A Blind Goddess (22 page)

“Shakespeare,” Laurianne said. “
Romeo and Juliet
, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kaz said. “A story of another doomed girl. Margaret was set upon a course to find her parents, only she could not know they were both dead. Fate led her to them, not you.”

“Thank you, Baron,” she said, and finished her brandy.

“Did she say anything at all, other than asking for a meal?”

“She had some story about working on a farm, but being called back to Southampton by her father. She did say he found a place in the country for her because Southampton was so heavily bombed, which is true enough.”

“Anything else? Anything unusual?”

“No. She was friendly. She had confidence. It took some nerve to bicycle up and ask for a meal. I imagine she saw the girls and felt comfortable enough about it, but still, it would be hard for any girl her age to do that.”

“She was trusting,” Diana said.

“Yes. Open and trusting,” Laurianne said, clasping her hands around her empty glass. “Now she’s dead, isn’t she? So much for confidence.”

Kaz offered to drive Laurianne back to the school, and Diana
and I stayed outside in the cool air under the feeble lamplight. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her or Kaz about Cosgrove’s heart attack, much less pass on his warning.

“Diana, I—” She held up her hand, watching as Kaz helped Laurianne into the jeep and started the engine.

“Wait, Billy,” Diana said, “but there’s something else. Before I left, I had a chance to speak to several of the girls alone. They all saw Margaret ride in on her bicycle. They were coming in from the playground when she knocked on the front door. But none of them actually saw her leave.”

“Where were they? Could they have seen her?”

“They’d come in through a side door from the playground. The girls I spoke to were in a classroom at the front of the house with a clear view of the drive. They saw Margaret waiting in the foyer as they entered, and then never saw her again.”

“Is there another road or path leading away from the house?” I asked, leaning back in my seat, trying to remember the layout of the place.

“I don’t know,” Diana said. “Laurianne escorted us throughout the building, so it seemed impolite to wander about. I thought it best to tell you. Perhaps Margaret hid herself there.”

“I’ll check it out,” I said. “Good work.”

In my experience, runaway girls don’t end up tucked safely away in a girl’s school, but no reason not to let that remote possibility stay with us. Chances were the girls missed seeing her leave, or she went out a different way. Miss Ross didn’t seem the type to store bodies under the floorboards, but I knew I had to look into the possibility that Margaret had come to grief not far from the school. Or at the school, which was much more sinister. Laurianne Ross was in charge at the school, she had the run of the entire building. She could have brought Margaret wherever she wanted, and quietly disposed of the bicycle. But why? There was no motive I could think of. Still, it was odd that she had forgotten to mention Margaret Hibberd until one of her schoolgirls brought it up. With one child missing, why not report a runaway who showed up and then disappeared?

“Sorry, Billy, what were you about to say?”

“It’s Major Cosgrove. He’s had a heart attack,” I said.

“How terrible,” Diana said with a gasp of surprise. “How did you hear? Will he recover?”

“It happened this afternoon, at the Hungerford police station. He came to read me the riot act about the investigation.” I gave Diana an account of our meeting, and how we’d found Cosgrove on the floor. “He’s at the doctor’s now. Luckily the surgery is right across the street from the station. Doc said he’d keep him there overnight.”

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He was able to speak, but he looked terrible. He had a message for you.”

“What was it?” Diana asked, worry furrowing her brow. Her hands clasped the empty glass in front of her as if it might give off warmth.

“It was off the record,” I said. “He seemed very concerned about you. He said they have their eye on you, and that you should stop talking about the extermination camps.”

“Who are
they
?”

“Roger Allen, for one. Cosgrove said that your father may have inadvertently gotten you involved with people who do not want the truth about the camps to come out.”

“I know I ruffled his feathers,” Diana said. “He certainly didn’t like being confronted by a woman, much less a woman concerned about Jews. But what did poor Charles mean when he said they had their eye on me?”

“I asked him if it was the same as him keeping an eye on me. ‘Not like that at all’ was his answer. He was truly worried for you Diana, and now I am too.” I didn’t think Allen and his ilk would cause Diana harm, not directly. What I wouldn’t put past them was a dangerous assignment, dangerous enough to silence her indirectly.

