The Rest is Silence (Billy Boyle World War II Mystery) (11 page)

The rail yard was busy. Another set of tracks joined ours at the station, and I could see cars on a siding being unloaded. Maybe some of Sabini’s men were hard at work replenishing his stocks, courtesy of Uncle Sam.

The train pulled out of the station, and I watched the river widen into an estuary, the tide running out, a tree branch floating and bobbing on the current, until finally the locomotive picked up speed and we left the Teign behind on its journey to the cold Channel waters.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

K
AZ AND
D
AVID
Martindale were waiting for me in Dartmouth. It was nearly dusk, and I’d spent most of the day on a crowded train dodging packs and rifles as GIs and Tommies got on and off in droves. We weren’t expected for dinner at Ashcroft, so David suggested the Dartmouth Arms, which was close by. “They have excellent fish and ales,” he said, which was all I needed to hear.

“Was your trip successful?” Kaz said as we walked to the pub.

“I’ll tell you about it after dinner,” I said, not certain about what we should share with David.

We ordered three pints and got a snug booth in the corner. “
Na zdrowie
,” Kaz said, raising his glass and giving the Polish version of cheers. We clinked glasses and drank. After a day of train travel and talking with a crooked lawyer, it went down smooth. As we drank, I watched David and Kaz. It was easy to see them as chums at school. Both good-looking—war injuries notwithstanding—with thin features, sharp eyes, and easy grins. I could visualize them up to their elbows in books, discussing the finer points of Romanian grammar or some rare book.

I went to see a man about a horse, and when I returned I heard Kaz speaking in a familiar lilt.

“
Nem blong mi Piotr
,” he said.

“No,” David said in amazement. “You actually spoke pidgin with real Solomon Islanders? You should write a paper, Piotr.”

“Hey,” I said. “We’re not supposed to talk about that, Kaz.”

“Billy, it is only because David and I studied languages together. It is quite fascinating, and he’s promised not to repeat this to anyone.”

“Listen, just don’t do it while I’m around. I never heard a thing, okay?”

“
Tenkyu
, Billy,” Kaz said, and they both erupted in laughter. I went to get another round, and by the time I returned to the table they were whispering like two Solomon Islanders. I didn’t want to spoil their fun, but I didn’t want to chance a stretch in Leavenworth either. We’d kept that little jaunt a secret, as we’d been instructed, and it was best that it stayed that way, college buddy or not. I set down the glasses with a hard thump, getting their attention.

“Sorry, Billy,” Kaz said, sticking to English this time.

“Cheers,” David said. “Don’t worry, Billy, I am discretion incarnate. I’m happy to simply enjoy this evening out. Ashcroft can be a little narrow, if you know what I mean.”

“Narrow-minded?” Kaz asked, drawing David out.

“No, not at all,” he said. “I mean as though the walls are closing in. I hadn’t really got to know Helen’s family very well, and now I have nothing but time to spend with them. I’m afraid we don’t have much in common.”

Did he mean Helen or her family? Or both? It was a revealing admission, either way.

“How long will you stay?” Kaz asked.

“That’s just it, Piotr, I don’t know. The RAF doctor refused to release me for duty. I’ve got a checkup in two weeks’ time, but I doubt that will make any difference. There is no improvement to be had.”

“Any further surgeries?” Kaz asked, his voice hesitant.

“No,” David said. “They’ve done what they can. Saved my eye, but it’s not worth much, except to balance things out.” He worked up a smile, but like all his others, it was crooked, the shiny skin on the right side of his face barely moving.

“Will you stay at Ashcroft if the RAF won’t have you back?” Kaz said.

“Good God, no,” David said. “I couldn’t imagine it, living off Sir
Rupert’s kindness. Helen wouldn’t mind though, she loves the place. I’ve got no family left myself, nowhere to go home to.”

“Perhaps you could find work,” Kaz said, without much hope in his voice.

“And do what? Teach languages at some boarding school? With this face I’d frighten the children, or be the butt of their jokes,” David said, waving his hand along his cheek. “I really don’t know what I could do to hold down a decent job.”

“What happened?” I asked, surprising myself. “I mean, were you shot down or did you crash-land?” Kaz glanced at me, and I knew it was bad form to be so direct.

