Homeland (46 page)

Bennett had already put a hand on her shoulder. Now he said, ‘Slow down, Stella. Just slow down.’

She took a ragged breath and nodded vehemently.

‘This fight that Frank’s talking about – who was meant to be involved?’

‘Lyndon and Wladyslaw. And Jozef as well. I think so, anyway. I only heard the end of it, but I think that’s what Frank was saying – that it was the three of them.’

‘And when was this meant to have happened?’

She gave a fierce sigh. ‘Last night.’

‘And the reason?’

‘Oh, no reason! How could there be any reason? No – there was no reason.’ Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears. ‘Please, Doctor – make them understand this is
madness
. Make them realise there’s no one to blame. Lyndon’s dead and nothing’s going to bring him back. Nothing.’ Her face contorted and reddened.

‘But Stella, I’m not sure quite what I can do.’

‘Oh, please.’ She dragged on his arm like a child.

‘The police will make whatever enquiries they want to make. I can hardly ask them to stop.’

Dropping her head, Stella pressed a hand over her eyes and began to sob.

He gazed at her helplessly. ‘I could try to find out what’s happening, I suppose. I could go and talk to them.’

She lowered her hand to her mouth and looked at him through her tears.

‘That’s all I can do, Stella.’

She nodded dumbly and in a swift movement laid her head against his shoulder and embraced him untidily, before hurrying back towards the stairs.

Bennett did not stay long with Janet Hanley. Sometimes the bereaved wanted to reminisce, sometimes to ponder the mystery of death and the chances of eternal life; but sometimes
they simply wanted to be left alone with their families. When Janet Hanley failed to respond to his questions and finally gestured him away, he bowed to her wishes and, leaving a sleeping draught
for the night, said he would return next day.

He set out for Taunton in the odd state of light-headedness that exhaustion and illness can bring. His lungs were hurting, the daylight seemed to beat hard on his brain, and a cluster of
shifting dots had began to dance menacingly in the corner of his vision. His sense of time and distance became spasmodic, so that the journey seemed to progress in strange leaps, with landmarks
looming up out of nowhere and the intervening terrain lost to consciousness, even memory.

At this time on a Sunday there were few cars on the streets of Taunton and even fewer people. Inside the police station, however, it could have been a weekday in a busy firm. As Bennett
announced himself to the uniformed desk officer he heard phones ringing and the murmur of voices and the clip of heels hurrying along corridors. A part of his mind registered the thought that this
level of activity was unexpected for a Sunday. It didn’t occur to him to connect it with Lyndon’s death, the idea would have seemed out of all proportion.

‘If you’d like to wait in there, sir.’ The desk officer indicated a side room painted cream and brown with a narrow window and a line of wooden chairs and the occasional
cigarette-scarred table pushed hard against the walls. An unkempt woman with glaring eyes appeared to be the only occupant until, stepping inside, Bennett saw a man sitting in the near corner. It
was Frank Carr.

‘Well, I never!’ Frank cried, getting hastily to his feet. ‘Hello, Doctor!’ Then, in a great dawning of understanding, he said in a low conspiratorial voice, ‘You
must be here for the same reason as I am.’

‘I expect so, yes.’ Bennett indicated the chair next to Frank’s. ‘May I?’

‘By all means!’ Frank waited attentively until Bennett had taken his seat before perching on the edge of his chair and pulling a packet of Player’s from his pocket.
‘Cigarette, Doctor?’

‘No, thanks.’

Tapping one out, Frank announced, ‘Don’t usually partake myself, but in the circumstances – thought it might calm the nerves.’ He struck a match and held it to the
cigarette with childlike concentration before turning his eyes avidly on Bennett’s. ‘Shocking business, eh, Doctor? Shocking.’

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

‘Saw him in the George only last night, large as life, enjoying a pint or two, having a joke with the rest of us. You just never know what’s round the corner, do you? Here one
minute, then—’ He pulled down his mouth in an expression of doom.

Bennett nodded sagely.

‘You, er – know how he was found, do you, Doctor?’