“Billy, we have both been in danger before. Just yesterday someone tried to kill you. That is the price we pay for being who we are and the times we live in. I’m not going to be told to be quiet like a schoolgirl because it’s inconvenient for some politician. People are
being murdered, Billy, by the thousands. We can’t pretend it isn’t happening.”

“I know,” I said, leaning over and taking Diana’s hand. “But you also can’t pretend these aren’t powerful men, and you’ve offended them, challenged the way they look at the world. You went into the lion’s den, Diana. Don’t be surprised at how sharp their claws are.”

“Well, perhaps this isn’t the best time to tell you, Billy, but Father has got an appointment with Anthony Eden, the Foreign Secretary. We are both dining with him tomorrow night in London.” She gave a rueful laugh.

“They have their eyes on you, Diana. Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Billy. Father has known Eden since they served in Parliament together. It is more of a social occasion, really. I think Father is hoping this will put an end to my campaign.”

“I don’t want you to end it, Diana. Just let the dust settle.”

“After this dinner, I shall take the remainder of my leave and lounge about Seaton Manor, drinking tea and eating biscuits, all the time thinking of you.”

“Okay. If I wrap all this up in time, I’ll come visit.”

“That’s settled then,” Diana said, shivering as she tried to rub warmth into her arms. “Let’s go inside. This may be our last night together for a while.”

I had no argument with that. As we ascended the stairs to our room, I thought about what I’d read in reports smuggled out of Poland, where the extermination camps were working overtime, incinerating bodies in ovens and belching greasy smoke out over the countryside. I tried to clear the gruesome images from my mind and enjoy the rest of the night with Diana. But some dust never settles.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
HERE WAS A heavy rain the next morning when I dropped Diana off at the train station in Newbury. The downpour didn’t leave much time for long goodbyes or lingering kisses on the platform. I ran by her side with an umbrella in one hand and her suitcase in the other. I handed both to her as she boarded, the locomotive releasing a gasp of steam as if it were straining to depart and carry Diana away.

We kissed quickly, and Diana smiled at me, her eyes latching onto mine. Then she laughed as a stream of water cascaded off the roof of the railcar, spattering the top of my service cap. Passengers surged around us, in a hurry to get out of the rain. Civilians, soldiers, and sailors pushed Diana back as they boarded, and all we could manage was a half-hearted wave before she vanished and I retreated to the jeep. The rain on the canvas sounded like a drumroll, and I shook the water off my trench coat like a shaggy dog, glad that I had on my rubber-soled combat boots.

I sat, watching the empty street, blurry and grey through the rain-streaked windshield. Pretty close to how I felt about this investigation. Nothing made sense. I had no idea why anyone would have killed Stuart Neville. No idea why Cosgrove was preaching hands-off the Millers. No idea who had killed Margaret Hibberd. Not a clue what happened to Sophia Edwards or who killed Tom Eastman.

So what did I know? That there was something weird about the
Neville murder, and Cosgrove’s instructions to lay off the Millers. And why was Neville such a cipher? All I knew for sure was that along the line I’d gotten close to something important, important enough to warrant a smack on the head and a midnight try at the dead man’s float. No, check that. No one could have known I was headed to that part of the canal. I was sure I wasn’t followed. So it was a chance encounter, an attack of opportunity. What was important was the suitcase. Someone, probably the same person I spooked without knowing it, had planted it there. Why? To throw suspicion on Neville, or possibly Miller. Or maybe to distance himself from the scene of the crime.

As far as Angry Smith went, all I knew was that he was innocent, the victim of a perfunctory CID investigation. The agents had gone straight to the easiest answer, and the fact that Angry had been seeing a white girl certainly hadn’t helped move the wheels of justice in the right direction. I liked the notion of the killing being linked to Sam Eastman’s past. It made sense, in a warped sort of way. Sam arrests a guy who is sent to prison or the lunatic asylum. Time passes and that guy gets out, and he decides to take his revenge—no, make that a relative, someone close to the imprisoned guy. Sam is long dead, so this avenger kills his son Tom, and deposits his body on the grave. A final insult. Nice and neat, except for how much time had passed since the elder Eastman had been on the force. I couldn’t see an old man coming out of the joint and carting Tom Eastman’s corpse through that cemetery. I’d heard revenge was a dish best served cold, but this revenge had been in the ice box a damned long time. I needed to learn more about Sam Eastman. But first, it was time to meet Inspector Payne at the Newbury Building Society and bang our heads against that wall for a while.

