Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"So that's when you hit him with an item of equipment-perhaps the theodolite."

"How do you know?"

"I read the postmortem report and saw the inconsistencies. His skull was smashed by something with the heft of a theodolite. You must have left shortly before the shelling began, shelling that took the lives of the other men in his unit."

"They were all resting, so I knew I had time before he was found."

"Time to give your friend, Major-then Lieutenant-Temple, orders to direct shellfire towards the location of the dugout, an action difficult to prove considering the melee, and given that the enemy was also sending over a good deal of ordnance."

"You think you're so damn clever, don't you? Well, I'm not sorry, you know. And you can't prove a thing."

"Oh, but she can, and so can I." Caldwell strode into the room, followed by his assistant and two uniformed policemen. He held the search warrant in his hand and stood in front of Whitting. "And when we get down to the Yard, you can tell us exactly how pally you and Major Temple really were and how you got Mullen-your little helper in this bloody mess-into so much trouble. I am charging you with the murder of Michael Clifton, and the attempted murder of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Clifton of Boston, the United States of America. You might as well confess to the killing of one Sydney Mullen, and you can also throw in attempted theft for good measure."

"You stupid little man. You and this woman here cannot prove a thing."

"Can't we? Major Temple is blowing his horn as if it's reveille down there in Chatham." He nodded to his assistant. "Read him the caution, if you don't mind. Oh," he said, turning back to Whitting, "and I think we might be able to add a certain young officer by the name of Jeremy Lockwood to the list of men who've stood in your way-he rumbled you, didn't he? Worked out what you were up to, so he had to go. Another death blamed on the enemy?"

Whitting's face distorted as he began to weep. "You just don't know what it was like, do you? She adored her brother, wouldn't have a word said against him. She said he had to make his way in the world, and if he didn't want to run the company, well, that was up to him. But I knew he was a coward. A soft, work-shy coward, that's what Edward Clifton was." He choked back tears and tried to garner some composure as he addressed Maisie while being handcuffed.

"It seems I underestimated you, Miss Dobbs."

"You should never underestimate the power of the moving picture, Major Whitting."

And as Whitting was led away by two police constables, and Caldwell and his assistant stood outside the door to discuss a search of the premises, Maisie sat down on the armchair; and in her mind's eye saw once again the image of Peter Whitting running towards Henry Gilbert's camera, his baton held high, his eyes filled with nothing but anger and hatred. She was only barely aware of the calico cat climbing onto her lap and extending its claws in delight as it kneaded the fabric of her skirt.

Billy?" Maisie used the telephone on Whitting's desk.

"Oh, Miss, I can breathe again. I don't know how many cups of tea I've knocked back, but I couldn't sit still for the waiting."

"We're almost there. Whitting confessed, and is in police custody. There will have to be a formal interrogation and signed confession for anything to really stick, but Caldwell thinks we're on solid ground."

"He was all right, then, Caldwell?"

"I'm sure we'll have our ups and downs when we cross paths again, but as we thought, he seems much easier to get along with now he's been promoted."

"What about the others?"

"Temple is in the custody of military police. Whitting had been his superior officer in the war, and it seemed he idolized him. He kept Whitting informed of everything Michael Clifton did, where he went-even on leave-and I think between them they made Michael's life a bit of a misery, nitpicking him for the slightest infraction. Of course, Whitting was at the HQ, but found plenty of excuses to go out to the units. And Temple was only too willing to cover for him-until today. I am sure Whitting called Temple to alert him to the fact that I would be in contact. And though Temple wasn't involved in the murders, he knew when to look after his commanding officer."

"And I suppose Whitting followed Michael to Paris, in the war."

"Yes, that's what happened, I'm sure." Maisie sighed.

"You all right, Miss?"

"I just wonder about the death of Michael Clifton. I have a feeling that, while Whitting considered Clifton's demise to be part of a plan, he might not have struck him had he not completely lost his temper. Whitting appeared to me to be a man who lived by a code of personal control, who had surmounted the grief of loss, but who was on the edge. Because of the degree of that control, the line separating it from personal anarchy was narrow. But after Michael was dead, it was easy to abandon the body-possibly rolling it into a blanket as if the dead man were asleep-and leave the dugout. There had been intermittent shelling, so all he had to do was use his chain of command to ensure the area where the dugout was situated came under intense fire. We must remember, though, that the dots may link up to reveal a different story, but one with the same outcome."

"No, I reckon you're right, Miss. But what about that other officer?"

"Jeremy Lockwood? I think that might be more troubling in terms of proof, but Whitting may help us there. Caldwell will no doubt exercise an element of brinkmanship and refer to evidence in order to obtain a signed confession. I suspect Lockwood was a naive but observant junior officer who realized that Whitting had ulterior motives in his interaction with Clifton and brought it up in one way or another. Death by sniper is easy camouflage."

"So now what?"

Maisie sighed again. "You may be swimming in tea, Billy, but I'm dying for a cup." She looked at the clock on Whitting's desk. "So I'm off to see Lady Rowan at Fortnum's.'

"Going from one extreme to the other, eh, Miss?"

"To tell you the truth, I think I might be going from a battle charge straight into the lion's den." She paused. "Were there any telephone calls for me?"

"One from Mrs. Partridge, and one from Viscount Compton."

"Oh, did he leave a message?"

"I said what you told me to-that you were out, but that you were having tea with Lady Rowan."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he didn't really. Sort of went all quiet, and then said, 'Thank you, very good,' and rang off."

"That's encouraging." Maisie spoke the words under her breath.

"Sorry, Miss, what did you say?"

"Nothing, Billy. Did Mrs. Partridge leave a message?"

"Just that you call her 'soonest,' as she doesn't quite know what to say to Mr. Sutton."

"That's nothing I want to sort out at the moment. Look, I'd better go or I'll be late for Lady Rowan."

"See you tomorrow, Miss."

"Um, Billy-be prepared to hold the fort tomorrow. I think I might pack my case and go down to Chelstone after tea. I need to see Maurice-I couldn't get him out of my mind all day. Even while I was with Whitting, I felt as if he were looking over my shoulder."

"Right you are, Miss. I've got plenty to get on with-but, Miss, is it all right if I come in a bit late tomorrow? I've got to go with Doreen to the hospital."

"Of course. Is it time for her checkup?"

"Yes. Yes, that's right."

"Oh, here comes Caldwell, I'd better go. 'Bye, Billy."

"'Bye, Miss."

Ithink we've got everything sewn up here. You're free to leave, Miss Dobbs." Caldwell extended his hand as Maisie stood up from the desk and collected her shoulder bag. "That was good police work, Miss Dobbs. I would've liked to have known earlier what you were up to, but on the other hand-though I hate to admit it-I can see why you wanted to get to the bottom of it all first. Stroke of luck, wasn't it, you seeing the cine film."