Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

She went back to the newspaper, scanning down the column of close print. "Here it is. She was stabbed and then thrown in the river. They say that she was still alive when she went into the water, but was most likely unconscious."

"How awful." I tried to bring up the image of the woman I'd seen in London, her face streaked with tears. Yes, it was the same person. I'd have no problem swearing to that. And the man? Could I remember him as clearly? Dark hair, blue eyes, a rather weak chin…

More to the point, would I know him again?

"What if this officer hasn't seen the newspapers? Or been told yet that she's dead? If the police find him, it's possible he could tell them where she was going after she left the station. There's no way of knowing where that might lead," Martha James persisted.

"Yes," I said slowly. "You're right. I really should report what I saw, and let the Yard decide whether it's helpful information or not."

"They don't mention what time she died or when her body was found. More's the pity," she added, finishing the article. "You may have been the last person to see her alive, except for her killer. Now there's an unsettling thought. If he was looking for a likely victim, he might have followed you home instead. You were a woman alone too."

"You have a ghoulish imagination," I told her. "I'll write the letter now."

My voice suddenly seemed overloud.

We looked at each other. Silence had fallen, the earth was still. I felt almost dizzy with relief, my ears still ringing, my nerves still jangled, my teeth on edge.

"Oh, dear," Sister James said. "I have a feeling they'll be sending for us soon."

"Very likely. It shouldn't take long to put down what I saw. Could you make us a cup of tea meanwhile?"

But it proved unexpectedly difficult to compose that letter. I kept seeing Lieutenant Evanson's eyes peering through his heavy bandages, tenaciously holding on to hope even as time was running out for hope, trusting to his wife's love for him to help him survive and unaware that she would be dead before morning. And so I weighed each word, to make certain that I reported events accurately, uncolored by my own imagination.

After three tries, I was finally satisfied. I was just on the point of sealing the envelope when we could hear the first of the ambulances rumbling toward the wards, bringing in new casualties. I hastily finished my tea, put on a fresh uniform, and by the time Sister James and I were ready, there was a knock on the door and an orderly's voice summoning us to duty.

I expected that the police would thank me for my information. And that would be the end of it. I wrote to Mrs. Hennessey, asking her to save the London papers, in the event there was any more news.

What I was not prepared for was a summons through channels to speak to someone at the Yard, an Inspector Herbert. I was given leave to travel to London for that purpose and two days later I was sitting in a grim little office at Scotland Yard, having been escorted there by a constable with a limp and lines of pain in his face.

After several minutes, a harried, balding man stepped into the room, introduced himself, asked me how my journey from France had been, and then lifted a sheet of paper from his desk and frowned at it. I recognized it.

"The Evanson case. We've had precious little help from the public, sad to say. I was on the point of giving up hope when your letter came." He lifted his gaze to my face, the frown deepening.

"You write that you recognized Mrs. Evanson from a photograph that her husband kept by his side. How long before encountering Mrs. Evanson at the railway station had you seen this photograph?"

"A matter of hours? That morning I'd transported her husband and other patients to a clinic in Hampshire and turned them over to the staff there. It was a little past five o'clock when my train pulled into London-I wasn't required to return to France for another day."

"Tell me again exactly what you saw."

"As I left the train and was walking toward the exit, Mrs. Evanson was literally in my path, and it was obvious that she had broken down. Her shoulders were shaking with her sobs. Of course, at that point I couldn't see her face because she was turned toward the officer standing beside her. Just then she looked up, and I realized I knew who she was."

"You also state in your letter that you recognized the cap badge but couldn't see the man's rank because of the trench coat he was wearing. But he was an officer in a Wiltshire regiment. Can you be quite certain about such details?"

"My father was in the Army for most of his adult life," I replied. "I know how to judge what rank a man holds and what regiment he serves with."

"And you are satisfied that he did take the train just as it was pulling away? He didn't pretend to board and then return to the platform?"

"I saw him take his seat. He didn't look back toward Mrs. Evanson. That distressed her, and she watched the train until it was out of sight. I don't know how he could have managed leaving without being seen. She turned then and left in a rush. I couldn't tell which way she went after that. It was raining, I had to hand in my ticket, and I was carrying my valise."

He nodded. "To be sure. And she was in great distress, you said."

"Yes. That's what drew my attention to her in the first place."

"What made her distress different from that of other women seeing off friends or loved ones?"

I frowned. "I thought at the time that perhaps she'd had a premonition or a dream that he wouldn't be coming back. She wasn't putting on a brave front, you see, as so many women do. She appeared to be giving in to her feelings."

"As you observed the two of them together-Mrs. Evanson and the officer-could you form an opinion of the relationship between them?"

"She clung to him. He hardly looked at her or touched her."

Inspector Herbert raised his eyebrows. "He didn't comfort her? Was he perhaps embarrassed by her behavior?"

"I-that's one possible interpretation. But he stayed there with her, he didn't walk away until the train began to move." It occurred to me then that by standing with her until the last minute, he'd kept her from following him to his carriage.

After a moment's thought, Inspector Herbert went on. "I am about to confide to you information that we haven't made public, Miss Crawford. And I hope you'll not repeat it. But I think it's necessary if we're to understand the facts you've placed before us. The coroner has informed us that Mrs. Evanson was nearly three months' pregnant. I must assume, from my exchange of letters with his commanding officer, that her husband, Lieutenant Evanson, couldn't have been the father of this child. By any chance, are you able to verify his medical history?"

I tried not to show my shock. "I know from his medical records that Lieutenant Evanson has been in hospital in France for two months. Before that, his aircraft had been shot down over German lines and it was at least two weeks before he made his way back to British lines. He wasn't hurt in that crash, at least not seriously, although he was sent to hospital for observation because of a blow to the head. There was no concussion, and he was released to his unit. But a few weeks later he wasn't so lucky-his aircraft caught fire and he was fortunate to survive at all. It must be four months or more since he was in England. At the very least."

I had heard one of the doctors say that Lieutenant Evanson had been returned to duty too soon, before the psychological effects of his first crash had worn off. But they were desperate for experienced pilots and he'd been eager to rejoin his flight.

"As we'd thought. The Army has supplied the particulars, but not in such detail. To the next question. You only saw Mrs. Evanson and the officer together for a brief moment. Do you think that this man might be the father of her child?"