“A bit of both. We were on our way back to base,” David said, his voice steady but quiet. “Four of us. It had been an uneventful patrol, for a change. We were jumped by a dozen or so Fw 190s as we began our descent. They must have been circling high above our airfield, waiting for aircraft to come in. I wish I could say I got any of the bastards, but it happened too fast. Much too fast.” He took a drink and wiped his mouth, fingers lingering over the sharp line that had once been his lower lip. “My engine was hit, and I was nearly blinded by black smoke. Flames burst through the instrument panel. I put the nose down and headed for the runway, hoping they were done with me and I could get out before the cockpit was engulfed by fire. It was too low to bail out, otherwise I would have. Do you know that in a Spitfire the fuel tanks are directly in front of the pilot? All that high-octane fuel sitting there, inches away.”

“No, I didn’t know,” I said, just to say something. The thought was horrifying.

“At least I was low on fuel, which saved my life, such as it is,” David continued. “I thought I’d made it, but one of the Jerries gave me a final burst. Came at me from the left, a bit too high. He put a single twenty-millimeter shell through my canopy. The wind sucked the flames past my face like a blowtorch. They said the goggles saved my eyes, but I don’t remember anything after that long tongue of flame. I landed the Spitfire, although I have no memory of it. The ground crew pulled me out seconds before the aircraft exploded.”

He drank again.

“You’re certain there’s nothing more a specialist could do?” Kaz asked.

“Piotr, I have been in the hands of a great physician. Have you heard of Doctor McIndoe and the Guinea Pig Club?” Neither of us had. “Archibald McIndoe, a truly great man. He heads up the burns and reconstructive-surgery section at the Queen Victoria Hospital in Sussex. It’s exclusively for RAF pilots and crewmen who have been badly burned.”

“Why ‘guinea pig’?” I asked.

“McIndoe had to create new techniques and equipment. No one had ever seen so many burn cases before. The medical staff are all members of the club, and I was inducted a couple of months ago.”

“But you were injured a year ago,” Kaz said.

“Yes,” David answered. “But you have to have had at least ten surgical procedures to be admitted. We can’t just let anyone in.” There was pride in his voice, and I wondered if David felt more at home with the members of the Guinea Pig Club than at Ashcroft. “You’d be laughed out of the ward with that pathetic little scar of yours, for instance.”

“It sounds like Doctor McIndoe has the right approach to the job,” I said.

“He does. Some men have lost their hands and faces; they come to the hospital thinking they’re beyond redemption. And the injuries are nothing compared to the surgeries,” David said, clenching a fist as he thought of the pain. “But he does his best to create a bond between the staff and patients, even with the locals. He got some of them to organize visits for home-cooked meals, to help the lads prepare for going out into the world. They were wary at first, both the locals and the men, but now when they walk through town, they’re greeted instead of gawked at.”

“Did it help you, David?” Kaz said. “To come home?”

“Listen, Piotr—and Billy. There’s something I wanted to ask you,” David said, ignoring the question and answering it at the same time. “I’d like to go back on active service. As soon as possible. I thought
with you being at SHAEF and all, you might be able to pull some strings.”

“Can you still fly?” I asked.

“Not in combat, no,” David said. “With only one decent eye, my depth perception is off. I wouldn’t last a minute in a dogfight. I can still fly a fighter, although I doubt they’ll let me. I need to do something useful.”

“You mentioned a doctor’s appointment in a few weeks. Won’t Doctor McIndoe help you out?”

“It’s not up to him, unfortunately. The RAF medical section rules on return to duty, and so far it hasn’t been promising. It’s not the burns—I know of badly burned men who’ve been given desk jobs. But one bum eye combined with the burns seems to have them in a quandary.”

“Perhaps you should wait and see what this doctor decides,” Kaz said.

“If he invalids me out of the RAF, my chances are dashed,” David said. “I thought if you could put in a word for me now, there might be a place for a bright Oxford chap on someone’s staff. They took you, Piotr.” David stopped and glanced at me, then back at Kaz. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I think I’ll go mad if I have to sit around Ashcroft on Sir Rupert’s charity any longer.”

“Don’t worry, David. Billy knows about my heart condition. We have no secrets.”

“Good, I was afraid I’d said too much. Well, what about it?”

“David is fluent in several languages,” Kaz said, looking to me. “He’s fit enough to sit at a desk, wouldn’t you say?”

