The Cuckoo (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 1)

by K. J. Frost

  “Yes?” I don’t want to lose the momentum.

  He lets his eyes focus on a point over my left shoulder and I sense he’s gone back in time. “It—It happened in the autumn of 1917,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “At Passchendaele. It was hell on earth. A place of nightmares. A place I’ll never forget… I—I was out on a patrol, in charge of a group of men… a second lieutenant, a corporal and two privates. We were on our way back when the Bosch set off a flare… lit up no man’s land like daylight. Snipers started shooting and… and… well, I panicked.” He falls silent, and I’m just thinking he’s not going to speak again, when he lets out a slight sob. “Corporal Morris and the two privates were killed outright, directly in front of me. Second Lieutenant Robinson was badly injured…” Tears are forming in his eyes and I avert my gaze, staring at the floor. “Peter Cooper risked his life to come out and bring Robinson in,” he continues, his voice gaining in strength. “And although I was physically unhurt, he helped me too. He could clearly see I was done for. Without him I’d have died out there.” He pauses. “Then, later on, I had to report to our senior officer, to explain what had happened.” He runs his hands down his face and leans forward, staring at the space between his feet. “I—I was feeling a little better by then and I—I told him… I told the C.O. that Robinson was the one who’d panicked. I told him that Robinson was responsible for the deaths of the other three men…”

  I struggle to take in what he’s saying, but my detective’s brain kicks in. “But surely,” I reply, “Robinson could have refuted that, couldn’t he?”

  He shakes his head. “No. He died within a few minutes of Peter bringing him in.”

  “And Cooper himself?”

  “Oh, he knew,” he says with cold certainty.

  “So, what did he do?”

  “He didn’t mention it. But he barely spoke to me again, and we spent the next twelve months or so in and out of the trenches until the end of the war.”

  “And then what?”

  “He came and saw me just before we were sent home. He asked me why I’d done it.”

  “And what did you tell him?” I ask.

  “I explained that I’d been so damn scared I couldn’t even think straight. I told him how guilty I felt and begged him to keep my secret out of respect for our friendship.”

  “Did he?”

  Templeton nods. “Yes. He didn’t approve, or agree with what I’d done, but he said he understood. You had to be there for that to make sense, but I can tell you, it was the most hellish place imaginable.” He swallows and takes a breath.

  “And the letter?” I prompt.

  “It was from Peter,” he says. “I’d written to him a few weeks after our last meeting, congratulating him on his marriage. He wrote back some time later, telling me he still couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive me. The letter was quite detailed, outlining his recollections of what had happened, and how the memories haunted him. Nothing more was ever said of the matter between us, but then we hardly saw each other again. I heard about Amelie’s birth and, of course, the tragic news of her mother’s death at the same time, and I went to the funeral to pay my respects, but Peter didn’t acknowledge me. He was too grief stricken to notice anything that day. Then he was killed, and I discovered there was no other family to take care of Amelie, so I stepped forward and offered to take her in myself.” He stops talking for a moment and focuses on me. “I’ll admit I did it entirely out of guilt,” he says. “All the while she’s lived with us, everyone has treated me like a saint for giving the girl a home, when really I’m nothing of the sort. And that’s exactly what Beth said to me that evening.”

  I want to know something, just for my own peace of mind. “When was the Abercrombie’s ball, in comparison to your argument with Beth?”

  “The Abercrombie’s ball?” He looks confused, then his face clears. “It was the day after,” he replies. “Why?”

  “Oh… no reason.” That makes sense of Beth’s expression in her photograph, which has bothered me from the moment I first saw it. I now also understand why Beth said what she did to Daniel Milton. She’d discovered her father wasn’t the man she thought he was; she’d obeyed him and given up the man she loved, but she’d come to regret that when she found out about her father’s past.

  “What was Beth going to do?” I ask him.

