Season Of Darkness (21 page)

“That is not the subject of my article,” said Beck. “However, you make a good point. I have noticed that it is particularly men who are drawn to the game. What does it say of our own Oedipal complex, that Father Glatz and I are both compulsive players? Are we resolved or unresolved?” He smiled a rather professorial smile intended to disarm.

The priest smiled back good-naturedly. “I was always of the opinion I had grown up with respect and admiration for my father and a normal healthy affection for my mother. Shouldn’t that make me rather bad at chess?”

“I cannot tell from what you are saying whether or not it is a good thing that I am mediocre at the game,” said Hans Hoeniger. “Do I therefore have a well-balanced personality?” His eyes danced with mischief. Beck came in for a lot of teasing in the camp. Although he was highly respected, many of
the internees considered the practice of psychoanalysis perilously close to the art of telling fortunes through the cards or tea leaves.

Beck wagged his finger at them. “You are both being far too simplistic. Unless I analyze you, I cannot determine all the complexities of your respective personalities.”

“Remind me not to start,” laughed Hoeniger. “But I am all ears. What is the article you are presenting to the inspector?”

Beck tapped at his pocket. “I presented this to the London Psychoanalytic Society in thirty-eight. It is entitled ‘The Urge to Confess: an Analysis of the Criminal Mind.’ Given the recent circumstances, I hope it will be helpful to him.”

“A provocative title. I would like to read it. Do you have another copy?”

The professor looked pleased. “I’m afraid this is the only one and it’s an English edition. But I would be happy to present the gist of my argument at the psychology club meeting, if you wish. However, you will have to be content with something a little less polished than I would like. I have not yet been able to obtain my complete files.” He shook his head. “I was arrested quite abruptly and had hardly time to pack anything.”

“As were so many of us, Herr Doktor,” said Silber. “Fortunately, a dear friend sent me a few books, so I am not totally bereft. Surely there is somebody who would do that for you?”

“I have sent word to my landlady, but so far she has not replied.”

“I think everybody would be delighted to hear what you have to say, polished or no,” said Glatz. “Don’t you agree, Herr Silber? Hans?”

“No good asking me,” said Silber. “I don’t have time for anything except the drama club. I’ve promised to do a version
of
Henry V
before we disband.” He shrugged at their expressions. “If you want to understand the English soul, you have to be familiar with
Henry V
.” He thrust his fist into the air.
“ ‘God for Harry, England and St. George.” ’
With a theatrical swirl he strode off, shouting out,
“Gentlemen in England now abed, Shall think themselves accursed they were not here …”

Father Glatz looked at Beck. “Is the man a genius, do you think?”

“He thinks he is,” said Hoeniger.

A football suddenly bounced toward them, almost hitting the professor on the head. A tanned and lithe young man in a singlet and shorts came darting between the tents.

“Oops, sorry gentlemen.” He grabbed the ball and dashed off again.

“Bader, you shouldn’t be playing so close to the tents,” Father Glatz shouted after him.

“There’s another subject worthy of your analysis, Dr. Beck,” said Hoeniger. “The obsession mankind has with trying to get round objects of various sizes into some kind of crevice, also of variable size.”

Beck chuckled. “Very good, Hans. Very good. You’ve been paying attention to my talks I see.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I must get to my appointment. Good luck with the championship. Father, if Herr Hartmann gets restless, see if you can persuade him to do some violin practice. That usually soothes him.”

Beck headed off toward the gate.

“You can use my chess set for the game,” said Father Glatz to the seminarian.

Hoeniger beamed in delight. “How generous of you, Father.”

The chess set was the Jesuit’s prized possession, brought out only under special circumstances. The pieces were polished rosewood and exquisitely carved; each one, including
the pawns, had different features. Philipp Glatz obeyed his vow of poverty, but had never been able to relinquish this set, which was a gift from his father.

Hoeniger nodded in the direction of the guard tower. “They don’t seem to be interested in us today, thank goodness.”

“Keep your eye out. Any further infraction and we’ll report it again. Come on, I’ll give you the chess set and collect Professor Hartmann, poor fellow.”