‘Yes. I attended the scene.’

Frank looked at him with awe. ‘Oh, forgive me, Doctor. I hadn’t realised. Yes, of course . . . Yes. In which case you
know
, then. You know how it was.’

‘I don’t know anything, Frank. I prefer to leave that to the police.’

‘Oh yes, indeed. Yes . . . We can only play our part. We can only make our contribution.’ With a glance at the unkempt woman on the other side of the room Frank lowered his voice
confidingly. ‘That’s the reason I’m here, see, Doctor. ’Cause I saw something last night, this
incident
which might just have a bearing, if you understand
me.’

Bennett coughed and felt a pain shoot up under his ribs. ‘Oh yes?’

‘I wasn’t sure what was best to begin with,’ Frank commented. ‘I mean, you don’t want to go stirring up trouble where it’s not warranted, do you? But seeing
as someone has
died
and those Poles of Stan Thorne’s were involved – well, I felt it wouldn’t be right to let the matter rest. I felt—’

Bennett coughed and gasped and could not catch his breath.

‘You all right, Doctor?’

‘Fine,’ he spluttered. ‘Please – do go on.’

‘I didn’t feel I could go to the police though, not straight off, not without getting Arthur’s say-so. So when I went to pay my respects, I asked him. I said, this is what I
saw, Arthur – what do you think I should do? Should I go and tell them? Well, he had no doubts, none at all. In fact he brought me here himself. Yes, it was a weight off my mind, I can tell
you, knowing he was with me on this. Oh yes – a weight and a half. And of course, the police – they listened all right. They took a statement from me. It’s evidence, see.
Evidence.’

A tight band had settled around Bennett’s lungs, usually the harbinger of an asthma attack, and he tried to concentrate on his breathing. ‘Frank, the cigarette – would you
mind? Just till I get over this coughing.’

‘Course, Doctor. You should have said.’ He turned away and stubbed the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray.

Bennett took a slow breath. ‘So, what was it you saw, Frank?’

‘I saw a fight, that’s what I saw! Yes, right outside the George. I came out and there they were, having a set-to, fists and all.’

‘They being?’

‘Those Poles! Yelling and shouting they were, before wading in and punching Lyndon to the floor.’

‘And it was both the Poles, was it? Both were fighting?’

‘Ohh, yes. Each as bad as the other.’

‘You could see in the dark? It
was
dark, wasn’t it?’

Frank frowned at the slant Bennett’s questions were taking. ‘There was the light from the pub, and no mistake.’

‘And you’re sure the other one was Lyndon Hanley?’

‘I know what I saw,’ Frank said stiffly, taking offence. ‘It was Lyndon all right. I wouldn’t mistake a thing like that. Saw the whole thing, clear as day. Poor devil
never had a chance, they were on him so quick.’

There was a discrepancy in the story somewhere, but Bennett didn’t feel he could press Frank any further. ‘So how did it end?’

Frank stated self-righteously, ‘I stopped it myself, that’s what. I yelled at them to lay off.’

‘And they did?’

‘Ohh yes, they stopped all right.’

‘And then? What happened after that, Frank?’

But Frank’s eyes had shifted to a point above Bennett’s head. Following his gaze, Bennett turned to see Arthur Hanley standing in the doorway. Getting to his feet, Bennett went and
shook his hand gravely, before drawing him towards the relative privacy of the front lobby. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Please accept my
condolences.’

‘I told you it was a mistake to let them into the country,’ Hanley said with cold rancour. ‘I told you what would happen.’

Bennett almost said something, but thought better of it.

‘They’re brutes. Vermin. The lowest of the low.’

Bennett chose his words with the sense of picking his way through a minefield. ‘But Arthur . . . can we be certain they were involved? Do we know—’

‘They killed my son. They killed him, and I’m going to see ’em hang for it.’

For a moment Bennett could only stare at him. When he finally spoke, it was gently, in a tone of concern. ‘Perhaps . . . don’t you think . . . it might be best to wait until the
police have finished their investigation before—’

‘Wait?’

‘Yes. For their findings.’

