James Benn - A Blind Goddess

“Mostly non-combat types, I think. Chaplains, physicians, that sort of thing,” I said, recalling what Tree had told me. “Could that have been the route the killer took? It would be hidden from view.”

“Partially, yes. But it does go directly through the training facility at one point. It would be hard to carry a dead body and not be noticed.”

“I don’t suppose the CID agents looked at that?”

“No,” Cook said, shaking his head. “I showed them, but they weren’t inclined. They already had their eyewitness to Private Smith being in the area without a pass.”

“Who was that?”

“Rosemary Adams herself,” Cook said. “That night, her husband Malcolm had gone down to the local pub, the Wheatsheaf. He took his bicycle, which he had handled well enough once or twice since he’d been back. He came home late, his face bloodied and one leg badly bruised. He refused to say what had happened, and was in a foul mood the next day as I heard. Rosemary was afraid Smith had confronted him that night. So when the CID men came around asking about him, she said he’d been with her.”

“To protect him.”

“Aye. Malcolm had blackened her eye two days before, and that’s what she thought he and Smith had fought over,” Cook said.

“But it was all for naught,” Payne said. “We found Malcolm’s bicycle in a ditch. He’d taken a fall and hurt himself, and was too damned obstinate to admit it. That much I can understand. It’s only a short stroll to the Wheatsheaf, really. It must have been a blow to his pride.”

“The one thing he has too much of,” Cook added.

“Constable Cook, if there’s no one else to consider, I’ll get going. Thanks for the tea,” I said, hoisting myself out of the comfortable chair, wondering if the elder Eastman had breathed his last in it. “I wish we had more to go on, but thanks for the background. I’ll wait until the morning to hear what the coroner has to say.”

“Drop by if you need anything,” Cook said. “I’ll likely be here.”

Payne drove me back to my jeep, which was still at the Dundas Arms. It wasn’t far from the Prince of Wales Inn, where Big Mike, Kaz, and I were supposed to rendezvous tonight. I was tired and hungry, and in a few minutes I could have been sitting with friends in a warm pub, hashing things over. But I was restless, worked up by the lack of clues, the unexpected body, and the eerie image of a dead son on his father’s grave. I found myself back in Newbury, drawn to the canal again. I parked on Bridge Street and walked along the embankment. It was dark, but a half-moon cast its distant light on the water, giving me a clear path. The blackout was still in effect, so that was the only illumination to be had, but it was enough. I strolled past the rear of the Miller place and heard laughter from inside. Maybe Sully was there with Lucky Strikes and coffee. The muted sounds of a family in their kitchen struck me as unattainable, a sad reminder of how far away my own family was. I glanced at my wristwatch and began to calculate what time it was back home, but I never finished.

Something exploded at the side of my head and I heard a noise. I was cold, very cold, and I realized the sound was my body hitting the water. I struggled to get out of my Mackinaw before its sodden weight pulled me under. I saw the moon, floating above me, and then the pain went away, and so did the moon.

I was cold. My bones shook with it, my teeth clattered, and my hands were blocks of ice. I heard voices, splashes, then felt my body roll and sink, as if a giant had shoved me beneath the surface. Something grabbed at me, lost me, then pulled and pulled again until I was somewhere else where it was even colder. My whole body quivered as I tried to gulp air but couldn’t. Panic assaulted me, even as hands pulled at me, turned me over, and I felt foul dirty water gushing out my throat until I could drink in heaving gasps of air.

I saw the moon again, then it faded away, and the shivering seemed to go on for a long time, in some distant place, far away from dark and dangerous canals. I saw an eyeless body drift by, and prayed I had dreamed everything, but I hadn’t. I had a glimpse of my room back in Boston, and heard my mother’s voice. I knew that wasn’t real either, and began to worry that I was dead, which didn’t worry me as much as it should have. The shivering receded, until all that remained was a cold, certain calmness broken by an occasional tremor.

“Billy,” I heard a voice, insistent and alarmed. I didn’t know what the fuss was all about, and couldn’t open my eyes to see, so I let sleep take me away.

“Billy,” the voice said again. I recognized it this time. It was Diana. Worth opening my eyes for.

“Hey,” I said. It wasn’t much, and it took a lot of effort.

“Billy, you almost drowned,” Diana said, cradling my face in her hands.

“Where am I?” All I could see was Diana, her wide eyes, light brown hair, and red-rimmed eyes.

“At the Prince of Wales Inn. The doctor said you were fine, that you just needed warmth and rest, but I’ve been so worried, Billy. What happened? Did you fall into the canal?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to recall. “Something hit me, I think. Or someone.” I felt the back of my head, and found a bump. A sore bump.

“The doctor thought you might have fallen and hit your head, then gone off the embankment. He said the bruise was nothing serious. How do you feel?”

“Confused,” I said. I saw light streaming through the window. A coal fire burned in the grate, and the room was warm and cozy.

“What time is it?”

“Three o’clock in the afternoon. They found you last night.”

“Who?” I tried to sit up, which was easier said than done. Quilts and blankets smothered the bed, and I threw back a couple of layers.

“A constable. Inspector Payne said you saved your own life. It was one of the men he put on duty to watch for dog walkers who might have seen something the night of the murder. The constable heard you go into the water and jumped in after you. He said he almost lost you in the current.”

“Wait,” I said as the cobwebs cleared. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw Big Mike at Bushy Park,” Diana said. “He told me you were all meeting here last night. There was nothing else to do in London, so I came to see if you needed help.”

“How was your meeting with the Joint Intelligence Committee? What was that guy’s name?”

Diana looked away, as if the question was painful. She wasn’t in her usual First Aid Nursing Yeomanry uniform either. Today she wore a wool jacket over a white silk blouse and a blue skirt. It was nice, but she was proud of her tailored FANY uniform and usually wore it.

“Roger Allen,” she said finally. “I’ll tell you about it later, Billy. You rest now. I’ll go and get you some food.” Diana’s face turned hard as she said Allen’s name, and I knew things had gone badly for her before she’d left the room.

She had taken it as her personal mission to convince those in a position to take action that the extermination camps had to be stopped. But they were far away from the front lines, and the people being exterminated in those distant places were Jews, gypsies, and others who had no voice in Whitehall. I wasn’t surprised she hadn’t had any luck with Allen.

Me, I was lucky my eyes weren’t fish food right now. I was in a soft bed by a warm fire to cheer me up. I’d awakened to Diana at my side. I should be happy, I told myself. But that’s tough after being a victim of attempted murder. I knew I didn’t fall. Someone hit me; not a killing blow, but hard enough to knock me off balance and send me into the drink. That much I knew for certain, as well as the fact that it didn’t add up. No one knew I was headed to the Miller place. Hell, I didn’t know it until I was in the jeep heading back there. So who was there, and why did they smack me one?