  “I don’t know,” he replies. “She didn’t say she was going to do anything. She wasn’t going to tell Amelie, that’s for sure. She said she wouldn’t, because she didn’t want to upset her.” He shakes his head. “The thought that my own daughter could look at me with such contempt…” He flops back into the sofa. “I suppose this has to become public now, does it?” he murmurs, his voice lifeless and beyond hope.

  “No, sir.” He sits forward again, looking at me. “It doesn’t relate to the case I’m investigating. It’s history as far as I’m concerned.” I’m not sure that I feel overly comfortable keeping it from Amelie, but I’ll worry about that later.

  A fragile smile crosses his lips. “Thank you,” he whispers.

  I get to my feet and motion for Ellis to do the same. “We’ll leave you now, sir. I apologise for the questioning, but I’m afraid it’s sometimes necessary.”

  He nods his understanding. “I’ll show you out,” he says.

  “Don’t trouble yourself. We’ll find our own way.”

  We get into the hallway and Miss Foster appears from one of the other rooms. “Finished?” she asks, her voice a little brusque.

  “Yes, thank you, miss.”

  “Good.”

  “I think Mr Templeton might need a drink,” I tell her. “And some understanding.”

  She looks at me, opens her mouth, closes it again and nods her head.

  Once we’re outside, I turn to Ellis. “I need to make a phone call.” I indicate the telephone box opposite. “Wait here.”

  He nods and leans against the building, as I cross the road and enter the phone box.

  I connect the call and ask for Amelie, recognising Miss Higgins’ dulcet tones. When I give my name, she simpers a little, and asks me to wait.

  “Hello?” Amelie comes onto the line.

  “Hello. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been a lot longer in London than I thought I would be,” I explain. “So I doubt I’ll be back in time to collect you this evening. It’s probably best if you catch the bus home to be on the safe side. Do you want me to call Aunt Dotty and arrange for her to collect you?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll call her.”

  “Well, make sure you do… or she’ll skin me alive.”

  She laughs. “I’ll call her,” she repeats. There’s a noticeable pause. “Is Uncle Gordon alright?”

  “Yes. He’s fine.” I’m fairly sure she’s itching to ask me what I’ve discovered. “So, you’ll be alright to catch the bus?” I ask, changing the subject and preventing any awkward questions. I don’t feel happy about keeping her guardian’s secret from her, but if she doesn’t actually ask me, I don’t have to tell her. I couldn’t lie to her, and this way, I don’t have to.

  “Yes. I’ll be fine… and I’ll telephone Dotty. Don’t worry. Your skin’s safe. I’ll just have to find another way to get you into trouble.”

  “That won’t be hard.”

  She chuckles and we say our goodbyes, ending the call.

  “Well, that was a turn-up, wasn’t it, sir?” Ellis says as we make our way out of London.

  “I suppose.” I’m feeling a little absentminded, my brain still focused on Amelie.

  “I never had him down for a coward,” he says and I turn, glancing at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “He’s a coward,” he continues. “We’ve got to report him, I don’t know who to, but someone needs to know what he did…”

  I manoeuvre the car over to the side of the road, pulling on the handbrake and putting it into neutral, before resting my hand on the steering wheel and turning to face him. “
Absolutely not.” I raise my voice to give it an authoritative tone.

  “We can’t let it go, Inspector.”

  “Yes, we can. We have no idea what the circumstances were really like back then. We’ve never been called upon to fight in a war like that – and please God, we never will be.”

  “But…”

  I sit up a little, using my height, even in the confines of my car. “If you so much as mention what we’ve been told today, to a living soul, I will personally see to it that you’re back in uniform before you can blink… is that clear?”

  He stares at me for a moment, then nods his head.

  “Say it,” I threaten.

  “Yes, sir,” he agrees.

