James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“No,” Kaz said. “I must admit I was surprised by his behavior before the reading of the will. Helen could have been left nothing at all. It would have been very English of Sir Rupert to leave everything to the nearest male blood relative, no matter how distant.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” I said, then pointed to LST 289. It was easy to spot, with its battle-damaged, blackened hull and the bright pinpoints of light as welders worked the steel. The mooring next to the 289 was empty, and three English kids, maybe ten or eleven years old, ran along the water’s edge and climbed up a wooden ladder on the wharf, freezing when they saw us approaching. They were carrying all manner of muddy debris that had washed up at high tide, and by their wide-eyed looks I guessed they’d been chased out of here before.

They were about to turn and bolt when I saw what one of them had slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, wait, want a Hershey bar?” I yelled. They put on the brakes.

“Do you have a Hershey bar?” Kaz asked. He had a point.

“What do we have to do, Yank?” The oldest one came forward, sizing us up. “And there’s three of us. We’d need three bars, wouldn’t we?”

“Tell you what, kid,” I said, fishing the coins out of my pocket and nodding to Kaz, who added his own loose change. “You can have this and buy whatever you want. It’s a few shillings, at least.”

“Give it here then,” he said, holding out his hand. All of them had muddy feet but seemed decently dressed otherwise. Schoolkids, I figured, looking to scrounge what they could from the docks. I flipped the oldest kid one coin.

“The rest after you tell me what you’ve got there, and what else you’ve come up with,” I said.

“You can’t make us give it back,” one of the younger ones said. “It’s stuff you Yanks throw away.”

“Overboard’s more like it,” the other said, and they all laughed. “You lot do toss a lot of good gear, you know.”

“I don’t want anything back,” I said. “And you’re not in trouble. Finders keepers, I say.”

“All right then,” the oldest said. “I got this here canteen and web belt. It’s empty, so it floated. And a denim shirt, hardly a rip in it. Needs a good washing is all.”

“I got K-Rations,” another said. “They were in a big wooden crate, four packs of them. Came in on the tide, and I seen plenty of Yanks walk right by, not even give ’em a look. My old man might be able to dry out the cigarettes, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” I said. “What about you?” I asked the smallest boy.

“I got this,” he said. “A life jacket. Might be able to sell it to a fisherman. I found a bottle of Scotch once, still half full. Dad liked that, he did.”

“How much do you think you can get?” I asked. The life jacket was sodden and grimy, but US NAVY was clearly stenciled along the collar.

“Not much. They come in on the tide often enough. You Yanks are a careless lot, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah, but we’re no fools,” I said, handing over the coins. “Now beat it.” They didn’t need to be told twice, disappearing into a side street in a flash, their laughter and shrieks of joy bouncing off the walls.

“Well, what was that about?” Kaz asked.

“Solving a murder, I think. The hell with Major McClure. Let’s go to Ashcroft House and grab our gear. We’re bunking somewhere else tonight.”

Kaz was full of questions, but I was still putting pieces together in my mind, and I begged him to let me think in silence. It was the little inconsistencies that were beginning to come together, just as Mrs. Mallowan had predicted. They weren’t all in place yet, but I was starting to see where they rubbed up against the truth. We arrived at Ashcroft House and saw Meredith walking from the gardens, a basket of cut flowers in her hand. Already the matron of the manor.

“Baron, Captain,” she said, walking briskly our way. “I’m glad to see you. I wonder if you’d think it terribly rude of me to ask how much longer you planned to stay with us? After everything that’s happened, I think the family needs some privacy to get used to the new situation here. I’m sure you understand?” I did. It was the polite, English version of get the hell out .

“Your hospitality has been most appreciated,” I said. “Actually, we’ve received new orders, and I hoped to find you all here to make our apologies for a sudden departure. So it works out for all concerned.”

“You can’t stay for dinner then? It would be so nice to have a farewell meal together.”

“Sadly, no,” Kaz said. “We have pressing business to attend to. Is David here? I would like to say goodbye.”

“Yes. He was reading in the library when I came out,” Meredith said, the relief evident in her eyes. The dinner invitation was as sincere as her line that the family needed privacy. “I must get these flowers inside, so I shall say farewell now. Please do come again, Baron Kazimierz. Your visit did David a world of good, I’m sure.” With that, she trotted off, the cut flowers bouncing in her basket.

“Is there anything you want me to ask David?” Kaz said.

“Yes,” I said. “Ask him if he’s heard if there were any other letters from America that Meredith or Helen kept. Then tell him we have a suspect in Peter Wiley’s death. Go down to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Dudley or Williams the same.”

“So that word spreads?” Kaz asked. I nodded. He was getting the hang of this. I went upstairs to speak with Great Aunt Sylvia, hoping to find her awake and alert. I knocked and found her seated at the window, reading an Agatha Christie mystery. I had to smile.

“Billy, come in,” she said, closing the book. Mrs. Mallowan looked up at me from the back cover. I told Great Aunt Sylvia we had to depart.

“I am sorry you must leave us. I would have liked a visit with less death and distress, but even so I’ve enjoyed your company,” she said.

“Same here,” I said, shutting the door behind me.

She gave me a look that said she understood this wasn’t only a social call. “The time has come to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax,” she said, a smile forming on her face.

“And cabbages and kings,” I added.

“I loved Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland as a young girl,” she said. “I still have my childhood copy. I devoured Through the Looking Glass as well, and I remember both fondly. Odd, at my age, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s a link to the past. I’d bet the past is almost as important to you as the future.”

“Be blunt, will you? I might not have that much future left in me.”

“I think-no, I know-that you are holding something back from me. About Meredith and Sir Rupert. About Peter Wiley.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To make sure I don’t see what’s on the other side of the looking glass,” I said.

“Well, if I am keeping family secrets, why should I reveal anything to you now, when you are about to take your leave of us?” She tilted her head back, every inch the injured aristocrat.

“Because we have a suspect in Peter Wiley’s death. If his killing has anything to do with a family member, it would be best if it came out now. If Inspector Grange finds out later, it could be quite a public scandal.”

“I thought Peter was killed by the Germans,” Lady Pemberton said.

“That’s because you haven’t looked behind my looking glass,” I said. “When Alice stepped through the mirror, didn’t she find a book that you could only read by holding it up to a mirror? That’s what a murder investigation is like. Once you’ve put all the pieces together, sometimes all you need to do is look at them a bit differently and they make perfect sense.” I was spinning a tall tale of certainty with damn few facts to support it, but that’s what interrogations are all about.