry with me as with Gant if word spread. That’s Detective Inspector Gant, of the Essex police.’

  ‘But why should he do such a thing, Daisy? Do not the police cooperate with each other?’

  ‘Not always. You see, the local police are the first to be called in, of course, and sometimes they resent it when the chief constable of the county decides to ask Scotland Yard to take over a case. Apparently Gant was so furious he didn’t even stay at the site to pass on to Alec whatever information he had already found. That’s very bad form, not to mention exceedingly unhelpful.’

  ‘I should rather think so!’ said Audrey. ‘My old nanny had to leave last year to go and take care of her aged father. Just imagine if she had refused to stay long enough to tell the new one all about the children!’ Audrey saw most things in terms of her children.

  ‘Nanny James was quite at liberty to leave, though, my dear,’ said her mother-in-law. ‘I’d have thought the police would have a rule, or a regulation, or something of the sort. Surely it was his duty to stay, Daisy, not just his choice?’

  ‘Well, I’m no expert, but I expect so. Alec has no authority over Gant, but he had to send to the Yard for men with spades—’

  ‘Detective Inspector Gant took everything with him?’ Sakari asked.

  ‘And everyone. At least, that’s the impression I got. The local constable was still there, I think, and one other officer. Anyway, Alec’s boss, Superintendent Crane, must have had to authorise the extra people, and I’m sure he’d take it up with the chief constable of Essex. If I’m not mistaken, they – the Metropolitan Police – bill the counties for their services, so Gant will probably get into trouble. And that’s really about all I can tell you.’

  ‘This is very interesting,’ announced Sakari. ‘I shall see if I can find a lecture on the organization of the British police force.’

  ‘Forces, darling. The Met, and one for each county, and big cities have their own, too, including the City of London. And the Scots are quite different, as well. It had better be a series of lectures.’

  Sakari chuckled. ‘In India, it is very difficult for a woman to obtain education,’ she explained to the Jessups, ‘so while I am here, I do the best I can for myself and my daughter. Deva is at boarding school with Daisy’s Belinda. Perhaps you have heard that we are to visit them this weekend?’

  ‘Yes, Daisy mentioned it,’ said Audrey. ‘Somewhere in Essex, isn’t it?’

  ‘An odd coincidence!’ said Daisy. ‘I hope we don’t run into DI Gant. The girls are in Saffron Walden. Do you know it?’

  ‘I stayed the night there once,’ said Mrs Jessup. ‘Maurice sometimes does business with Lord Braybrooke at Audley End House.’ Mr Jessup was a very superior purveyor of wines and spirits. ‘In those days, I used to go with him when he wasn’t travelling too far from town and it was an easy train journey.’

  ‘Did you explore the town?’ Sakari asked.

  ‘A little. I remember a very large and beautiful church.’

  ‘Perhaps you are able to advise us,’ said Sakari. ‘We have visited the girls at school before, of course, but never for more than a few hours. This time we must keep them amused for longer. I have brought a guidebook – always the quest for knowledge, you see! – so that Daisy and I may make plans. I left it on the hall table, Daisy, so that it would not distract you from telling me about the murders. But you have told us very little.’ She sighed.

  ‘Sorry! If he says any more tonight or in the morning, anything not desperately secret, I’ll tell you tomorrow.’

  ‘Please, go ahead and make your plans. I’ll see if I can remember anything helpful.’

  The rest of the evening was spent discussing the rival merits of the Saffron Walden Museum and Bridge End Garden, with detours to the medieval maze on the common and the castle ruins.

  ‘Let them run about in the gardens till they’re tired,’ suggested Audrey, ‘then take them to the museum.’

  ‘Tired!’ Sakari exclaimed. ‘I shall be exhausted.’

  ‘There are plenty of benches in the gardens,’ Mrs Jessup assured her.

  ‘We’re assuming the weather will hold,’ said Daisy. ‘The forecast’s good, so let’s hope, but if it rains they’ll have to make do with the museum.’

