Season Of Darkness (33 page)

Tyler frowned. “If they are going to receive instructions, the collaborator must be somebody who comes and goes in the camp without question. There must be at least a good dozen or more people who fall into that category, including the guards.”

Grey chuckled with pleasure as if Tyler was a particularly bright pupil. “Quite right.”

Tyler swilled the coffee around in his cup but didn’t drink it. “You also said that his last transmission was on Thursday evening. What time?”

“Six minutes before seven.”

“It is quite possible then that Rose Watkins disturbed him. You do know what I am referring to, I presume?”

“Yes, most unfortunate.”

“ We found evidence not far from where the transmitter was buried that indicates it was where she was killed. Maybe the collaborator was the one who murdered her.”

“Yes, that is, as you say, quite possible.”

“But I am not allowed to find or arrest the bastard?”

“Not just yet, Inspector. I promise you as soon as our own case is wrapped up, we will know who this person is and you will be informed at once. At the moment, there is a much greater good that can be achieved by letting him continue unsuspecting.”

“And what do you want my role to be, Mr. Grey?”

“Shall we say, the collie, or perhaps the shepherd? We want the sheep to believe the heat is off. Perhaps you would be so good as to contact the local newspaper and say that you are stumped. Repeat your request for witnesses. Say you suspect the two dead girls were involved in a love triangle.”

“Do you think the two deaths are connected?”

“I really can’t say. My concern is solely to do with the collaborator and the mole. Perhaps it is a coincidence that the young women were killed in the same general vicinity.” Grey turned his head toward the door. “Would it be possible to get another cup of that excellent coffee? It really does seem to alleviate the pain in my jaw.”

“Of course.” Tyler went out and forwarded the request to Gough who looked surprised. When he went back to his desk, Grey was sitting back in his chair with his eyes closed.

He sat up quickly. “I beg pardon, too many late nights. Now where were we?”

“You were trying to persuade me in the interests of national security to slow down my investigation.”

“Ah yes, quite so.” Grey laced his long slender fingers. “Inspector, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you what I am now going to tell you, but I see it is necessary. There is even
more at stake than our transmitter chappie.”

Tyler bit back his own retort.
For God’s sake get on with it mate
.

“In our work, we have to use all kinds of information-gathering. It doesn’t matter how small the information is, little pieces can add up to a big and important picture … one of the reasons I would like you to lie low with your investigation is not only what I have already told you, although that is all true. There is another factor that frankly I was hoping not to reveal.”

My God, the man’s constipated
. Tyler was saved from snapping at him by a tap on the door, and Gough entered with another jug of coffee.

“Ah, thank you, Sergeant. I do so appreciate this. And a chocolate biscuit, how super.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” said Gough, and where Grey couldn’t see him, he raised his eyebrows in an amused lift to Tyler.

When Grey had sipped at his coffee and dipped his biscuit ’til it was a soggy mess that he caught just in time, Tyler went back to the conversation.

“You were saying there is another reason you don’t want me to pursue the investigations of the murders of Elsie Bates and Rose Watkins. I’d be more than happy to know what it is and I promise you I won’t have hysterics.”

Grey grinned at him. “Don’t speak too soon, my dear chap. You might not like what I am going to tell you.”

Tyler felt his stomach clench.

“I understand that Mrs. Clare Devereau is an old friend of yours?”

“We knew each other many years ago, if that’s what you mean.”

“Mrs. Devereau is employed by MI5.”

T
YLER STARED AT
G
REY. “WHAT!
Y
OU’RE TELLING ME
Clare Devereau is a spy?”

“My God, I deplore that word. It sounds as if we’re in a penny dreadful. Let’s say she feeds us any information she considers relevant that she gleans from the correspondence and interactions of the internees at Prees Heath. We are at war, after all, and they can hardly be surprised at that.” He paused. “Now, you must keep this totally under your hat. Any leak would jeopardize her safety. The camp will be breaking up soon and Mrs. Devereau will be reassigned. She hasn’t lived here for many years, but she considers herself a patriot and, in her own words, ‘the Germany that she once loved has become a frightening place.’ She has been invaluable. So you can see it is most important that she remain completely in the background. No scandal, no unwanted attention. Part of her usefulness to us depends to some extent on the fact that the people she interacts with trust her. In their eyes, she is an interpreter, pure and simple. They know she acts as an official censor but they expect that. For us, she, er … makes reports.”

