James Benn: Rag and Bone

“Chaucer and Joey Adamo,” I said. “Chaucer fled to Canterbury to get away from the Merciless Parliament. Joey Adamo was a Detroit hood who escaped the Mob by fleeing to Canada, where his death was likely faked. Last night, Sidorov said it was necessary for his government to be merciless, and that set me thinking.” I didn’t mention the thinking had gone on in my dreams. “And then I remembered what he had told me about Article 58 of the Soviet Criminal Code. It makes the nonreportingof counterrevolutionary activities by family members punishable by a stretch in a Siberian labor camp, at best.”

“Chaucer, as in The Canterbury Tales?” Flack asked.

“Yeah. He escaped to the country to save his neck.”

“I know about Chaucer, man! It’s a bit flimsy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not saying it’s evidence, but it fits. Sidorov has a wife and daughter. If he defected, they’d be punished.”

“How could they?” Big Mike said.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s how they control people.”

“Wait a minute,” Flack said, holding up his hand. “ Sidorov couldn’t have known a German plane would be shot down last night. Are you claiming he killed one of the Germans, and put the body in the bunker? It’s too fantastic.”

“No, it’s not,” Bull said. “If Billy’s right, then we put a huge crimp in their plans by moving the Russian personnel down here. Except for controlled outings, they’ve been virtually incommunicado. Telephone calls are monitored; this is a highly sensitive installation.”

“Yeah,” chimed in Big Mike. “They were all ready to go. Sidorov set up the route for the gold shipment, and made sure the guard would be on the light side, under the guise of not attracting too much attention. Sheila got rid of Eddie and gave Mr. Brown the slip. Chapman arranged for an identity swap with a couple of dead bodies on ice. And then, out of the blue, Sidorov was sent down here.”

“Right. Archie was desperate to contact him. Sidorov was certainly feeling the same way. Archie followed me down here, and probably made contact.”

“Couldn’t Sidorov have left with Chapman?” Flack said.

“Would you trust Archie, after he paid you and got what he wanted?”

“Valid point,” Flack said. “So Sidorov sees his chance. He knows about the bunker from his Home Guard tour. He volunteers to join the search party, in hopes of finding a German from the downed aircraft. Intending to kill him, and change clothes.”

“Or one of the Home Guard, or even a constable. If any of them disappeared, and it looked like Sidorov’s body had been burned in the fire, suspicion would fall on them. It would be enough to allow Sidorovto disappear, and to get around Article 58. He’d be mourned as a hero back home.”

“You’re right, it would look like one of them murdered Sidorov, and fled. That would have bought him time and confusion.”

“The German could have been already dead, killed bailing out. Or he may have given himself up, and Sidorov led him to the bunker. You should have the body examined. There could be a bullet.”

“There is,” Flack said. “I had it looked at by a doctor here. I learned my lesson with the last dead Russian. But it could have been from the rounds going off in the fire.”

“OK,” Bull said. “I’m Sidorov. I’ve just changed clothes with a Kraut flier. That’s a problem right there. Big, heavy flight boots. Flight jacket and pants with big map pockets on the thighs. He’s going to have trouble getting around without being noticed.”

“Right. I’ll have the local constables canvas the area. If you’re not wrong, Boyle, we’ll find a report of missing laundry and a stolen bicycle close by,” Flack said, pulling a notebook from his pocket. That was a good sign. What he said next wasn’t. “You don’t know where this bunker is, do you?”

“Not exactly. Close?”

“About a twenty-minute walk north, set into the woods near a crossroad. Lieutenant Kazimierz could have followed Sidorov and the Home Guard, perhaps even caught him unawares when he was separated from the group. Then he takes him to the bunker, and stages it to look like an accident. He would have had ample time to make it back to the castle and bash Vatutin in the head. If you hadn’t come along, he might have gotten away with it.”

“We have to find Sidorov,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. If Scotland Yard got it in their mind that Kaz was the killer, and if that took off the political heat, then I knew what was likely to happen. If the killings stopped, Kaz was as good as convicted. And hanged.

“Or the fourth German crewman,” Flack said, rising from his chair. “Either will prove a point. I’ll have the Home Guard out again and alert the constables.”

Suddenly I felt exhausted, my failure to fully convince Flack weighing hard. I stared at the table, trying to think of what else to say. There was nothing left, my arguments as empty as my hands.

My hands. I had dreamed about my hands. What was it? Diana, or Dalenka, or whoever the hell it was, had asked me something. The pebbles.

Why are they in your hand?

Of course. This time, I did snap my fingers.

Faking a limp is hard. You can do it if you really focus on it, but if you slip up, you’re done for. To pull it off, try walking around with pebbles in your shoe. You limp. You have to. That’s what the mystery woman’s question meant. The pebbles went in a shoe, not a hand. They weren’t souvenirs of Poland; they were stones to put in Sidorov’s shoe, to establish his identity as a bandaged, crippled Polish pilot. He and Sheila had visited Shepherdswell several times, laying the groundwork for their getaway. They probably planned to hole up there for a while, after Sidorovpulled off the switch with whatever body Archie provided. After the gold shipment was knocked off, of course. Then, with phony identities established, they could move away when the heat died down, Sidorov healed and rich. Free of the Merciless Parliament.

Operation Frantic had thrown a monkey wrench into things. But both Archie and Sidorov were determined to get what they wanted, and were daring enough for the job. Archie and Topper setting me up with that message, and tailing us in a staff car, provided the perfect camouflage. As did Sidorov’s move, joining the Home Guard search, ready to kill again for a body to be consumed in flames.

We’d left Flack to organize the search. He was calling out the Home Guard, telling them they were after the remaining German, which worked for me, since Sidorov was wearing his clothes. Unless he’d already stolen other duds. That’s what I would have done, I thought, as Big Mike barreled the jeep north on the open road. Lots of military traffic headed for the coast, but the left lane going north was clear.

I would’ve looked for a barn or outbuilding, hoping for some work clothes hung on a peg. One of those boilersuits, maybe. A commonplace blue one-piece outfit would be perfect to cover the Luftwaffeuniform, even the flying boots. Then a bicycle, on back roads, to Shepherdswell.

“But then what?” I said, not realizing I’d spoken out loud.

“Huh?” Big Mike said as he downshifted and passed a couple of trucks. I held onto my hat with one hand and onto the seat with the other. Even with the canvas top up, the wind whipped around inside and almost blew my service cap out. Big Mike’s driving threatened to do the same with the rest of me.

“If they don’t find Sidorov on the road, I don’t think they’ll find him at the house,” I said, shouting to be heard above the wind and road noise.

“Why not?”

“He’s most likely out of contact with Sheila. If anybody local saw him enter the house, they’d think he was a thief. Even if he got in, people would expect her to be there to care for him. If she’s not there, he probably has to hide out somewhere and wait. Somewhere close.”