  When her friends left, Daisy’s thoughts returned to Alec’s case and the possible connections between the three bodies. They were all buried in close proximity – not that she actually knew how close. A few feet, she assumed. All three were well-dressed, which did indeed seem to dispose of the East-End gang theory. And then there was the paper target, the three targets.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, the targets rang a very faint bell. For some obscure reason, they made her think of Michael, her erstwhile fiancé, killed in the war while working with a Friends’ Ambulance Unit.

  It was because Michael had been a Quaker that the notion of sending Belinda to a Quaker school had not seemed utterly outlandish to her, when Bel begged to go with her friends. She was happy there, and doing well at her lessons, so what more could one ask for?

  CHAPTER 6

  Alec didn’t get home till midnight. When he let himself in, Daisy was in the front room reading, in her dressing-gown. Elsie had closed the curtains but left the windows open to the soft night air.

  ‘Darling?’

  He came into the room and slumped into a chair. ‘Whew! What a day!’

  ‘You look more in need of a whisky than cocoa. Mrs D left out veal-and-ham pie and gooseberry fool, too, if you’re hungry.’

  ‘Ravenous! I’ve been running all over the Home Counties all day. I can’t even remember when I last had a bite to eat.’

  ‘You stay there. I’ll bring the tray. If it’s not enough, I can always get you some bread and cheese to fill in the chinks.’

  ‘When did Mrs D ever not provide enough? Ta, love. And whisky sounds like an excellent idea.’

  Daisy bustled about, and soon, jacket and tie discarded, he was wolfing his belated dinner.

  She let him eat in peace, took away the tray and topped up the whisky glass, then, as he leant back with a satisfied sigh, she asked, ‘I hope all your running about was productive?’

  ‘Yes, thank heaven. And I can tell you some of it as we’ve notified the papers. We’ve reached the point where we need tips from the public. All three victims have been identified.’

  ‘Already? That’s pretty good going, isn’t it?’

  Alec grinned. ‘The super’s happy. He went so far as to ring up the AC at home to tell him.’

  ‘Mr Crane’s happy, all’s well with the world. Who are – were they?’

  ‘As you might expect, the most recent was the easiest. Vincent Halliday, son and heir of Sir Daniel Halliday, Baronet, of Hertfordshire. You’re not acquainted with the Hallidays, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Daisy said in surprise. ‘I’ve never heard of them, as far as I can remember. Why?’

  ‘Oh, the super’s got a bee in his bonnet about you, that’s all.’

  ‘I know that.’ Indignantly, she added, ‘I don’t see how he can possibly accuse me of meddling in this case!’

  ‘He’s not accusing you, just faintly nervous that you may turn out to be somehow involved.’

  ‘I call that a bit much! I’ve a good mind to try and dig up some mutual acquaintance who can introduce me to the Hallidays.’

  ‘This is not exactly a good time to meet them,’ Alec said dryly. ‘In any case, they seem to be a rather reclusive family. The old couple appear to disapprove thoroughly of the modern world and to do their best to keep the family from contamination. Lady Halliday’s mouth is all pursed up as though it’s set in an expression of disapproval.’r />
  ‘I know exactly what you mean!’ Daisy forebore to remind him that his mother’s mouth was much the same.

  ‘Very strong on the Victorian virtues. Not much hope with the youngest generation, of course. Two boys at a public school – well, heaven knows, those are old-fashioned enough – but the granddaughter is going to be a thorn in their flesh, if she isn’t already.’

  ‘Good for her! Old couple? How old?’

  ‘In their early seventies, at a guess. Vincent was forty-five. His daughter’s about Bel’s age, a year or two older. As far as we can find out, he was a quiet, harmless farmer, running the Halliday estate to the satisfaction of all concerned. He wasn’t in the habit of going off to London for an occasional spree, or anything suggestive like that. We’re still completely stumped for motive.’

  ‘What about the second victim?’