Something in this was the undoing of Hanley. ‘For God’s sake!’ he howled, pushing his fists down to his sides and shaking with fury. ‘They killed my son!’ His face
turned crimson and the veins stood out from his temples in tight bunches. ‘They – killed – my – son!’

Bennett made a gesture of retreat. ‘I understand,’ he said rapidly. ‘Please don’t distress yourself. Would you like some water? Shall I—’

‘They
attacked
him and then they
hit
him when he was down.’

Bennett was careful to make no response.

‘His
head
was stove in.’

Still Bennett said nothing.

‘They treated him worse than an animal, because they’re worse than animals themselves! Vermin!’

And then it was over as quickly as it had begun. Hanley exhaled with a shudder and screwed his eyes shut while he hauled himself back from the brink.

During Hanley’s tirade Frank had appeared from the side room and Inspector Shearer from the corridor.

Bennett murmured, ‘See him home, will you, Frank? Tell him I’ll call in later.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’

Bennett stood on the step and watched them go. When he came back into the lobby, Shearer was waiting with the look of a man who is pressed for time.

‘Doctor? You wanted to see me?’

Bennett mustered his story. ‘Yes, Inspector. Yes . . . The motorbike. You know Lyndon had a motorbike?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I think you should also know that he used to drive it very fast, not to mention dangerously. And that he occasionally – no,
more
than occasionally – used to drive
it while under the influence of drink.’

The inspector absorbed this slowly, with a series of small nods. ‘Indeed?’

‘I patched him up once after an accident.’

‘Did you now?’

‘He hit his head flying over a wall. Lucky to have escaped without serious injury.’

‘Indeed?’

‘And he’d certainly had a few drinks on that occasion.’

‘Well . . . I’m most grateful. Thank you for letting me know, Doctor.’ With a flash of his bleak professional smile, the inspector prepared to move off.

Bennett detained him with a move of one hand. ‘And, er . . . I wasn’t sure if you wanted any information on tides, river flow . . . that sort of thing. It was an equinoctial spring
tide last night . . . very high . . .’ He trailed off indecisively.

‘Thank you, but we have someone to advise us on these things.’

‘Ah. Of course.’

There was a pause while Inspector Shearer waited to see if Bennett had anything more to say and Bennett wondered how best to broach the subject of the Poles.

‘Obviously Arthur Hanley is deeply shocked,’ Bennett said.

‘Obviously.’

‘He seems to have got the idea that Lyndon was attacked and killed.’

The inspector’s expression did not alter.

‘And that the two Poles in the village were somehow to blame.’

The inspector tucked in his chin and crossed his arms in the stance of a man who is about to be subjected to an opinion he does not need and does not want.

‘But I feel sure he’s got quite the wrong end of the stick, Inspector. I happen to know Wladyslaw Malinowski extremely well, and I can vouch for him without reservation. He
couldn’t possibly have been involved in something like that.’ Bennett halted, aware that he was arguing against the available evidence. ‘I gather there was some sort of dispute
last night,’ he continued awkwardly. ‘But I’m sure you’ll find it was just a harmless scuffle, an excess of high spirits after an evening in the pub. Wladyslaw is an
extremely peaceable chap, a bookish sort of fellow. He’d never resort to violence, and I’m certain he would never encourage anyone else to do so either.’

At the end of this speech the inspector’s expression had if anything grown harder, and for a moment Bennett imagined the men of the Polish Corps as this seasoned policeman might see them,
as volatile foreigners with ungovernable temperaments, battle-hardened campaigners from war-torn lands who, far from abhorring violence, retained a dangerous taste for it.

Bennett switched to firmer ground. ‘But surely Lyndon’s death was an accident anyway?’ he said. ‘Surely he just crashed into the river?’

The inspector lifted his chin and raised his eyebrows in an expression of absorption. ‘Something to consider, I’m sure. Thank you for your thoughts, Doctor. Most grateful.’

Bennett watched the inspector walk briskly away with the feeling that he had argued his case badly, indeed that he might have done better not to have spoken at all.