The First Casualty (23 page)

‘The answer is no, of course not. I am a soldier, I know my duty and I saw what I saw, Captain, and what I saw was all I saw.’

‘And remind me again, what did you see?’

‘Very little.’

‘But what?’

‘I do not think that I can tell you any more than I told your colleagues. I was on the final round of my shift. I had first visited Captain Abercrombie and then the ward next door, where Hopkins and five other enlisted men slept. I was some time in the ward because some of the patients have physical injuries as well as mental ones and their dressings needed changing for the night. Also one of the patients was having a particularly noisy fit and I was required to ring for assistance and administer a needle.’

‘Your colleague left before you?’

‘Yes, I had the rest of my work to do in the ward. When I had finished and walked as much as halfway back to my room, I remembered that I had left the needle and dish in the ward. Obviously I couldn’t leave something like that lying about with the men in the state they were, so I returned and as I was doing so I saw a British officer walking briskly away from Abercrombie’s room. I saw only his back and he quickly disappeared up the corridor, in the opposite direction from me.’

‘Would you say he was in a hurry?’

‘Yes,’ I would definitely say he was in a hurry.’

‘Did he appear in any way what you might call furtive?’

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact I think that perhaps he did.’

‘Please be good enough to explain to me how it is possible for the back of a man to appear furtive.’

‘Well…I don’t know.’

‘Did he stoop? Did he skulk? Did he hover in shadows and wear a big cloak?’

The young woman’s face flushed with anger.

‘You are being facetious.’

‘You said he looked furtive. I would like to know what gave you that impression.’

‘He was in a hurry.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Yes, that’s all. I didn’t say he
was
furtive, I said that perhaps he
looked
a bit furtive.’

‘And you think he killed Abercrombie?’

‘I don’t think Private Hopkins did.’

‘Why?’

‘Because in his moments of lucidity he swears he didn’t and in my experience shell shock does not induce murderous leanings. Suicidal certainly, but not murderous.’

‘On the other hand we know very little about shell shock, do we not?’

‘As a matter of fact we know a good deal about shell shock, Captain,’ Murray replied angrily. ‘It’s just that most of what we know the army refuses to acknowledge because they wish they did not know it. They seek to deny it, or at least to deny it in all but the most extreme cases when a man’s fists are so clenched that his fingernails are growing through the palms of his hands.’

‘You think that the army does not treat shell shock sympathetically? ‘

‘I have told you, the army’s sole ambition is to return men to the front, or, better still, to prevent men from leaving it.’

They had left the elm copse now and arrived at the edge of the château’s grounds. Beyond them lay the enchanting valley of the River Lys. Wild flowers were still in bloom in the fields, the leaves on the trees were still rich and green, and from where they stood three church spires were visible. Kingsley thought of July 1914, when the whole world had been like this and George had been one year old and he and Agnes the happiest people on earth.

The estate was bounded by nothing more than a low fence, which they walked along until they came upon a stile.

‘Shall we cross over or have you walked enough?’ the nurse enquired.

‘I don’t think I could ever walk enough in such a place as this,’ Kingsley replied.

Nurse Murray put a foot upon the stile. For a moment Kingsley’s instincts nearly led him to take her arm and assist her but fortunately he remembered in time that this would scarcely be a welcome gesture. Instead he stood back and let her climb the obstacle unaided.

‘You don’t seem much like a military policeman to me,’ Nurse Murray said.

‘And what are military policemen like?’ Kingsley asked.

‘Bastards,’ she replied. ‘Swine. Poor donkeys, how could they be anything else? After all, it’s their job to keep the army at the front, isn’t it? That’s your one rule. Tommy must be more scared of you than he is of the Hun, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘So why aren’t I scared of you?’

‘I don’t know, perhaps I’m not very good at my job.’

‘I think you’re probably very good at your job, which is why they have sent you. Perhaps General Staff are not as stupid as I’ve always assumed.’

‘Were you scared of the military policemen who came before me then?’

Murray paused. She clearly did not want to admit it.

‘Yes, I suppose so. They were rather a rough bunch. It was after midnight, I’d been called from my bed after Abercrombie was found dead. Poor Hopkins was just sitting there in his bed, not speaking, swaying back and forth with that awful gun still in his lap. We took it off him and he did not seem even to notice. It smelt of cordite. Then very quickly they arrived, four enormous men, a sergeant and three corporals. Smart as paint, boots gleaming, stamping and shouting. They marched in, took the gun and then grabbed Hopkins,’ pulled him bodily from the bed. That broke his trance and he screamed and soiled himself all at once.

I’ve never seen such terror. I tried to stop the MPs from being so rough, I told them there was a procedure and that I would accompany the prisoner.’

‘And how did they react to that?’

‘They reacted like all rozzers in my experience, like bloody animals. Male bloody animals. Just told me to shut up and dragged the poor man away, naked and screaming, into the night. I can still hear him pleading with me to stop them. Anyway, it was over as soon as it had begun and we went in to deal with Abercrombie’s corpse.’

‘You mean the police didn’t secure the scene of the crime?’

‘They took a look at it before coming for Hopkins. That was all. What was there to see? The captain was dead.’

Kingsley’s mind reeled at the sheer incompetence of it.

‘And did you look about you at all? Were any notes taken? Any photographs? I presume you carried out an autopsy?’

Nurse Murray looked at him as if he was insane.