  ‘Martin Devine, a Surrey man. He was the youngest, at thirty-three. Junior partner in a very prosperous firm of solicitors in Guildford. Unmarried. Father deceased, lived with his mother. I haven’t had time to talk to her yet, or anyone else who knew him, come to that. That’s on tomorrow’s agenda. The local police are supposed to have informed her of his death this evening, so that his name in tomorrow’s news won’t come as a shock.’

  ‘Poor woman! Even if he’s been missing for months, she must still have hoped he’d turn up. Alive, I mean.’

  ‘Yes. That doesn’t seem to hold true for the last man, however. Or rather, the first.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘William Pelham. His widow seemed more relieved than anything else that he wasn’t coming back. She immediately started talking about repainting the house, and having seen it, I can’t blame her! I had to call on her briefly tonight. We couldn’t be sure of the identification without talking to her.’

  ‘How on earth did you identify him? You said there wasn’t much left.’

  ‘Feeling ghoulish now, are you? We recovered two toe bones that had been broken and badly set. Not bad enough to make walking difficult, but his toes would have been misshapen and his wife could hardly help but know.’

  ‘And his doctor, presumably.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s hopeless approaching doctors until you can assure them their patient is dead, which, of course, we couldn’t. It’s ticklish even then. They’re extremely reluctant to part with information, as bad as – or worse than – solicitors and banks.’

  ‘So you had to see Mrs Pelham, who was not over distressed to hear her vanished hubby had vanished for good.’

  ‘Rather to the contrary. I didn’t have time to talk to her for long, nor, of course, to anyone else who knew Colonel Pelham. Have to go back tomorrow—’

  ‘Later today,’ said Daisy, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  This innocent remark prompted a vast yawn from Alec. ‘Later today,’ he agreed, standing up. ‘And if I don’t go to bed now, it’ll be time to get up. Come on. Oh, I managed to find a moment to buy some chocolate peppermint creams for Bel. I put them on the hall table. Don’t forget to take them to her.’

  ‘I won’t. She’d rather have you, but I don’t suppose she’ll reject them.’

  A wholly insufficient number of hours later, Daisy, again in her dressing-gown, joined Alec at the breakfast table. She wasn’t awake enough to eat, and intended to go back to bed the minute he left. Nursing a cup of tea, she waited until he had finished with his bacon and eggs, poured him a second cup of coffee, and said:

  ‘I woke up with an idea.’

  ‘An idea?’

  ‘Well, it’s not really enough to qualify as an idea. Call it a wonder. The first victim was Colonel Pelham, so I presume he’s a soldier?’

  ‘Retired. Territorials during the war, I think. I’m sure Ernie knows.’

  ‘I just wondered if you knew what the other two did in the war.’

  ‘No,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose Ernie does, either. It’s long enough ago that I never considered a possible connection there. Even if they served together at some point, it seems unlikely that it could have anything to do with their murders eight years after the Armistice. As tenuous as the pub link.’

  ‘Pub link?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Definitely not to be passed on.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Nor your idea about their war service, just in case. But I will find out about it. I must run.’ He gulped the rest of his coffee. ‘Bye, love, and give Belinda my apologies and my love, won’t you.’

  ‘Of course, darling. And the peppermint creams. Good luck.’

  He kissed her cheek and was gone.

  ‘Oh well, it was an idea,’ she said to the empty air, and went back to bed.

  On time to the minute, the Prasads’ dark red Sunbeam tourer pulled up in front of the house. It was another gorgeous June day, so Kesin had let down the hood. Knowing Sakari, though, she would probably have it put up as soon as they got out of town. She wasn’t one to put up with the inconvenience of wind in her face at thirty or forty miles an hour.

  Melanie, in her typical self-effacing way, had moved to the passenger seat in front as soon as the car stopped in Constable Circle. Daisy joined Sakari in the back. Kesin hopped back in, and they proceeded in a stately manner round the circle and out into Well Walk.

  ‘Kesin tells me,’ said Sakari, her tone dramatic, ‘that the most direct route runs through Epping Forest! I told him on no account to go that way, so we shall make a circuit. He says we shall not go far out of our way. Daisy, have you any further information from Alec?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Melanie protested, looking back. ‘Can’t we let that subject rest for today?’