C
LARE CLOSED THE DOOR OF THE HUT AND PULLED
the curtain across the window. Not that it was likely anybody in the camp could see her, but she didn’t want to be disturbed. She unlocked the desk drawer and took out an envelope marked
Top Secret
. She opened the seal and removed the piece of paper inside. Written on it were six names.

In a few minutes, she had committed the list to memory. She then reached for the cigarette lighter that was on the desk. She set fire to the sheet of paper, letting the ashes fall into the tray.

When Tyler arrived at the camp, he was aware that he seemed to elicit much more curiosity from the internees than before. He was sorry he had been the one to bring such fear to the camp. He gave a friendly wave to the group that was closest, but the response was perfunctory.

Major Fordham emerged from his tent and greeted Tyler with a hearty handshake.

“Morning, Inspector. Any news?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Nothing concrete.”

“Well, perhaps Dr. Beck can throw some light on the subject. Very clever man by all accounts.”

“So I understand.”

“Quite. In the interest of public relations, Mrs. Devereau has asked to sit in on your meeting. I saw no reason why not. I’m off to have a word with the cooks to see if we can organize a strawberry social. Our relations with the local people have vastly improved, but this terrible tragedy could be a setback.”

“Before we start, I wonder if I might have a word with the Catholic priest in the camp? It’s to do with another matter. Elsie Bates’s friend appears to be missing.”

“Good Lord.”

“According to the warden at the hostel, she probably attended the service of Mass here in the camp at least a couple of times. She may have been heading here last evening. She hasn’t been seen since.”

Fordham clicked his tongue. “I have allowed some people from the area to celebrate Mass with our internees. Catholics are in the minority here and it seemed like a nice bridge between us.” His gaze shifted toward the gate. “I see Dr. Beck approaching. He and Father Glatz are good friends. He’ll know where he is.”

Fordham ordered the sentry to open the gate. Tyler didn’t recognize the man walking towards them dressed as if he were a cricket umpire until the major called out to Dr. Beck.

“The inspector wants to have a word with Father Glatz. Could you locate him for us?”

“Of course. He was about to engage in a chess match in the mess tent.”

“The father’s English is a bit rudimentary,” added Fordham. “Things might move faster if Dr. Beck translated for you,
Inspector.” Beck had only the slightest of accents.

“Seeing as my German is non-existent, that sounds like a good idea.” said Tyler.

“I’ll fetch him,” said Beck. He stepped back with a little bow. “Come this way.” He pointed to a group of chairs that had been placed under a tarpaulin a few feet away. “We can meet over there if you like, Inspector. We call it our reading room. During the day, the sun blazes into the camp. I hoped we would have a reprieve today but it doesn’t look likely.”

The rain had stopped and the dark storm clouds were moving away. A patch of blue the size of a sailor’s trousers was showing to the west.

“I’ll leave you to it” said the major, and he headed off. He was immediately accosted by a handful of internees who wanted to speak to him. They walked off together, Fordham leaning his head intently as he listened.

Tyler went over to the “reading room.” He could understand why it had been set up. There was no shade at all in the camp, except that provided by the tents. He sat down in a canvas field chair. One of the ubiquitous blue butterflies danced around his head for a moment, then fluttered off to better sustenance.

Dr. Beck soon reappeared with a tall, distinguished-looking man in the black robe of a Catholic priest.

“Inspector Tyler, allow me to present Father Glatz.” He continued in English, speaking more slowly. “The inspector would like to speak to you about a young lady.”

Glatz had thick, dark hair combed back from his face, a ruddy complexion, and keen blue eyes. Tyler didn’t know why he should be a little surprised at such a masculine appearance, but the clergymen he’d met in the Church of England had all tended to be rather delicate and high-voiced. The priest gave him a firm handshake.

Beck helped out with the language, but it didn’t take long to elicit from the priest that, yes, a young woman such as he described had been a regular celebrant for the past three weeks or so. There was a handful of people from round and about who came to Mass. He set up his altar on one side of the gate, and they stood outside and received the consecrated bread through the wire. “I sometimes found it hard to distinguish who was a prisoner and who wasn’t,” said the priest. “Nevertheless, I am most happy to demonstrate the unity of the Catholic community, no matter whether German or English.”

