Elizabeth Speller: The Return of Captain John Emmett

'Brabourne was so clear about what happened at the trial but I smeled a rat when he became vague about the execution itself,' said Somers, stil gazing out. 'I didn't want to alert him with too many questions, and I had to keep my emotions tightly under control. Eventualy he revealed that Harry hadn't died immediately. It had a taken a coup de grâce. Which meant Emmett should have put the last bulet in his brain. Except that Brabourne's essential decency covered up Emmett's disgrace. It took Emmett himself to tel me what had realy happened.'

Laurence was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. He knew how the story Somers was now teling would end. He wished he hadn't sent Charles away.

'Emmett and I talked for an hour or so at the Coburg in the first instance,' Somers continued, 'just establishing the outline of it al. I couldn't push him too hard as I didn't want him to be uneasy, and he needed to get back to Holmwood before the police were caled to find him. I put him on a train. Made arrangements to meet again. I wanted to get him to my own house, away from onlookers, with time to go through it al. I wanted to make sure I got every fact, every name. To know exactly what happened and who was involved.'

He glanced at Laurence more directly.

'But Emmett knew it would be very difficult to escape from Holmwood a second time.'

He paused.

'And I knew that once I'd persuaded him to come to see me, he would have to disappear, you see. He was a link to me and I had my mission to complete. I didn't care about surviving myself but I did care about justice.'

Somers was almost persuasive, his tone of voice reasonable.

'I told Gwen to write to him. To ask to meet him. To suggest myself, as he had already met me, as an intermediary. To say that I lived not far from Holmwood, that I could arrange it. She wrote in good faith, believing it would happen—and Emmett had absolutely no idea that I knew Gwen other than professionaly. But, as I said, he was desperate to see her. She was the lure. However, I had absolutely no idea that he had left Gwen a bequest, which meant that his death would lead straight back to her.

'I set up the final meeting at my house in Oxfordshire. When he arrived, Gwen was not there, needless to say, but Emmett didn't realy seem surprised. He just wanted to talk. He told me every damn thing about Harry. His poetry. His trial. His death. Harry's persecutors and those few who tried to help him. Above al, Emmett gave me the names and each individual's portion of guilt became clear. I promised to tel Harry's mother everything.'

He stopped again, and then he said in a slower voice, 'I have thought about it since, of course. Did I feel pity for Emmett? Obviously he had suffered. Nerves, mostly. His right arm was useless, you know? When I had seen him for the first time, I assumed he'd been wounded but it wasn't that. Nothing realy wrong with the arm at al, but plenty wrong in the mind.

'But, do you know, during the long hours he was with me, I thought there had been some sort of lightening of his spirit, as if by teling me everything he had rid himself of his guilt. In the end I told him the truth. He had been so honest. He had emptied himself out. So I told him Harry was my son. I wanted to tel somebody at last.'

'What did he say?'

'He asked me to forgive him.'

Laurence felt numb. It was so simple.

'I told him there was nothing to forgive,' said Somers. 'It was war.'

'But you didn't forgive the others?'

'The others didn't ask.' He paused.

'Emmett told me that at the last minute he realised that he knew my son. He'd actualy met him once. They shared a deep love of poetry. Harry's last words were supposed to have been, "For God's sake shoot quickly and get it over with," but when he fel to the ground he was only injured. Refused a blindfold.'

Pain was unmistakable on Somers' face. His speech slowed.

'He had blue eyes, like his mother.'

He wiped his forehead, hesitated.

'Emmett just stood there. Frozen, he said. Harry tried to speak. Emmett had his gun in his hand; everybody waiting for him to do his duty. He said Harry was uninteligible. Then Sergeant Tucker, who hadn't marched the men away but left them gawping, quit the line, came forward, cool as you like, took the gun from Emmett, who put up no kind of resistance, and he shot Harry straight in the face.

Chapter Thirty-seven

The two men looked at each other. Both started to speak at once, then stopped. It was as if al the chaos of murder, adultery, suicide and ilegitimacy had been reduced to mere social awkwardness.

Finaly Laurence said, And now? What do you intend to do?'

'I imagine if you leave here you'l go straight to fetch the police?' Somers looked up. At last Laurence could hear Gwen Lovel move at the back of the house.

'I just didn't realy think...' Laurence began. Did Somers intend to let him go and if not, what would he do?

'Oh, you think,' said Somers. 'You're a brave man. Brave and dogged. An excelent officer. Acting major. Twice mentioned in despatches and holder of the Military Cross. How does the citation go? "For conspicuous courage under fire. Leading an attack against considerable odds, in which the battalion sustained heavy losses, he returned to retrieve the injured at considerable risk to himself." You think, Captain Bartram. You think very carefuly and you act decisively. If you didn't count on my finding you, you certainly knew it was a possibility you would find me.'

He was trying to heave the dead weight of Pollock, pitiable, fat Pollock, back across the churned-up terrain. Bent half double, he strained to drag him by thelegs. Pollock's weight made a trough in the mud and as Laurence leaned forward he could smell the urine soaking through the soldier's trousers. He hopedthe man was unconscious—the body kept lurching to the side and every time he managed to move him more than a few inches, Pollock made a wet,wheezing sound and red froth came out of his mouth. The front of his tunic was black and tarry. Laurence hadn't dared open it in case it was all that waskeeping Pollock's guts inside his body. Suddenly the ground fell away and they were both tumbling into a crater of mud and water. The tremendous weight ofthe injured man landed on top of him. For a minute he lay winded and nauseated, then panicked and struggled furiously to get a purchase on Pollock'sjacket. At last he tore himself free but his legs had lost all feeling. He sat in the slime holding the man's head in his lap. There was faint sunlight now,piercing the smoke, as the water around the soldier turned reddish brown and strings of pink saliva congealed between his bloody teeth. He sat and strokedPollock's cold face until someone came and found them.

Somers was stil talking.

'Did you realy believe you were the only one capable of a bit of detective work? It's not hard to find a man's records, you know. To talk to a few people.'

He was getting up as he spoke. He returned to the bureau and opened a different drawer. Laurence wondered what he was about to show him. Somers rifled through some papers and turned round. He was holding a gun.

'Believe it or not, I regret the need for this,' Somers said. 'But, you see, Brabourne contacted me a day or so ago asking what had happened to the photograph he'd given me. Emmett stole it from my house, of course, after I showed it to him. I never even noticed its absence. I gather it came home with his effects? I had to improvise, say there'd been a burglary. But it wouldn't do. I knew you'd come back to Gwen sooner or later and now the journalist was suspicious too. He asked me if I had known Mulins. If I knew that Emmett was dead.'

He sat down, stil holding the gun. It was hardly different from the Webley that Laurence had used in the war.