“I see.”

“Surely as a policeman you have used informers. It is no different.”

“But the men in the camp are not criminals.”

“At least one of them is what you would call a spy, and dangerous to our country’s welfare. That is why we must proceed as we have been doing until the time is ripe. No further stirring of the hornet’s nest. All I am asking for is two weeks
at the most, then you can proceed as you would normally.”

He hadn’t caught his next biscuit dip in time and he was forced to fish out the soggy mess with his spoon. He swallowed it with obvious enjoyment, then put his cup and saucer on the floor beside him.

“Thank you so much. That was most appreciated. I’d better get back.”

“One moment, sir. I am surprised that Mrs. Devereau works for MI5, but she isn’t involved in the case I am currently investigating. I fail to see why her name would even come up.”

Grey touched his jaw gingerly. “I had a word with Dr. Murnaghan … got to keep our fingers in any problematic pies, don’t you know. He said that the Bates girl had been struck by a vehicle before she was shot.”

“That’s right. That’s his assessment.”

“I know you will be checking all car registrations and Mrs. Devereau drives a car. A nice little
MG.”

“I know that.”

“You can cross her off your list.”

“Why?”

“Because I am happy to say I can provide her with an alibi for the time in question. Some time between six and seven o’clock on Thursday morning, as I understand?”

Tyler nodded.

“I myself was with Clare Devereau at that time. We had spent the night together.”

Grey looked up at Tyler.

“Good heavens, Inspector, I didn’t mean to imply anything scandalous. We had work to catch up on. I took papers to her flat. It got so late, she suggested I stay for the night, which I did. I left about seven thirty the next day. Is that cast iron enough for you? I thought I’d save you the trouble of interviewing her.”

“Very thoughtful, sir. And where does Rose Watkins fit into this picture? Shortly before she died, Rose left a message at my home that she had important information for me. I did not get that message so I don’t know what she was referring to. Do you?”

“No, I don’t. With these young girls anything can assume the level of importance when to us it is quite trivial. And in case you are wondering, I do happen to know that Mrs. Devereau was working at the camp until quite late on Thursday. There would be many people who could testify to that.” He pulled back his coat sleeve, revealing his bony white wrist, and checked his watch. “My goodness gracious, I really must be going. I shall leave you to return the transmitter, Inspector. Thank you for your co-operation. I promise I shall keep you informed of any developments at our end.”

He left, and Tyler put his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands.

Grey had made such a point of giving Clare an alibi. Until now, as far as Tyler was concerned, she was just one more person on a list of car owners. But he couldn’t quite shrug off his earlier feeling that she was being evasive. Was that just secret service stuff or did Clare
need
an alibi? And if she did, what the hell did she have to do with Elsie Bates?

Another niggling thought was at the back of his mind. Was the reunion between him and Clare as spontaneous and joyful as he had thought? Or did Grey have something to do with orchestrating it? And why was she so interested in his investigation?

T
YLER RANG
C
LARE’S NUMBER BUT THERE WAS NO
answer. He presumed she was at the camp, where he had already arranged to meet Dr. Beck. Leaving Gough to explain what he could to the constables and get the transmitter back where they’d found it, he set out once more for the Heath Road.

He drove by the spot where Elsie’s body had been found. The police tape had been removed and soon there would be no indication that a young girl had met her death on this pass-by.

As he pulled up at the camp, he could see no sign of Clare’s
MG
. But Arthur Trimble was unloading a box from the back of his lorry.

“I presume you have permission from her ladyship to sell those eggs?”

Trimble scowled at him. “Of course I do. I didn’t know these petty matters were of importance to you, Inspector. I was under the impression you had a murderer to bring in.”

Shite. Tyler hated how Trimble seemed to best him. He moved on without saying anything more.

