James Benn - A Blind Goddess

“Was he on the river the night Neville was killed?”

“I’m sure he was. I saw him that morning, when he delivered my coal. Said he had one more stop near Reading and then would make the run back. That would put him here late, after closing time.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday, on his way up to Reading. Ought to be headed back this way in a day or so.”

“Thanks, Jack. Keep this conversation between us, all right?” I wanted to be careful not to tip my hand about a possible witness.

“Whatever you say. Mum’s the word.”

I bit into the sandwich, wondering if there was such a thing as too careful. Big Mike had assisted in the investigation, but then was ordered back to London. Why? Miss Gardner pointed me to Bone and Fraser, then suddenly vanished. Why? I didn’t want Blackie Crane to slip through my fingers as well. I was sure I could trust Payne, but no reason to broadcast the fact we might have a witness to anyone else.

The beer was sharp and bitter.

Next stop was the Chilton Foliat Jump School, to continue the snooping around that had been cut short by Tree’s fight. I passed the barns, outbuildings, and Quonset huts, and parked on the gravel drive in front of the main house. It was a solid three-story affair with elegant columns, seated on top of a hill with a commanding view of the countryside. In the distance I saw a platoon double-timing it along a road. Closer to the house, GIs were climbing a short wooden tower, then jumping onto a pile of hay, bending their knees and rolling, while an instructor barked at them to hurry up. A corporal threw me a salute on his way into the headquarters.

“Where can I find your commanding officer?” I asked as I returned the salute.

“Captain Sobel is inspecting the service company, sir. Take the path around the back.”

I followed the path, marked by the white-painted stones the army loves so much. At the rear of the house, near a row of hedges that might once have bordered an elegant garden, lines of GIs stood four rows deep. I could make out a tall officer walking the ranks, a sergeant trailing him with a clipboard. I edged to the side of the group, waiting for the inspection to be over. Hearing the sound of shovels, I glanced to the rear and saw Charlie, the big fellow from the fight, and one other GI hacking away at the ground. They were both waist-deep in what looked like wide graves. Charlie saw me and looked quickly at the officer, who I figured for Sobel. Charlie looked scared. His eyes met mine and he shook his head, then bent back to his digging.

“Out of uniform,” Sobel yelled at one man, who seemed dressed exactly like the others. “Confined to quarters.” His voice was squeaky and grating at the same time. He walked with his hands clenched behind his back, swaggering between the rows of GIs as his sergeant followed along, writing on his clipboard. Sobel was tall and dark-haired. He had a face that reminded me of a half-moon: a high forehead, long nose, and receding chin.

“What’s this? Dirty ears?” I was amazed to see him actually bend a man’s ears back like a mother checking a little boy. “You want to get dirty, soldier? Then start digging.” The GI dropped out and headed to the rear, picking up a shovel and a yardstick. He began measuring an area the same size as the hole Charlie was digging, and started in on it. There was a ready supply of shovels, and as I looked past Charlie, I could see the ground had been dug up and tamped down repeatedly. The inspection went on, Sobel continuing to find fault with most of the enlisted men, doling out punishments ranging from KP duty to loss of a weekend pass. Finally the company was dismissed, and I never saw men scatter so fast.

“Captain Sobel?” I said as I approached him.

“Yes, Captain, what can I do for you?” Sobel came close, his arms akimbo. He looked down at me, using his height to dominate the conversation.

“Captain Boyle,” I said, holding out my hand. He didn’t take the offered shake. “I’m investigating the murder of a local police officer. One of our men was arrested, and now there’s some doubt as to his guilt.”

“Our men? What unit are you from, Captain?”

“SHAEF. General Eisenhower is interested in seeing that justice is done.” It was then that Sobel took notice of my shoulder patch with the Supreme Headquarters flaming sword badge, but if he was impressed he kept it to himself.

“Is anyone under my command a suspect?” Sobel asked.

“No, I just have a few questions-”

“Sergeant Evans,” Sobel said, turning away from me and addressing his non-com, “assist this officer and then report to me once he is off the base.”

“Yes, sir!” Evans said as Sobel walked away.

“Your commanding officer is a strange one, Sergeant,” I said, watching Sobel’s back.

“Nothing strange about doing a job right, Captain. How can I help you?” Evans had a southern drawl and the look of a long-haul non-com.

“First tell me about the holes. Why are those men digging them?”

“Captain Sobel trains the men to follow orders, and he does a damn good job. If they don’t, they get extra duty digging a hole six by six by six.”

“Six feet deep?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Yes sir. And then they fill it in again. The captain says it’s good training for digging in when we’re in combat.”

“That GI has to dig a hole that size for having dirty ears?”

“Captain Sobel likes his men to look sharp. If they don’t, they reflect poorly on the unit. That man will probably wash his ears first thing every day after this.”

“What about this man?” I said, pointing to Charlie.

“Out of uniform,” Evans said. “He was missing a button. Now tell me what I can do for you, Captain. We’re running a jump school here and we have thirty new field artillery observers to train.”

I wasn’t taking to Sergeant Evans any more than I had to Captain Sobel, but I bit my tongue and gave him the basics about the murder, the graveyard, and the track going through the jump school to the back of the cemetery. I needed a helpful non-com, not an uncooperative one. We walked away from the hole diggers and I pointed out the track I’d mentioned.

“What I need to know is if anyone here noticed a person who wasn’t supposed to be on this post. A local, or maybe a colored GI.”

“That’s who they got for this, right?” Evans asked. “One of those tank destroyer guys.”

“That’s who CID arrested,” I said. “They may have been wrong.”

“Well, anyone can drive up here,” Evans said. “Or walk in. We’re not a secure area, although a colored boy coming through here would cause some comment. Not the usual thing, if you know what I mean. That path leads past the barns and the older civilian buildings we don’t use. Too broken down. You could ask Crowley, he might remember something.”

“Is he the Englishman?”

“Yeah, local caretaker. Came with the place, far as I know. I think the family who owns the property left him here to look after the horses. He’s always around, so maybe he can help. If he’s not in the barn check the mess tent. He doesn’t have a place to cook, so we let him eat our chow. I’ll take you there.”

“I can find it, Sergeant,” I said, eager to get rid of the disagreeable Evans.

“I’ll take you,” he said. “Captain Sobel doesn’t like people wandering around.”

“You said you weren’t a secure area,” I said, walking alongside Evans. “What’s the concern?”

“We may not be top secret, but we are responsible for packing the parachutes for the entire division. That, plus the personnel we train, is enough to keep any CO on top of who comes through here.”