James Benn - A Blind Goddess

“Sore feet and wasted time,” he said. “No one saw anything, and most don’t remember ever seeing Stuart Neville around. Nothing unusual to report, but everyone is keeping their kids close by until they find that girl. It’s all they wanted to talk about.”

“Okay. Big Mike, why don’t you run Sully here back to his base. Shouldn’t take too long. Put in a good word for him and let his CO know he discovered the body and was assisting the investigation.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Sully said. “You’re all right. I’ll say so long to Eva.”

“One more thing, Sully. You have any Negro units on the air base?”

“Yeah, there’s a Quartermaster truck company. Why?”

“Is there much trouble between the white and colored boys? Fights, that sort of thing?”

“Hasn’t been any I know of, Captain. Might be because it’s only one company, and they do a good job, no complaints there. When I was stationed in Northern Ireland, there were lots of Negro GIs around, and there was trouble, especially over girls. A lot of the Southern boys especially didn’t like seeing those girls arm in arm with Negroes.”

“What about you, Sully?”

“Well, it was pretty strange. Not something you’d expect to see back in the States. Can’t say I got used to it, but no one forced those girls to go out with them. I heard it said more than once that the Negro troops were polite and well behaved, and the locals liked that. But some fellows really took offense. There was real trouble there, believe me.”

“But not at Greenham Common?”

“No. We even got a baseball game coming up, our squadron against the QM company. I’m playing shortstop.”

“Okay, take off. Meet Big Mike at the jeep in five.”

“I’ll pump him, non-com to non-com,” Big Mike said after Sully cleared the door. “You think he’s hiding anything?”

“No, he seems genuine. But I’m wondering about what Eva said Neville told her. That the world is a dangerous place.”

“You think Neville had something to do with the missing girl?” Big Mike said, with a born cop’s instinct and innate suspicion of everyone.

“All I know is he was pretty much a cipher except for that warning. I wonder why he said it. See what Sully thinks. Meet us at the Hog’s Head pub, it should be within walking distance; it’s where Neville drank.”

“Okay, Billy. That stuff about the Negroes, that wasn’t about this case, was it?” Big Mike gave me a skeptical glare. I’d filled him in about Angry Smith and he was playing mother hen, making sure I didn’t wander too far afield.

“No. Just trying to get a feel for the attitudes around here. Hungerford is the next town over. I might make some time to check in with Tree while we’re here.”

Big Mike left with Sully and I walked out the back door, standing in front of the now-empty cellar stairs. The body was gone, the air was quiet, and the day was winding down. Faint sounds of traffic came from Bridge Street, and water in the canal gurgled as an oarsman worked against the current. A line of trees separated the houses from the path and the narrow watercraft moored along the bank. The deck of one boat was uncovered, and leaves floated on a thin patch of water from the recent rains. Is this where Neville got his feet wet? I went aboard, and the vessel rocked in the water. It was decrepit, with faded, peeling paint and rusty metal fixtures. The bow deck was open, with a small enclosed cabin aft. I knocked and the cabin door swung open, sending the odor of mildew and rot wafting up. It was deserted, as was the tiny engine room with its ancient diesel engine, which was the best-kept part of the boat. My shoes squished as I crossed the water logged floor, and I realized Neville was not quite a cipher after all. He’d warned Eva and his shoes and socks were soaked. Two things out of the ordinary in a very ordinary life. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and glanced to the path.

“You may as well give up,” Kaz said, grinning as I stood in fetid, pooled water. “There are half a dozen of these boats within a ten-minute walk of the house.”

“You mean boats filled with water.”

“Yes. There are half-sunken wrecks all along the canal. Much of it is in disrepair or overgrown with weeds. But the war has helped bring the water traffic back. Some materials are cheaper to move by water, especially if the delivery goes with the current. This saves petrol.”

“Okay,” I said, jumping ashore. “Have you become an expert on canals since I left you?”

“No, but the proprietor of the Hog’s Head is. A former riverman, he used to run a barge between London and Bristol. The Kennet and Avon Canal connects the Avon River to the west with the Kennet River here. It runs directly between Hungerford and Newbury, then follows the river to Reading, where it connects with the Thames. Quite a thing in its day, the entire waterway cut right across England.”

“You’ve learned more than I have.”

“There was not much to do once the body was removed, so I took a walk. Very pleasant by the canal. It is a short stretch to Bridge Street, and of course the bridge. The Hog’s Head pub is close by. Before he left, Inspector Payne said he would meet us there in about one hour, when he is through with the coroner.”

“Good. Big Mike is meeting us there too.” I went over what I’d found, or hadn’t found, and mentioned the warning to Eva. “Did you find anything when you searched Neville’s body?”

“Nothing. Not a wallet or a scrap of paper. His pants pockets were actually turned out, as if someone had searched his body.”

“So maybe he was killed somewhere else, and dumped down the stairs to avoid discovery,” I said, but it didn’t sound right.

“I do not think so, Billy. He could have been thrown in the river and might have drifted downstream some distance. Or put in one of these boats. He would have been undetected for days.”

“So what did Neville see or do that made him a target? And what did he have on him that the killer wanted? Money?” We walked slowly along the path as the sky darkened. Clouds obscured what light there was from the sun, which was dropping behind the buildings across the river. My feet were cold.

“Perhaps the killer wanted it to look like a random theft. As if he took a cosh to the head a bit too hard.”

“It could have been exactly that. Or someone who hated Neville and waited until he had his chance, then turned out his pockets, either looking for something specific, or as a red herring.”

“Did you find out where he was employed?” Kaz asked.

“Yeah. He worked at the Newbury Building Society. Handled mortgages.”

“That could get someone quite angry. Or in trouble, if they were embezzling funds.”

“We should pay a visit tomorrow. Meanwhile, there’s one important thing I need to do.”

“What is that?” Kaz said as we knocked on the Millers’ kitchen door.

“Steal a pair of dead man’s socks.”

I was wearing dry socks, courtesy of the late Mr. Neville, while my shoes dried in front of the coal fire in the Hog’s Head pub. Coal was rationed too, so it was banked low, but there was enough to give off a warm glow. Big Mike, Kaz and I finished our first round of Newbury Ale, delivered to the table by Kaz’s new pal.

“Jack Monk’s the name, fellows,” he’d said. “Riverman most of me life. Now I run this place and watch the water flow by. That’s the way of it. The baron told me all about what yer up to. Good luck, I say, but I wish you’d go on out and look for that lass who’s lost.”

That was the prevailing opinion. I planned on asking Payne what that was all about when he arrived. We ordered rabbit stew, Jack Monk having promised the meat was fresh and his wife the best cook in all of Newbury, now that his dear mother had passed on.