Dr. Beck was waiting for him on the other side of the gate. This time he was dressed more informally in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved white shirt. All he needed was a pith helmet. He greeted Tyler warmly as the sentry let him through.

“In spite of the circumstances, it is a pleasure to see you, Inspector. I always welcome the opportunity to talk to a colleague.”

Tyler didn’t think he would have put himself into that category, but Beck seemed sincere.

The guard saluted. “Major Fordham sends apologies for not being here, but he has offered his tent for your use.”

“Thank you, Corporal.”

“Shall I bring you some refreshments?”

“Dr. Beck?”

“I never refuse refreshment.”

The guard left them at the tent.

“Have you read my article yet?” Beck asked.

“No, sorry, I haven’t had the chance. But you do have some very interesting theories, Doctor, and I am in fact keeping an open mind. Frankly, I’m stumped, and anything you can say, theory or not, might be helpful.”

“My theory, as you call it, I would prefer to call observation. It is impossible for us not to reveal our individuality in virtually every aspect of our corporeal life. We walk a certain way, talk with our own speech rhythms, which is why mimics are so popular.”

Tyler was waiting for him to make a tent with his fingers, and he did.

“In the same way, killers have their own distinctive methods. One may use a knife, one may always strangle, another beat the victim, and so on. I don’t need to elaborate, I’m sure. You have two murders on your hands. I would ask, is there any similarity to the method of death? To the scene of the crime itself?”

Before Tyler could comment, they heard the sound of a trumpeter playing the reveille.

Beck jumped to his feet. “My goodness, I almost forgot. I hope it’s not unconscious resistance. I have agreed to be the master of ceremonies for the entertainment which is to take place tonight. I have to prepare people. Mr. Silber is going to
recite from
Henry V
and Mr. Schmidt will be presenting a new sound poem. Both need a bit of explaining. I’m sorry not to be able to finish our conversation. There was something I wanted to get your opinion about.”

As they stepped out of the tent, Tyler saw a familiar car turning onto the dirt road. At last. It was Clare’s green
MG
.

“Good. The lovely Mrs. Devereau is arriving,” said Beck. He pointed to the road again. “And there is Mrs. Thorne, I see.” Alice, in her goat cart, was entering the road to the camp. “I’m so glad. She brings fresh herbs to our wonderful cooks. Alas, I must admit to the power of the lower appetites. There are even some men in the camp who have admitted to some degree of lust.”

“For Alice?” Tyler asked, startled.

“Not Mrs. Thorne. Her little goat. In some cultures, roast goat is a great delicacy.”

Alice was hobbling Nellie on a patch of grass.

“She is also quite a healer,” continued Beck. “We only get a visit from the army Medical Officer once a month and frankly, he isn’t very good. He was a dentist previously and he’s always focused on our teeth. Mrs. Thorne dispenses all sorts of remedies, for headaches, sprains and bruises, insomnia. She has treated them all. She is highly thought of in the camp. Well, I should return to my side of the wire and leave you to greet Mrs. Devereau.”

The corporal opened the gate and Beck went inside.

Tyler walked over to Clare’s car.

“Tommy, how nice. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I was having a chin wag with Dr. Beck, unfortunately cut short.”

He held the door open and she climbed out of the car.

“Did you sort out the emergency?” she asked as they walked to the gate.

“Yes, I would say so.”

Clare looked over at him. “Perhaps we could continue with the thousand-and-one-nights theme. Seems as if there’s a lot more to say.”

“I can’t tonight. I have to work. How’s tomorrow – as long as the beef dripping will still be good.”

“I promise. Shall we say six?”

“Did you say ‘sex’?”

She laughed. “No, I did not.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Why don’t you come and have a glass of our excellent lemonade before you leave?”

“Sounds good.”

As they moved toward the mess tent, Clare received and replied to many greetings. All the men eyed Tyler curiously. One shabby-looking individual fell in beside them as they walked along the barbed wire–lined alley.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Devereau. Always brightens up the day to see you here. Did you decide to get a tattoo?” He touched her wrist with the tip of his finger. “Right there. It’d look lovely, like yourself. An English rose.”