  “Right.” I put the car in gear and release the handbrake, pulling out into the traffic again, and feeling more uneasy than I have all day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I sit on the bus on the way home, feeling very disgruntled. I’ve had a difficult and very contrary day at work, but I don’t want to think about that. Instead I’d rather think about how much fun I could be having, and with whom. The problem is, I’m just not sure I can afford to risk another outing yet, not with the police still seemingly ever-present. I even passed a couple of uniformed officers on my walk to the bus stop this evening. They were very respectful in their greeting, and I nodded and raised my hat to them, wondering what they’d say if they realised what I’ve done. The thought lifted my mood, but only for a few minutes.

  As the bus stops and a few new passengers get on, I start to think about whether I should maybe cast my net a little further afield. The problem is that I don’t have access to a car of my own, so that would be quite difficult. I can’t rely on public transport, not late at night. Would it be possible to cycle, perhaps? But then what would I do with the bicycle while I was ‘in the act’, so to speak?

  I’m going to have to give the matter some serious consideration. After all, it won’t be long before I run out of public houses in Molesey, and then I’ll be forced to widen my net. I may as well be prepared.

  *****

  I park the car outside Aunt Dotty’s and climb out, reflecting on what a God-awful day it’s been. Ellis gave me the silent treatment all the way back to London Road and, when we got there, which we didn’t until about five-thirty, thanks to an accident near Wandsworth, we discovered that Thompson had gone out to see Johnson’s parents. He left a message that he was going straight home after that, and would then go on to The Plough to carry out his evening’s observations. Styles had arranged for us to be given a couple of extra men for the surveillance – just for tonight – so I took advantage of their presence and decided to let them handle The Fox, giving myself and Ellis a night off. I was exhausted and I was fairly sure he felt the same. Besides which, I wasn’t sure he and I could tolerate much more time spent in each other’s company. I notified Sergeant Tooley that, should anything occur this evening, he’s to call me at Aunt Dorothy’s.

  I then sent Ellis home early, using the next hour or so to go over the case notes again, although all that did was to depress me even further. I don’t feel as though we’re getting anywhere, other than going around in ever decreasing circles, leading nowhere.

  “It’s only me,” I call out as I let myself in. “Did you meet Amelie?” I put my coat over the end of the stairs and my hat on the hall table.

  “Yes,” comes the call from the living room, and I follow it, to find Aunt Dotty sitting by the roaring fire, with none other than Amelie herself opposite her, clutching a tumbler of what appears to be gin and tonic in her right hand.

  A smile covers my face and my mood is instantly lifted at the sight of her.

  “Well… hello,” I say, coming into the room and over to the fire to warm my hands.

  “Hello.” She looks up at me. “You do realise, don’t you, that if you got a car with windows and some sort of roof attached to it, you wouldn’t get so cold.”

  “Yes, but as you pointed out this morning, it’s a very pretty car.”

  She nods and smiles at the same time. “And that’s worth getting cold for?” she teases.

  I turn around and move closer to her. “Pretty things are always worth putting oneself out for,” I tease back, and she blushes, lowering her eyes.

  “Drink, Rufus?” Aunt Dotty interrupts, a broad grin on her face.

  “Yes, please.” She gets up and goes over to the sideboard, returning a few moments later with a tumbler to match hers and Amelie’s

  “Cheers,” I say, raising my glass.

  They return my salutation and we all sip our drinks.

  “Good day?” Aunt Dotty asks.

  “Average.” I hope my monosyllabic answer will put her off the scent. The last thing I need is to get into a discussion about Gordon Templeton.

  “Well, we’ve had a lovely evening,” she replies.

  “Oh yes? Doing what?”

  “I collected Amelie from the bus stop, as promised.” She puts down her glass. “And I invited her back here for a drink.”

  “Oh dear,” I reply, looking over at Amelie, who’s stifling a laugh.

  “She can hold her drink. So, stop fussing.” Aunt Dotty shakes her head at me.

  “Me? Fuss? Never.” I sit down in the chair, to avoid sitting next to Amelie and having to try not to touch her.

  “And since then, we’ve been discussing all sorts of things,” she says.

  I suddenly feel nervous. “Like what?” I ask.