‘Captain, this is a military hospital, we are concerned with the living not the dead. When they die, we send them for burial, full stop, that’s it, toodle-oo, goodbyeee. Then we prepare their beds for the next poor wretch in a queue that seems to contain every young man in Europe. That’s what we did that night and I hope you won’t think me callous if I tell you that as we sewed Abercrombie up in his blanket I thought that at least he’ll pen no more poppycock about the honour and glory of war. ‘Forever England’, ha! What rot. What utter rot. Forever nothing, except dead. Forever dead, that’s all you can say about poor old Viscount Alan Abercrombie, forever
very
dead.’

They were walking back towards the château now.

‘You did not like Abercrombie then?’ Kingsley enquired.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Of course I didn’t know him very well and he wasn’t in the most communicative of states, which was why he was with us in the first place. But I won’t say I didn’t like him, I just didn’t like his poetry.’

‘You discussed poetry?’

‘I discuss poetry with lots of them. I run a little group for patients and their friends. The doctors think footer and cross-country runs do more good but they let me have a bash in my spare time. Personally I think it helps some of our fellows a bit, you know, to get it out. Often I find writing things down is easier than saying them.’

Kingsley thought back to Shannon’s contemptuous assessment. ‘
Everybody’s a bloody poet these days
,’ he whispered beneath his breath.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing. Just something a…colleague of mine said to me. You know the fellow actually, Captain Shannon.’

Nurse Murray paused for a moment.

‘Ah yes, Captain Shannon,’ she said, and then added,’ ‘Did he tell you he ended up in my bed?’

‘Uhm…well. Good lord. I suppose he may have intimated…’

‘Ha. And they say we women are gossips.’

‘Well, he didn’t say much really…’

‘I should imagine he did not. Captain Shannon is not a man whose sexual tastes are calculated to endear him to women.’

Kingsley had never before met such a frank and outspoken woman.

‘Yes. Uhm, we were speaking about your poetry group?’

‘Yes. It’s been rather a success in a small way. We meet and I encourage them to try to express themselves on paper. I run a little occasional magazine, just a sheet or two with what I think is the best stuff. I’ll show it you if you like. I’ve even managed to get a couple of bits printed in the
Manchester Guardian
.’

‘Did Abercrombie contribute to the group?’

‘Well, he wasn’t here long. He attended the one session I had before he was killed but he just sat in, said he had nothing to show me. Said he didn’t feel like writing at the moment and hadn’t for some time. Hardly surprising when you consider the sort of utter tommyrot he wrote before. I think that perhaps he was also intimidated by his own reputation. I imagine that when you’ve been such a huge success it must be quite hard to have another bash.’

‘Yes, probably.’

‘The only thing he really wanted was to know if I could get him a green envelope, which of course I couldn’t; I have no authority over that sort of thing. I suggested that the Chief MO might be able to help.’

‘A green envelope?’

‘Yes, a green envelope.’

Kingsley had been on the verge of asking her what a green envelope was but realized in time that it must be to do with the military and therefore, as an MP, he should know about such things. That piece of information would have to wait.

Instead he watched as she hopped nimbly back over the stile. She was a graceful, athletic creature and Kingsley liked her fire and her passion. He would have liked to confide in her. But he couldn’t, so he asked to be taken to look at the room in which Abercrombie had died. They made their way back past the half-hearted games and exercises that continued in the grounds. In front of the château the croquet had finished and in its place a little stage was being erected.

‘We are to have a concert tonight if the rain holds off,’ Murray explained. ‘The 5th Battalion are pulled back resting and they have a theatre company. They’re using our grounds to mount their show. We’re all invited.’

‘The 5th was Abercrombie’s outfit, was it not?’

‘I believe so. Quite frankly all battalions are the same to me.’

Nurse Murray led Kingsley into the château, the interior of which had clearly once been grand and glittering but was now filled to bursting point with dull khaki. Everywhere he looked there were drab, shuffling figures. Kingsley was instantly oppressed by the place; even the air seemed heavy and rich with nightmares. As he breathed he felt he could smell the fear. Men were everywhere, hobbling, limping, staggering, standing.

Staring. Staring was definitely the most common occupation of the men in that place. This was basically an enormous clearing station; most of the men wandering the corridors had been in action only days before.

Having ascended the magnificent main staircase, they arrived by a series of twists and turns at the corridor on which both Abercrombie and Hopkins had been billeted. The same corridor in which the mystery officer had been sighted.

‘That’s the ward Hopkins was in,’ Murray remarked as they passed one doorway, ‘and this, briefly, was Abercrombie’s private room.’

She turned the handle of the door and entered. Inside, a man was lying on the bed. He was masturbating furiously. Kingsley paused at the door but Nurse Murray walked in. The man himself did not seem to notice either of them.

‘He does that till the shaft bleeds and still he pulls at it,’ Murray said quite matter-of-factly. ‘He doesn’t seem to register that he’s worn the skin away. He doesn’t seem to register anything at all really. Fascinating, isn’t it? The MO who sent him down said he’d been doing it in the trenches and just wouldn’t stop. The other chaps couldn’t stand it — well, not pleasant, I’d imagine, having a chap doing that at such close quarters. Have you heard of Freud?’

‘Of course.’

‘I wonder what he’d make of it?’

‘I imagine he’d take it as proof of all his theories.’

‘Yes. Probably say the poor chap was dreaming of his mother.’ Kingsley was quite taken aback at this spectacularly rude joke but he could not help but laugh.

‘This is where we found Abercrombie,’ Murray said, looking down at the man on the bed. ‘Just where this fellow is, with a bullet in his head. From what I remember there were no signs of a struggle.’

In Kingsley’s long and varied experience as a police officer he could not recall having ever attended a murder scene in which a naked man lay on a bed masturbating while the investigation was conducted. He tried to put it from his mind but it wasn’t easy, particularly as the man was grunting and moaning as he pumped away.