Songbird Under a German Moon (24 page)

“Last night when I walked home from Wahnfried…”

Betty paused to face him. “You did have to walk home, didn't you? Howard was with us. I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about that.”

“Don't worry.” He continued forward, and she picked up her pace, keeping in step with him.

“Betty, I walked by the pond, and I didn't see Kat. Either her body was under the water or it happened after—and that was around midnight.”

Betty was silent, and for a moment, Frank wondered if she'd heard him.

“Betty?” he asked.

“I heard you. I'm trying to think about it. Trying to make sense of it, but I can't get it straight in my mind.”

Frank eyed the heaps of rubble and broken fragments of walls standing like monoliths, stark against the gray sky. “Yeah, I can't make sense of it either.”

His soul ached from the sights around him and from the fact that things weren't getting better.

“This whole place is broken, isn't it?” Frank said, noticing the sadness etched on Betty's face. “You'd think we'd get used to pain and loss, but I don't think we can.”

“No, especially when it doesn't make sense. Pain in war is understandable, but—not this.” She sighed. “Things are supposed to be better, right? We won the war. Where is that happily-ever-after ending we looked forward to?”

“It's not on this earth.” Frank kicked at a piece of crumbled brick. “Sometimes I doubt if we'll ever find it.”

“We still search for it.”

“Yes, I know.” He shook his head. “We try to bring normality into hard places, don't we? The other day I was surprised to find gift shops, tailor shops, and a portrait studio that had already popped up amidst the rubble to serve the Americans. I hear a movie theater and soda fountain are coming next.”

“And let's not forget the candy and tobacco in the pocket of every GI.” She sighed. “It's as if we think if we focus on those things we'll forget the brokenness around us.”

They walked for a little while longer and crested a hill. When they reached the top, Betty tugged on his arm. “Frank, look.”

He followed her gaze and his eyes narrowed. It was a long, wretched column of men, women, and children.

“Where are they coming from? What's going on?” she asked.

“I've heard the guys talking about this,” he answered. “They are Sudeten Germans pouring over the border every day from Czechoslovakia. Hitler took that part of Czechoslovakia first, and many Germans took up residence there. Now they are no longer welcome.”

“Is that a nice way of saying they're being driven out?”

“Yes.”

Frank eyed the sad-looking group for a while. Everyone looked so weak and scared. Seeing them made his heart ache. Frank placed his hand on the small of Betty's back. “Maybe we should turn back.”
We've had enough heartache for one day,
he wanted to add.

They turned away from the spectacle, and then they walked in silence, lost in their thoughts. As they drew closer to Frank's house, he looked over at her. “I can find a ride for you—back to Wahnfried
if you'd like. I wish I could go with you myself, but I have to deliver some photos.”

Betty looked over at him, and her expression said she knew exactly what photos they were. “A ride would be great. Thank you.”

“Betty, I also want you to promise me you won't go anywhere alone. That you will keep the house locked—”

She cut him short. “They've posted MPs at the house. Mickey's not going to let anything happen to us. I'm pretty sure that even if they officially say it was suicide, we're going to have security watching over us for a while.”

“That's good. That makes me feel better.”

He said the words but he didn't mean them. Only discovering the truth would make him feel better, Frank knew.

They turned back onto his street. Frank paused, and then he softly took Betty's shoulders and turned her toward him. “I—I've also been thinking about us, Betty. I want you to know me. Trust me. Trust my heart. And I want to get to know you better too.”

“I appreciate that.” Betty nodded as she said the words, but Frank could see something else in her eyes—confusion.

“I'd still like to spend more time with you. Maybe it's my way to make sure you're safe.” That wasn't a lie.

“You better get going.” She patted his lapel, and he appreciated how she tried to smile despite her sadness. “I see Howard up there. I'll go ask for a ride.”

Sure enough, Frank turned and spotted Howard. He was sitting in his jeep, clearly watching them. He didn't avert his gaze when Frank met his eyes. He just continued to stare, to watch.

An icy cold wave of panic washed over Frank, and he wondered if Howard had returned after they'd left. If Art had let him in. If so, they could have found the second set of prints—

“Uh, sure, Betty. Go ahead and ask Howard for a ride.” Frank smiled, hoping she couldn't see the worry in his gaze. “And you're right. I need to get back to work. I can guess that right now the press is being notified about Kat's death—Edward's death too. And maybe my photos will help them know what to officially report.” He shrugged. “Or at least they'll have one more clue leading to the truth.”

Frank tried not to act surprised when he walked into Denzel Bailey's office and saw Officer Gordon Frey sitting there with a scowl on his face. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

When Frank had first returned to his house, he'd been relieved to find Art gone and their house locked. The darkroom had remained locked too. Looking around the darkroom, Frank's guess had been that no one had touched his things. He packed up one set of prints and hid the second in his room, satisfied his secret was safe.

But now, from the look on Officer Frey's face, Frank wondered if Howard had gotten in, seen the second set of prints after all, and told Officer Frey about them. If so, he had a lot of dancing around the subject to do.

“Frank, would you have a seat?” Denzel motioned to a high-backed wooden chair.

Frank sat.

“Oh, can you close the door, please,” Denzel said, and Frank's shoulders tightened at his friend's forced smile.

“Yeah, sure.” Frank rose, closed the door, and his brow furrowed. He sat in the chair again, his posture erect and his stomach tight with tension. He looked from Denzel, to Officer Frey, then back to
Denzel again. Frank held the large folder of photos he'd developed, along with the film.

