James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“I admit there are undercurrents of tension within the family,” Kaz said. “That is clear. The question is, does it have anything to do with why David wanted me to visit?”

“It wasn’t just for old times’ sake?” We drove through the muddy streets of North Cornworthy, and I noticed the mill this time, down from the bridge that spanned Bow Creek. That was where Great Aunt Sylvia’s grandfather supposedly put his own sweat into the construction.

“I do not know,” Kaz said. “I think there must be something he wants to talk about. He seemed to relax when we said we’d stay, did you notice? Or it could have been the strain from his injuries. He is recuperating, after all, and still on sick leave. Perhaps it was a wave of pain that passed.”

“Having a wife who can’t look you in the face could cause a lot of pain,” I said. “You didn’t know Helen at all?”

“No,” Kaz said. “I hadn’t met her before. Whenever David mentioned her in his letters, it was what you’d expect. She was wonderful, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was, that sort of thing.”

“Some people are fine when the going is easy,” I said. “Wealthy girl gets a dashing, blond-haired RAF pilot who went to Oxford. Fairy-tale stuff. As long as the fairy tale plays out, she’s the perfect wife. But then reality comes along when his fighter goes down, and the charming prince isn’t quite so charming anymore. Life gets tough, and she doesn’t know how to handle it, so she hides out on his left side.”

“You could be correct,” Kaz said. “And if so, I don’t know what David might expect me to do about it. Perhaps he doesn’t want her to look at his burns, did you think of that?”

“It didn’t look that way to me,” I said. “She was the one moving around to his good side, far as I could tell. Either way, he might want a shoulder to cry on. Ashcroft may not provide many sympathetic listeners, especially when it concerns one of their own.”

“We shall see,” Kaz said. We drew closer to the River Dart and heard the blast of a steam locomotive from the opposite bank. The green hills rose above the rail line as the engine pulled its long load toward the coast. “You know, our dead chap could have come from anywhere. He could have come from the north of England on that very train, got into a dispute, and been shot and dumped in the water that same day.”

“Meaning we should widen the search?”

“Yes,” Kaz said. “Contact Scotland Yard as well. If we assume he wasn’t in the military, that narrows it down quite a bit. About thirty years of age, in decent condition, and engaged in a business that involves violence.”

“You’re right,” I said, following his lead. “He might have had a criminal record that would have kept him out of the service. Good thinking, Kaz. Let’s see what Inspector Grange has to say, and then we’ll follow up, maybe call Inspector Scutt at the Yard.”

I’d worked with Detective Inspector Horace Scutt of Scotland Yard a while ago. We hadn’t seen eye to eye at first, but he was a good cop, and I trusted him. He was beyond retirement age, staying on for the duration. It had to be tough, dealing with a war and thousands of rowdy servicemen when you should have been tending roses or doing whatever coppers do when they turn in their badges.

We threaded our way through Dartmouth traffic, mostly military, and sought out Inspector Grange at the Devon Constabulary. This time we were lucky.

“Glad to help, for what it’s worth,” Inspector Grange said when we’d explained our assignment. He gestured toward two chairs in front of his desk and flopped down into his own. He was stout, with a thick grey moustache and even thicker eyebrows. He looked tired as he fired up his pipe. “I heard you chaps got caught up in that mess at Slapton Sands. God-awful.”

“The only good thing is that it was a rehearsal, not the real thing,” Kaz said. “Do you have any further information on our corpse from the beach?”

“I suspect you know as much as I do, if you’ve talked to Dr. Verniquet.” He puffed to get the bowl hot and blew out a stream of smoke that filled the room with an aroma of ashtrays and wet socks.

“Guy about thirty, shot in the arm and then the head, in the water for three to four months,” I said. “No missing person reports that match?”

“None from Devon, that much we know,” Grange said. “Of course, that could be meaningless. It could be a local no one cared to report, or an outsider no one wanted to.”

“Do you know many male civilians of that age who wouldn’t be missed?” I said. “It’s not like he was an old man off in the woods.”

“I agree, Captain Boyle,” Grange said. “If he had been local and unmarried, there would certainly have been a lady or two who noticed, what with most of the eligible men gone.”

“And if he were married, his wife would have reported him,” Kaz said.

“Yes,” Grange said. “Although perhaps not, if she was the one who killed him.”

“A wife would be more likely to shoot him in the heart,” I said. “Not the head.”

“I’ll take your word for that, Captain,” Grange said with a friendly smile. “But as it stands, I have nothing of value to report. I sent out word to the rest of the constabulary to ask around again about any man missing for a month or more. Pity there wasn’t enough of the face left to use for a description.”

“I know Detective Inspector Scutt at Scotland Yard,” I said. “Would you mind if I contacted him to see if he has any information about anyone fitting the description?”

“Go ahead, if he’ll act on it,” Grange said, waving his pipe. “It’s doubtful our chief constable would request assistance from the Yard for a minor case like this, but if you can get Scutt to assist informally, I’m all for it.”

“Thanks, Inspector,” I said. “I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“No problem if we get some help on this, Captain Boyle. We’re short-staffed here, and we have it better than most.”

“Why is that?” Kaz asked.

“Oh, the South Hams,” Grange said. “When the government evacuated those villages, we absorbed the constables to help us cover the rest of Devon. Even so, we’re short of younger men. Plenty of oldtimers like me, not short on experience. But stamina, that’s harder to come by. Many of our lads enlisted as soon as they could, and I can’t blame them. But it leaves us in the lurch, especially with so many army and navy chaps coming in. Royal Navy, US Army, it doesn’t matter, they all want to have a good time when they get a pass, and there’s the devil to pay some nights. Plus we’ve had a rash of burglaries lately. A few well-to-do ladies have had their jewelry pinched.”

“What about the War Reserve Constables?” I asked. “Tom Quick seems pretty sharp. He was a constable before the war, he said.”

“Ah yes, Tom Quick is a good man,” Grange said.

“Why is he not a regular constable?” Kaz asked. “His limp did not appear too bad.”

“Limp?” Grange said. “Oh, his limp. I couldn’t tell you. Dr. Verniquet decides who’s fit enough for what. Now, anything else I can do for you?”

There wasn’t. Not that he had done anything in the first place.

“That was odd, about the limp,” Kaz said as we left the building.

“Yeah. He acted as if he’d never heard that was the reason Quick wasn’t on the regular force,” I said.

“And then he covered his tracks,” Kaz said. “Not that it matters. But it bothers you?”

“Everything that doesn’t make sense bothers me, Kaz. What’s the story with Tom Quick? Where does all the tension at Ashcroft come from?”

“Not to mention our dead body,” Kaz said as we got into the jeep.