“Did this young woman attend Mass yesterday evening?” asked Tyler.

“She did not. There were only two outside celebrants. An older woman and a young man from a nearby farm.”

“What time was this, Reverend?”

“Seven o’clock. It is always at seven. The meal is over by then.”

There was nothing more the priest could offer, so Beck and Tyler proceeded to the major’s tent.

Tyler thought Glatz looked wistful as they parted. Nobody found being behind barbed wire an easy thing.

Once outside the gate, Beck stopped and took a deep breath.

“I realize this is fanciful, but the air on this side of the wire smells sweeter to me.”

Clare was waiting in the tent and she smiled a warm greeting at Tyler. Pleasure ran through his body, suffusing him with energy. He wanted to rush over and kiss her, but had to content himself with smiling back and touching her arm lightly as he sat down.

Dr. Beck gave a little bow, took her hand, and brushed his lips across her fingers. “Good morning, Frau Devereau. May I say that, as always, you look completely ravishing.”

Clare laughed. “You yourself look very smart today.”

He patted his stomach. “I have not worn these clothes all summer and I find the trousers to sit quite tightly on me. The result of camp cooking, I suppose, and not enough exercise.”

It was hard to say how old the doctor was. His hair and beard were streaked with grey, but his body was trim and fit for all his self-deprecation. His brown eyes were shrewd. For absolutely no rational reason, the man was irritating Tyler, and this made him jump in abruptly.

“Perhaps we could get down to business. As I understand it, you have done some study into the minds of criminals, and you thought you had some insights that could help me with my case.”

Both the professor and Clare glanced at him with surprise. His tone must have been sharper than he realized.

“I do hope you don’t consider me an arrogant ivory-tower dweller who thinks I can tell you how to do your job,” said Beck. “I assure you that is not the case. I have the utmost respect for the British police force. However, I have made a particular study of crime, and I thought the only responsible thing to do was to pass along some of the things I have learned. It is up to you to use these insights or not as you see fit.”

“I shall endeavour to keep an open mind.”

Beck nodded. “That is all anybody can ask, Inspector.”

Clare smiled at Beck, which only aggravated Tyler more. He looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I do have a rather limited amount of time.”

Beck was unruffled. “Would it be simpler if I gave you a copy of my article and you can peruse it at your leisure?”

“Oh dear, what a pity,” said Clare. “I was looking forward to hearing what you had to say, Dr. Beck.”

“And I to imparting it. A professor with no classroom is like a solider without a regiment.” He took a slim, cloth-bound
book from his inner pocket and handed it to Tyler. “I do ask you to return it when you are finished. It is my only copy. The others were confiscated by the Nazis and burned.”

“What a shame you didn’t get Herr Hitler to lie on your couch,” said Tyler. “I bet he would be an interesting case.”

Beck shrugged, a gesture more Gallic than Germanic. “On the contrary, Inspector. The closed mind such as exists in most Nazis is dull and ultimately untreatable. I prefer to take on the lowly station clerk who has an open mind.”

“If he could afford analysis,” said Tyler. “I believe it is an expensive process.”

“It is. But I myself subsidize the therapy if I find the patient worthwhile.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. The doctor began to pat his pockets, a man searching for his tobacco. Tyler took out his own case and offered him a cigarette. Beck accepted and they both lit up, relaxing with the ritual.

“I used to smoke only cigars,” said the doctor, “but alas my dear friend and mentor, Dr. Freud, was quite addicted to his cigars and suffered dreadfully before he died from a cancer of the jaw. I thought there might be a connection between the two things, so I have now switched to cigarettes.” He chuckled. “You’ve no doubt heard the story about Dr. Freud and his little weakness? No? Somebody once asked Freud if he had ever analyzed his predilection for cigars, as they might be considered phallic symbols and all that. The good doctor replied, ‘Sometimes, my dear sir, a cigar is only a cigar.’ ”