Frey had mentioned earlier that he might ask Frank more questions about what he saw—or rather, didn't see—last night on the trail, but from the tension in the room, something more was going on.

Why is Denzel acting so strange? Why is Officer Frey looking at me like that?

“So”—Denzel leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk—“Mr. Witt, I hear you have a problem with Officer Frey's investigative skills.”

Frank's eyes widened. Mr. Witt? “Oh, no, sir.” Back in England, he and Denzel had hung out at least once every week, maybe more. They'd trained together and taken leave together, but he'd never seen this side of his friend.

“Really? Is that true, Mr. Witt? You are
not
having a problem with my investigation?” Officer Frey crossed his arms over his chest. “One of the MPs, Howard Lenard, said you had a few questions for him today. He said that you questioned whether we'd investigated as we ought. According to him, you accused us—me—of falling short because I'm so focused on the war trials coming up in Nuremberg.”

“No, sir, that's not what I meant. That sounds worse than I intended. I just know what I saw last night when I walked by that pond. I didn't see any sign of Kat in the water.”

“That
is
a problem, you not seeing her in the pond. Especially when you claim to have been there after the time we assume she waded into the water. In fact, your statement is the one thing that keeps me from making a firm declaration. Everything else stacks up
to suicide.” Officer Frey rose and moved to the window, peering out. He stood there for a moment, watching whatever was happening in the street below him. Frank wondered if he should say something. Then he decided it was probably better that he kept quiet.

Frank looked to Denzel, but his friend quickly looked away, staring instead at the ticking clock on the wall as if timing the silence.

Finally, Officer Frey turned and leaned back, sitting on the wide windowsill. “We examined Katherine Wiseman's body and there indeed is no sign of injury. Her body was unmarked except for one small bruise on her arm that could have come from just about anything.” Officer Frey turned and studied Frank's face.

“What about an autopsy, sir? Surely that would be the one thing that would tell us if she died by drowning—or by some other way.”

“Where do you think we are? Do you think the Los Angeles County General Hospital is right next door? This was a war zone just a few months ago. We have thousands of bodies in the morgue—shouldn't all of them get the same treatment? Katherine Wiseman had a motive. She had the time to walk down there without anyone bothering her. There was no suicide note, but she spoke her intentions to an entire audience.”

Frank nodded, wondering why Officer Frey would take the time to explain all this to him.

“There's only one thing that has me bothered, you see—it's your statement.” Officer Frey's gaze bore into Frank. “Because of what you said, I've taken more time to think about who could possibly want Kat dead and what his, or her, motive would be. It was not a
robbery. She was still wearing her wedding band. She was not physically assaulted. She was loved and adored by many. Then…”

“Then?” Frank asked.

“Then, I started thinking about who would benefit from her death, and there were only two people that came to mind—you, and your friend Betty.”

Frank jumped to his feet. “Are you crazy?”

“Go ahead and sit, Frank. No one's saying you did it.” Denzel rose, walked around the desk, and placed a hand on Frank's shoulder.

Frank felt his chest tighten, and he placed a hand over his heart. It had never beat so wildly—not even when he was in a bomber that was being shot at by ground artillery. Reluctantly, he sat.

Denzel released Frank's shoulder and returned to his chair behind his desk. “You're not saying that you think either of them did it, right, Officer Frey?”

Officer Frey folded his hands on his lap. “No. I don't think you killed her,
but
if someone did, the two of you would have the best motives.”

“How's that?” Frank forced his voice to hold steady. “I don't know how you could say that.”

“First of all, Songbird had the most direct access to Kat. She was no doubt trusted too. And now—” Officer Frey sighed. “Now, she'll always be known as the girl who stepped up to save the day, by singing Kat's last number. More than that, now she's gonna be the star.”

“Betty was either singing or with me. Besides, there's no way she could have killed Kat. She's as gentle as a kitten. If you knew her, you'd know it's impossible.”

“That's also the conclusion I came to. That's why I turned my attention to you.” Officer Frey said this in such an even tone Frank wasn't sure he heard him correctly.

Frank placed the envelope on his lap and pressed his hands into his forehead, feeling an ache come on. Then he turned his gaze to his friend. “Oh, come on, Denzel, we've known each other for years. How can you possibly sit there and listen to this?”

Instead of answering, Denzel looked away.

Officer Frey stretched out his hand to the package Frank held. “Are those the photos?”

“Yes, sir.” Frank handed him the envelope.

Officer Frey opened the envelope and slid the photos out onto the desk. On the top of the pile were photos of Kat on stage the night before. There were a dozen decent shots. There were also a few of her running off the stage.

“I'm sure the newsmen will ask for these.” Officer Frey turned to Denzel. “You know how those newsmen are, don't you? They're always on the lookout for that one shot that will epitomize what they can't say in a thousand words. We've seen it before. There are photos of D-Day and Iwo Jima that have made their way into the hearts and minds of every American. There wasn't a paper in America that didn't print those shots. I have a feeling, these last ones of Katherine Wiseman will get the same attention.”

Officer Frey sat at the desk, took one of the photos from the stack, and placed it in front of Frank. It was one of Kat on stage. Frank had captured her just as she first stumbled over the words to the song. Her blond hair was perfectly coiled. Her white dress flowed around
her like an angel's gown. The tops of soldiers' heads were barely seen at the bottom of the photo, but Kat was not looking toward them. Instead, her face was lifted. She looked up into the sky with sad, mournful eyes. Her mouth circled in a sweet O, and tears rimmed her eyes. Her hands were partially lifted as if she wanted to lift off the stage and escape. It was a beautiful shot if Frank said so himself.