  ‘You need not listen, Melanie.’

  ‘Short of putting my fingers in my ears, which would look very odd, I can hardly help it.’

  ‘I shan’t talk about gruesome details,’ Daisy assured her, ‘if that’s what you’re worried about. In any case, Alec didn’t tell me much beyond what was to be given to the papers, so you’ve probably read everything already.’

  ‘I never read about murders,’ said Melanie, somewhat self-righteously. ‘I hardly ever read the papers at all.’

  ‘I do,’ Sakari declared, ‘but this morning I had not time enough even to open the Times. Tell all, Daisy.’

  ‘It’s mostly that all three victims have been identified, and their names. Alec’s hoping for tips from the public about any connections between them.’

  ‘What sort of connections?’

  ‘Any sort. As long as they’re three discrete individuals—’

  ‘My dear Daisy, being dead, they cannot help but be discreet!’

  ‘Discrete spelt e-t-e.’

  ‘This is a word I do not know. Perhaps I should stay home from classes and lectures for a while and study the English dictionary instead.’

  ‘I don’t know it, either, Sakari,’ said Melanie, proving she had been listening closely. ‘Remember Daisy is a writer. Words are her business.’

  ‘I wouldn’t use that discrete in an article. It would go over the heads of too many of the sort of readers I write for.’

  ‘But you expected us to be better educated,’ said Sakari mournfully.

  ‘English was always my best – my favourite – subject.’

  Sakari laughed. ‘Do not apologise, Daisy. We cannot hold you to blame for our ignorance, can we, Melanie?’

  ‘Of course not, Daisy dear. It must mean something like separate, does it?’

  ‘Yes, more or less, though in that context … But I’m not going to try and define it more precisely!’

  ‘These are so far three separate individuals,’ said Sakari, ‘and Alec must discover what is the connection between them that explains why they were all murdered by the same person.’

  ‘Very well put.’

  ‘This is praise indeed from a professional writer!’ Sakari laughed again. ‘“Well put” I understand, though it is a rather odd idiom, is it not? I can see it is time for me to take another c
ourse in the English language that I think I know so well.’

  ‘You do know – and speak – it very well, Sakari,’ Melanie assured her.

  ‘Well enough for most occasions, but always I strive to learn. I have not yet learnt the names of the victims, Daisy. Perhaps I shall be the one to supply the missing link.’

  ‘That would be an unexpected development! I can just imagine what Superintendent Crane would say. He’d be certain to find a reason to blame me, though for what, I can’t imagine. Luckily, it seems extremely unlikely. Let’s see, there’s Vincent Halliday, son of Sir Something Halliday. A friend of yours?’

  ‘No, alas. I have never heard the name. Nor do I recall ever meeting a Mrs Halliday, nor a Lady Halliday, and as a diplomat’s wife I have cultivated an excellent memory for names.’

  ‘Colonel – what was it? – Pelham, that’s it. If Alec told me his given name, I’ve forgotten it.’

  ‘I have met a gentleman by this name, who works in the India Office, but he is not a colonel.’

  ‘A retired colonel at that. How old is your Pelham?’

  ‘I find it difficult to judge with Europeans, but I should guess, about my own age.’

  ‘And how old is that?’

  ‘Daisy, Daisy, have you not heard that one should never ask a woman her age?’ Sakari shook her head in mock reproof.

  ‘I want to know his age, not yours,’ Daisy retorted. Late thirties or fortyish, she thought, ten or twelve years older than herself. ‘In any case, you’re not nearly old enough to be a retired colonel. It can’t be the same man. What about Martin Devine?’

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Melanie.

  ‘Mel, don’t tell me you know him?’

  ‘It must be a different person. Surely it’s not such an uncommon name.’

  ‘Martin isn’t, but I wouldn’t say Devine is particularly common, and the two combined … Alec told me where they all lived. Devine was Guildford, I think. A solicitor.’