  “Can you believe, this young girl is lucky enough to have been to Florence? It’s one of the few places in the world Samuel never got around to taking me.”

  “I was very young at the time,” Amelie replies. “I think I was about eight or nine.”

  “This was a holiday with your uncle and aunt?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She nods, taking another sip of her drink and settling into the sofa. She looks remarkably at home here and I feel a warmth spreading through me at that thought. “That was before Aunt Millicent took to her bed of course,” she adds.

  Aunt Dotty opens her mouth, presumably to say something about Millicent Templeton, but the door opens in time to save her from a social faux pas. Ethel enters instead.

  “Excuse me,” she says, giving a slight curtsey and looking at Dotty, “but what time would you like dinner to be served?”

  Aunt Dotty looks at me. “What do you think?” she asks.

  “I’m hungry now. I missed lunch again today.”

  Dotty tuts at me and shakes her head. “Amelie?” she says, looking at her.

  “Oh…” She hesitates. “No, it’s fine. I couldn’t impose. I’ll go home.”

  “Of course you won’t. Why on earth would you want to sit in that enormous house and eat by yourself, when you can stay here and listen to embarrassing stories about Rufus’ childhood?”

  Amelie laughs and I treasure the sound. “Well… if you’re sure…”

  “I’m absolutely positive. And so is Rufus.”

  Amelie looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

  “I’d love you to stay. Even though I’m probably going to regret not gagging Aunt Dotty and locking her in her room.”

  Aunt Dotty snorts out a laugh. “You could try,” she huffs and turns to Ethel. “Ten minutes?” she asks and Ethel nods and backs out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  “I’d better just telephone home,” Amelie says, sitting forward in her seat. “I should let them know where I am.”

  “Of course.” I stand and she copies me. “I’ll show you where the telephone is.”

  She follows me out into the cool hallway and I indicate the telephone on the table. “Thank you,” she says and I turn to face her, taking a step closer.

  “It was a lovely surprise to find you here.” She smiles, looking up at me. “I’ve had a fairly horrible day, but seeing you was the perfect tonic.”

  “Good,” she replies softly, touching my arm, just like she did this morning.

  We stare at each other
for what feels like ages, and while it should feel uncomfortable, with neither of us saying anything, it doesn’t. It feels perfect.

  “I’d better let you make that call,” I say eventually.

  “Yes.” She comes out of her trance, and I reluctantly step away, going back into the living room.

  “So, let’s get this right…” Amelie says, laughing, holding her sides and putting her fork down on the side of her plate. “You’re named after a monument?”

  “No.” I take a breath and give Aunt Dotty a glare, which she brushes aside with a grin. “My mother named me ‘Rufus’ because of my red hair, which isn’t so red anymore. My father worried that I’d be associated with the monument, but couldn’t persuade her otherwise.”

  Amelie nods her head. “I’ve never heard of the monument,” she says. “Otherwise I’d probably have been tempted to make a comment before now.”

  “Most people do,” I tell her.

  “You must get bored explaining it.”

  I shake my head. “No, not really. I don’t explain it to most people. I dodge the issue. I’ve become an expert at it over the years. Actually, I can’t think of many people – outside of the family of course – who know the real story.”

  “What about…?” she starts, then stops herself and blushes.

  “What about what?” I prompt.

  “Nothing,” she says, her blush deepening.

  I sit back in my chair. “If you were going to ask whether Victoria knew, the answer is ‘no’. Like you, she’d never heard of the monument, so the subject didn’t come up.”

  She looks at me, then lowers her eyes to her plate, and Aunt Dotty coughs and starts talking about her plans for the garden.

  “I really should be going,” Amelie says and I glance at the clock on the mantlepiece and notice that it’s ten o’clock already. We’ve drunk coffee and talked for ages. It’s been wonderfully normal, and I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time… not since the last time I spent an evening with Amelie, anyway.

  “Rufus will walk you home,” Aunt Dotty offers, getting to her feet.