Dead Ground in Between (16 page)

“Are you still intending to go into Shrewsbury, sir?”

Tyler bit his lip. “I am, but I think I'll do some preliminary investigation here first.

“Oh, by the way, Oliver, would you check out the latest casualty list? I noticed two new wreaths on Mill Street. I should drop by and offer my condolences.”

“I will, sir. One of them must be at Mrs. Dawson's. I know her son was missing in action.” He sighed. “Seems like she's heard. Tragic, but at least now she knows for sure. Better that way.”

Tyler remembered his visit with Nuala Keogh. It was true what Rowell said: not knowing was the agony.

He headed for his office. “I'll be right back.”

There was a toilet for Tyler's personal use beside his office. He opened the door. The tiny room smelled of carbolic and also looked spotlessly clean. It really did seem as if the lads had done a good job.

He used the toilet and pulled the chain to flush. The water filled up in the bowl…and overflowed onto the floor.

What the hell?

There was nothing he could do except jump out of the way. The water stopped overflowing but was not draining at all. He went out.

“Oliver. The toilet's blocked. It was perfectly all right yesterday. Why do I have the feeling our chummies might be responsible?”

Rowell shook his head in disbelief. “I shall investigate, sir.”

The door opened with a bang and Agnes Mortimer came in.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Constable. Leave your coat on. We've got to go out. Can you handle a camera?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“You seem proficient at many things, Constable.”

“Do I, sir? Er, well, thank you.”

“The camera is kept in the storeroom cupboard. Sign it out with Sergeant Rowell. He'll be right back. He's just checking out the plumbing in my toilet.”

Rowell came into the room carrying a bucket. He was scowling.

“I found the problem. This was plugging the pipe.” He lifted out a wet pair of ladies' underwear. “My apologies, Constable.”

“That's all right, Sergeant. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

“Oh, er, yes. Of course.”

Tyler looked at the offending article. “How the hell did knickers get into my lavatory?” He held up his hand. “Let me guess. Who was last in there doing a spit and polish?”

“Sam Wickers.”

“Well, unless he's a ponce and not letting on, he just happened to have a pair of knickers on his person that just happened to fall into the toilet bowl, and he just happened not to notice.”

Rowell nodded. “I thought he was being a bit too accommodating. I'll have his hide.”

Tyler grimaced. “No you won't.
I
will. He's not going to thumb his nose at me and get away with it. He just added two more weeks to his sentence.” He jerked his head at Constable Mortimer. “I'll meet you in the car park. Annabel can take an eternity to warm up. I'll get her started.”

“Annabel, sir?”

“Never mind. Oliver and I have christened the bloody car.“

“Yes, sir.” She hurried away.

“Where shall I leave the, er, the underwear, sir?” Rowell asked.

“Leave it in the
WC
for now. It's vital evidence.”

“Quite so. We might have to charge those lads with conspiring to obstruct police business.”

Tyler laughed. “Good, Oliver. Very good.”

He got his hat and coat and went outside into the blustery chill. Rain was coming in the wind. He'd hardly had time to warm up and he had to struggle all over again.

This time, the capricious Annabel started right away. He let it idle for a few moments until Constable Mortimer emerged from the station carrying the camera bag and a tripod.

“Come on, Constable. I daren't stop. She might not start again. Put the stuff in the boot. Hop to it.”

She did, and cautiously they crawled out of the car park and turned onto the narrow lane that connected with Broad Street. A handful of women were already queuing in front of the greengrocer's shop. Each carried a basket over her arm. If Hayden did have a new delivery of a fruit or a vegetable, they wanted to be there before he sold out. To Tyler's eyes, these women looked disheartened, already worn down with care. It was hard to witness. He fretted at his own feeling of helplessness.

As they drove, he filled in Constable Mortimer about the new development in the Cartwright case. She looked grave.

“It was sad enough before when it looked like death from misadventure. Now it's dreadful.”

“I think our safest bet is to go straight to the hideout. We'll take pictures, see if there are any obvious clues that jump out at us. After that, we'll go and tell the family.”

“Do you want me to be present for that, sir?”

“I certainly do. You can take notes, keep your eyes open. Be alert.”

“Would any of them be under suspicion, sir?”

“At this point, I'm not ruling anybody out. Who knows? Maybe the old man had a fortune tucked away. Greed can make people do very wicked things.”

“We'll have to see if there's a will and who's a beneficiary.”

“Farmers like Jasper Cartwright typically don't make wills. If he did leave anything it's more likely to be hard cash and hidden somewhere.”

He negotiated the turn at the top of the hill that led to Bitterley. Annabel acted as if the hill might be too much, but with a horrible grinding sound the gear kicked in and they made it.

“I think the transmission might be about to give up the ghost, sir,” said Mortimer.

“Cross your fingers it doesn't expire until we've been and come back. I don't want to have to commandeer a tractor.” He raised his eyebrows at his constable. “But you're probably as adept at driving a tractor as you are a motorcycle, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Constable, is there anything you can't do?”

“Of course, sir. Many things.”

“For instance?”

She allowed a small smile. “Can't think of anything in particular at the moment, sir. I seem to have an affinity for mechanics.”

“Good. When we get back to the station, if we ever do, take a look at this darn machine. See if you can fix it.”

“Yes, sir. Be happy to.”

It had started to rain heavily. The windshield wipers were doing a feeble job and one of them squeaked horribly. They drove on, Tyler pushing the car as fast as he dared.

Constable Mortimer spoke. “If none of the immediate family was involved, what I was wondering, sir, was who might Mr. Cartwright have encountered? I would think it would have to be someone close by. And was this a planned meeting or a chance one? If chance, why was the assailant out in the early hours of the morning? What was his business? Or her business, for that matter?”