“As well as any staff officer,” I said. What else could I say? “I’ll talk to Colonel Harding and see what he can do. No promises, though. There might be nothing. Or it could be a job as a glorified file clerk.”

“I don’t care,” David said. “I’ve had my time in the air. I’ve got five victories, which makes me an ace, you know. Three Germans and two Italian aircraft. I can be proud of that, but I don’t think I can stand being given my walking papers. I want to see this thing through in uniform. Perhaps I can help with translations, or photographic
interpretation. I did a bit of that before North Africa. My good eye still has perfect vision.”

“We will do our best,” Kaz said, resting his hand on David’s shoulder. I was glad to see Kaz happy to help out his pal. But there was something else driving David’s desire to stay in the service, I was sure of it. Not being stuck at Ashcroft would be at the top of my list.

Our food came. First was fish chowder, then smoked haddock with carrots and parsnips. Root vegetables were big when it came to English cuisine under wartime rationing. Easy to grow and store, they were on every menu.

“Not quite the same as fresh peas,” I said.

“But no Great Aunt Sylvia to rap your knuckles,” David said.

“Is she always so outspoken?” I said.

“From what I’ve seen,” David said as he took a drink. “As I understand it, Ashcroft belonged to the Pemberton family for hundreds of years. As Sylvia mentioned, she lost both her husband and her son in the last war, so no heirs there. She was the sister of Lord Pemberton, Louise Pemberton’s father. Louise being Sir Rupert’s deceased wife. Louise had a brother, but he died in the influenza outbreak after the war. That left Louise as the only heir. She inherited the estate when Lord Pemberton died.”

“And Great Aunt Sylvia comes with the inheritance?” I said.

“Yes, exactly,” David said. “Lord Pemberton put a clause in his will stipulating that Sylvia—she’s entitled to be called Lady Pemberton—be provided for at Ashcroft for the remainder of her life. I don’t think anyone thought she’d be around so long. She turned ninety last winter.”

“Who owns the place now?” I asked.

“Sir Rupert. He inherited it from his wife, and is required to maintain Sylvia in the same manner. I don’t believe he begrudges her, but she never passes up an opportunity to mention how well the Pembertons maintained the estate before the Sutcliffes came along. Of course with all the new taxes, it is much harder these days.”

“Did you find out anything useful today, Billy?” Kaz asked, after a momentary lull. He was giving me an out in case I didn’t want to discuss it in front of David, but this wasn’t exactly classified. I didn’t
want Fraser’s name to get around as a stool pigeon, so I left him out of the story.

“There’s a gangster by the name of Charles Sabini,” I said. “He’s been big in gambling and extortion for years, and since he’s half Italian, the government interned him at the start of the war. Put a crimp in his business. He did some time after that, too, but lately he’s been rebuilding his criminal organization. He has a reputation for violence.”

“Where is he?” Kaz asked.

“He works out of the racetrack at Newton Abbot,” I said.

“I was there once,” David said. “Nice place, overlooks the river.”

“The River Teign,” Kaz said. “A tidal river.”

“Oh, right,” David said. “You thought your dead chap may have gone in and out on the tides. The River Teign would do it. It turns tidal close by the racecourse.”

“Do you have any reason to connect this gangster to the killing?” Kaz said.

“Apparently a competitor felt Sabini was encroaching on his territory and sent an assassin after him. This was three months ago. But Sabini must have turned the tables, since the killer was never heard from again.”

“That fits,” Kaz said. “The timing and the reason why no one filed a missing persons report.”

“Everything points to it,” I said.

“You don’t sound terribly convinced,” David said, whispering as he checked to see if anyone was listening. He was definitely enjoying himself. Dinner at Ashcroft was never half as exciting.

“I think it’s likely,” I said. “But we need to check it out. I’d like to hear Sabini’s side of the story to see if it matches up with what my contact told me. And I want to see exactly where the tides start in the River Teign, to be sure we have a reasonable case.”

“He’s not going to confess, do you think?” David asked.

“I don’t need him to confess. That’s up to Inspector Grange,” I said. “Our assignment is to make certain we know who the man on the beach was.”

“How are you even going to get him to talk to you?” David said.

“That’s where you come in,” I said. Kaz raised his eyebrows inquisitively. I told them about Sabini’s son Michael in the RAF and how he’d been shot down and killed. “Do you think you could come with us, and give your condolences? Tell Sabini you knew his son?”