When I arrived at the building society at nine o’clock, it was raining even harder, with rolls of distant thunder echoing off the buildings. I dashed in and found Payne shaking off his umbrella in the foyer.

“Damned rain,” he said, stamping the wet off his feet. “Any word on Major Cosgrove?”

“No,” I said. “I sent Kaz over to see how he’s doing. I’ll drop by after we’re done here.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Not the most likable chap, but it’s a pity to finish up like that. Had an uncle who had a heart attack and lived. Doctor told him to stay in bed, and so the fool did. For the next three years.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

“Had another heart attack and died. Nothing the doctors can do about it, so they tell you to rest. Not the way to go out of this life, with nothing but bedsores to show for your last days. But that’s neither here nor there.” He leaned in and spoke in a low voice. “Follow my lead. I won’t reveal it was Miss Gardner who put us onto Neville’s last appointments.”

It was quiet in the society offices, the hard rain keeping customers inside their homes and shops. We entered Miss Gardner’s office, where she served as gatekeeper to the exalted Michael Flowers. I tried to think of a way to tell her that her secret was safe, but it wasn’t necessary. Miss Gardner wasn’t there. Not stepped out for a moment, but gone.

Her desk was clean, no papers, pens, not even a paperclip. The shelf to the rear of the desk, where there had been a couple of pictures and knickknacks, was empty. Her typewriter was covered and the wastepaper basket was empty.

“Gentlemen,” Flowers called out from within his office. “How can I help you?”

Payne raised his eyebrows at me, noting the desk, and we went in.

“Short of help today?” Payne said, in the friendly tone cops use when they want information the easy way.

“Oh, Miss Gardner, you mean? We’re looking for a replacement now. It’s been quite difficult without her. I never realized all the things she took care of. Very efficient.”

“What happened to her?” I settled down into one of the leather chairs facing Flowers, like a charter member of the society making small talk.

“She left,” Flowers said.

“Suddenly, I take it,” Payne said. “Since you’re just now advertising for her position.”

“Well, yes, it was very sudden. I came into work the other morning and found a note from her, saying she was sorry but a family matter had come up and she had to leave. She left instructions about her final paycheck and that was all. A bit mysterious, don’t you think?”

“Where is the check being sent?” I asked.

“To a bank in Glasgow. Scotland, can you believe that? I had no idea she was Scottish.”

“Do you have the note?” Payne asked.

“No, I threw it out after I gave the payroll department the information. Why are you asking about Miss Gardner, anyway?”

“Did you recognize it as her handwriting?” Payne asked, ignoring Flowers’s question.

“Of course I did. I saw her handwriting every day for almost eight years. I expect I would, don’t you?”

“When did you find the note?” I asked.

“Yesterday morning. Now, really, tell me what this is all about.”

“As regards Miss Gardner,” Payne said, “purely professional curiosity. You can’t tell a policeman about a sudden and strange departure without encouraging questions, can you?” Payne laughed and smiled, putting Flowers at ease, he hoped. “Habit, that’s all. What we came to see you about are the last two appointments Stuart Neville kept with customers. In the course of our inquiries, we learned he visited Ernest Bone, the fellow who runs the sweet shop, and Stanley Fraser, the solicitor. We would like to see any records of those visits, notes or anything that may provide information about his activities.”

“You must be retracing his steps thoroughly,” Flowers said. “I don’t recall giving you names of our members.”

“That’s what the police do, Mr. Flowers,” I said. “Do you have many members like Stanley Fraser?”

“What do you mean?” Flowers asked. He pushed back from his desk, putting more space between us.

“Members with nicknames like ‘Razor’ and known criminal associates,” Payne said.