“Excellent questions, Constable Mortimer. For which I currently have no answers.”

Tyler parked the car in a lay-by off the side of the road. From there the ground sloped upward to the crest of the hill and the road curved sharply right. He could see the cattle trough, looking innocent enough, at the western end of the north field.

“Keep your eyes peeled, Constable. We'll flag any spot where there might be evidence of activity. As you say, at this
point we don't know if Jasper met anybody, either with intention or accidentally. Neither do we know whether he entered the hideout of his own free will or was dumped down there. Although Dr. Murnaghan said there wasn't a lot of bleeding from the stab wound, there may be minute traces of blood that we failed to notice before.”

“We had no reason to suspect foul play originally, sir.”

“I realize that, Constable,” said Tyler. “However, I'm a policeman. I shouldn't have been asleep at the helm.”

“If I may say so, sir, you are being unnecessarily hard on yourself.”

Her voice was so earnest, Tyler actually smiled. “Thank you, Constable. I'll keep that in mind.”

“And you didn't seem quite yourself that day, sir. I thought perhaps you hadn't slept well.”

“Good grief, Constable. Drop it, will you?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude.”

Tyler sighed. “And I apologize for snapping.”

They got out of the car and Constable Mortimer hoisted the bag of wooden flags over her shoulder. Rain was lashing the fields, stirred periodically by violent gusts of wind.

“I can't imagine anybody trying to push through that hedge unless they had to,” said Tyler. “They would likely have entered by the gate at the lower end of the field. Let's do the same.”

They proceeded slowly to the gate, pausing to examine it thoroughly, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. If there had once been traces of blood on the gate or the ground, the rain had already washed them away.

They continued on to the trough.

Tyler stared down. The bottom was covered with layers of sodden leaves. He certainly would not have guessed there was a hidden entrance if he hadn't already seen it. He moved aside the debris to reveal the grill.

“Take a photograph, please, Constable Mortimer. I want views of the entire trough, inside and out.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited while she set up the tripod and camera. Then he pulled on the lever and lifted the grill, revealing the entrance. Here again, he examined the area carefully but saw no sign of blood.

“I'll go down first and you can hand me the camera.”

There was some light coming from the peepholes but it was too dim to see anything clearly. He flashed his torch on the floor where Jasper had been lying. Even here there were no blood stains. The plank flooring didn't show any clear footprints either, only a few small clumps of mud that had likely come from the coroner's shoes. They didn't tell him anything.

Constable Mortimer lowered the camera to him and then climbed down. There were two narrow cots, one on each side, leaving an aisle just wide enough for Tyler and Mortimer to stand next to each other. The ceiling was quite high and they were both able to stand without stooping. At the head of one cot was a shelf on which perched a paraffin lamp. Across from it on an identical shelf was a heater, also paraffin. Tyler sniffed at them. Neither had been lit recently.

“Will we need to take fingerprints, sir?”

“Not sure if we'll get much from these surfaces but we'll give it a try. Who's our fingerprint man these days?”

“Well, since Eaves got called up, sir, I think it has devolved onto Constables Mady and Biggs.”

“The ladder might yield something. Possibly the lamp and the heater. Keep your gloves on when you touch anything.”

“Yes, sir. I was intending to do that.”

There was a drawer underneath one of the cots and Tyler pulled it open. It contained a couple of neatly folded blankets and a pillow.

Agnes pointed to one of the planks that was shoring up the wall. “I think there's a compartment behind here, sir. You can see that the wood doesn't quite align.”

“Good observation, Constable. Let's take a look.”

He tugged at the join in the wood with his fingernails and, sure enough, it opened.

Agnes Mortimer is turning into a first-rate copper
, he thought.
I could do with more like her
.

There was a shallow cupboard built into the wall. It was crudely lined with tin. Tyler flashed his light on the interior. Inside was a wooden box stamped “
ISSUED BY SPECIAL ORDER OF THE WAR OFFICE. NOT FOR PUBLIC CONSUMPTION
.” He moved it out a little. It was sealed, but there was a printed list of the contents pasted on the side. Tyler read: “
Quarter pound of tea; tin of condensed milk; tin of pudding; tin of dried eggs; tin of sardines. Bar of chocolate. Bar of soap. Tin of tooth powder. 50 Cigarettes
. That would keep you going for a while. Maybe as much as a week.”

“You talked about the Auxiliary Units, sir. Would these be standard rations for one of the hideouts?”

“I'd say so. The box hasn't been opened so I assume it was part of the furnishings when the hideout was built.” Tyler turned around. “Where there's one cupboard, there's bound to be another. Ah. There we are.”

Next to the other cot there was the same slight misalignment in the planking.

“Shall I try, sir?”

Mortimer opened the door to the compartment easily. Inside was a Peek Freans biscuit tin. Tyler took it out and removed the lid.

The tin contained several rather furry-looking boiled sweets and a couple of paltry Cadbury's Ration chocolate bars. They were untouched, but there was an empty wrapper from a Kit Kat bar indicating that a tastier treat had been devoured.
There was also a rather tattered newspaper clipping. He directed the beam of the torch on the paper and read out loud.

Tyler aimed his torch back inside the cupboard. “What else have we got?” He slid out a little bundle of comics. “Two
Beanos
, two
Wizards
, a
Rover
, and a
Hotspur
.” The dates ranged from August to just three weeks ago.

“Hello, what's this?”

Tucked inside the
Wizard
were two small pieces of cardboard. On one was written the number 2204, on the other 2206.

“They look like the identification tags that evacuee children have pinned on them when they first arrive here,” said Mortimer. “Necessary but sad, I think. As if they're parcels.”