James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“You think he’d put a hit out on you?” I asked. In the States, legal counsel was usually off-limits, even for hardened gangsters.

“No, Captain Boyle, I’m afraid he’d want me as his attorney,” Fraser said, his head bent low and his voice lower. “Neither my wife nor my ulcer would find that acceptable.”

Now I understood why Fraser had so readily told me everything. He hoped I’d put Sabini away and all his troubles would be behind him.

“Where does Charles Sabini hang his hat?” I asked.

“At the racecourse in Newton Abbot,” Fraser said. “The track sits hard against the River Teign, which flows into the Channel about fifteen or twenty miles from Slapton Sands.”

“It fits,” I said. “You don’t happen to know the name of the guy who was sent to kill Sabini, or where he was from?”

“Captain Boyle, I must caution you,” Fraser said, wagging his finger at me, his face turning red. “I never said I was aware of a plot to have anyone killed or injured. If I had been, I would have been duty-bound to report it to the authorities. As it stands, I was aware of an emissary sent to Mr. Sabini, who did not return to my client for reasons unknown. I never knew his name or was acquainted with him in any way.”

“Sorry,” I said, hands up in surrender, worried that he’d blow a fuse. “I did not mean to imply any knowledge of wrongdoing. I am certain you had no inkling of any criminal activity.” That seemed to calm him down. The response was automatic, built up from years of denying what he knew, hiding the truth even from himself. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Yes,” Fraser said. “Be very careful. Sabini has vowed never to return to prison, and he has a violent temper. He has also developed a vehement hatred of the British government. Days before he was due to be released from prison, his son Michael, an RAF pilot, was killed in North Africa.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said, hoping he was being completely truthful. “If this pans out, how would you and the missus like an invitation to the Mayor’s Ball at the Dartmouth Royal Regatta this summer?”

“That would be just the thing,” Fraser said, beaming. Respectable. I left him a happy man, which was what I needed. I didn’t want him to have any regrets that might prompt a telephone call to his old pals, or worse yet, Sabini himself.

It was a cruel world, I thought as I walked back to the station. Even a crook would be proud of a son fighting in the RAF, but it would take a villain’s mind to make his death an affront, turning his grief into anger at a government that had had good reason to jail him. Lots of professional criminals look at what they do as a job, with risks and rewards. They go up against law enforcement, but it’s all part of the game. For Sabini, the game had become personal, and that made him dangerous.

The train had passed through Newton Abbot, and on the return trip I watched for a glimpse of the racecourse. It was easy to spot. The train ran along the banks of the River Teign, and as we neared the town it was visible across the river, the oval track fronting the water along one curve, the grandstand and stables at the far end. I had a fleeting glimpse of a small boathouse and dock off a dirt path that led down from the track. A private little spot, if no train was running.

The rail yard was busy. Another set of tracks joined ours at the station, and I could see cars on a siding being unloaded. Maybe some of Sabini’s men were hard at work replenishing his stocks, courtesy of Uncle Sam.

The train pulled out of the station, and I watched the river widen into an estuary, the tide running out, a tree branch floating and bobbing on the current, until finally the locomotive picked up speed and we left the Teign behind on its journey to the cold Channel waters.

Kaz and David Martindale were waiting for me in Dartmouth. It was nearly dusk, and I’d spent most of the day on a crowded train dodging packs and rifles as GIs and Tommies got on and off in droves. We weren’t expected for dinner at Ashcroft, so David suggested the Dartmouth Arms, which was close by. “They have excellent fish and ales,” he said, which was all I needed to hear.

“Was your trip successful?” Kaz said as we walked to the pub.

“I’ll tell you about it after dinner,” I said, not certain about what we should share with David.

We ordered three pints and got a snug booth in the corner. “ Na zdrowie ,” Kaz said, raising his glass and giving the Polish version of cheers. We clinked glasses and drank. After a day of train travel and talking with a crooked lawyer, it went down smooth. As we drank, I watched David and Kaz. It was easy to see them as chums at school. Both good-looking-war injuries notwithstanding-with thin features, sharp eyes, and easy grins. I could visualize them up to their elbows in books, discussing the finer points of Romanian grammar or some rare book.

I went to see a man about a horse, and when I returned I heard Kaz speaking in a familiar lilt.

“ Nem blong mi Piotr ,” he said.

“No,” David said in amazement. “You actually spoke pidgin with real Solomon Islanders? You should write a paper, Piotr.”

“Hey,” I said. “We’re not supposed to talk about that, Kaz.”

“Billy, it is only because David and I studied languages together. It is quite fascinating, and he’s promised not to repeat this to anyone.”

“Listen, just don’t do it while I’m around. I never heard a thing, okay?”

“ Tenkyu , Billy,” Kaz said, and they both erupted in laughter. I went to get another round, and by the time I returned to the table they were whispering like two Solomon Islanders. I didn’t want to spoil their fun, but I didn’t want to chance a stretch in Leavenworth either. We’d kept that little jaunt a secret, as we’d been instructed, and it was best that it stayed that way, college buddy or not. I set down the glasses with a hard thump, getting their attention.

“Sorry, Billy,” Kaz said, sticking to English this time.

“Cheers,” David said. “Don’t worry, Billy, I am discretion incarnate. I’m happy to simply enjoy this evening out. Ashcroft can be a little narrow, if you know what I mean.”

“Narrow-minded?” Kaz asked, drawing David out.

“No, not at all,” he said. “I mean as though the walls are closing in. I hadn’t really got to know Helen’s family very well, and now I have nothing but time to spend with them. I’m afraid we don’t have much in common.”

Did he mean Helen or her family? Or both? It was a revealing admission, either way.

“How long will you stay?” Kaz asked.

“That’s just it, Piotr, I don’t know. The RAF doctor refused to release me for duty. I’ve got a checkup in two weeks’ time, but I doubt that will make any difference. There is no improvement to be had.”

“Any further surgeries?” Kaz asked, his voice hesitant.

“No,” David said. “They’ve done what they can. Saved my eye, but it’s not worth much, except to balance things out.” He worked up a smile, but like all his others, it was crooked, the shiny skin on the right side of his face barely moving.

“Will you stay at Ashcroft if the RAF won’t have you back?” Kaz said.

“Good God, no,” David said. “I couldn’t imagine it, living off Sir Rupert’s kindness. Helen wouldn’t mind though, she loves the place. I’ve got no family left myself, nowhere to go home to.”

“Perhaps you could find work,” Kaz said, without much hope in his voice.

“And do what? Teach languages at some boarding school? With this face I’d frighten the children, or be the butt of their jokes,” David said, waving his hand along his cheek. “I really don’t know what I could do to hold down a decent job.”