A Blind Goddess (16 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
WAS COLD. My bones shook with it, my teeth clattered, and my hands were blocks of ice. I heard voices, splashes, then felt my body roll and sink, as if a giant had shoved me beneath the surface. Something grabbed at me, lost me, then pulled and pulled again until I was somewhere else where it was even colder. My whole body quivered as I tried to gulp air but couldn’t. Panic assaulted me, even as hands pulled at me, turned me over, and I felt foul dirty water gushing out my throat until I could drink in heaving gasps of air.

I saw the moon again, then it faded away, and the shivering seemed to go on for a long time, in some distant place, far away from dark and dangerous canals. I saw an eyeless body drift by, and prayed I had dreamed everything, but I hadn’t. I had a glimpse of my room back in Boston, and heard my mother’s voice. I knew that wasn’t real either, and began to worry that I was dead, which didn’t worry me as much as it should have. The shivering receded, until all that remained was a cold, certain calmness broken by an occasional tremor.

“Billy,” I heard a voice, insistent and alarmed. I didn’t know what the fuss was all about, and couldn’t open my eyes to see, so I let sleep take me away.

“Billy,” the voice said again. I recognized it this time. It was Diana. Worth opening my eyes for.

“Hey,” I said. It wasn’t much, and it took a lot of effort.

“Billy, you almost drowned,” Diana said, cradling my face in her hands.

“Where am I?” All I could see was Diana, her wide eyes, light brown hair, and red-rimmed eyes.

“At the Prince of Wales Inn. The doctor said you were fine, that you just needed warmth and rest, but I’ve been so worried, Billy. What happened? Did you fall into the canal?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to recall. “Something hit me, I think. Or someone.” I felt the back of my head, and found a bump. A sore bump.

“The doctor thought you might have fallen and hit your head, then gone off the embankment. He said the bruise was nothing serious. How do you feel?”

“Confused,” I said. I saw light streaming through the window. A coal fire burned in the grate, and the room was warm and cozy.

“What time is it?”

“Three o’clock in the afternoon. They found you last night.”

“Who?” I tried to sit up, which was easier said than done. Quilts and blankets smothered the bed, and I threw back a couple of layers.

“A constable. Inspector Payne said you saved your own life. It was one of the men he put on duty to watch for dog walkers who might have seen something the night of the murder. The constable heard you go into the water and jumped in after you. He said he almost lost you in the current.”

“Wait,” I said as the cobwebs cleared. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw Big Mike at Bushy Park,” Diana said. “He told me you were all meeting here last night. There was nothing else to do in London, so I came to see if you needed help.”

“How was your meeting with the Joint Intelligence Committee? What was that guy’s name?”

Diana looked away, as if the question was painful. She wasn’t in her usual First Aid Nursing Yeomanry uniform either. Today she wore a wool jacket over a white silk blouse and a blue skirt. It was nice, but she was proud of her tailored FANY uniform and usually wore it.

“Roger Allen,” she said finally. “I’ll tell you about it later, Billy. You rest now. I’ll go and get you some food.” Diana’s face turned hard as she said Allen’s name, and I knew things had gone badly for her before she’d left the room.

She had taken it as her personal mission to convince those in a position to take action that the extermination camps had to be stopped. But they were far away from the front lines, and the people being exterminated in those distant places were Jews, gypsies, and others who had no voice in Whitehall. I wasn’t surprised she hadn’t had any luck with Allen.

Me, I was lucky my eyes weren’t fish food right now. I was in a soft bed by a warm fire to cheer me up. I’d awakened to Diana at my side. I should be happy, I told myself. But that’s tough after being a victim of attempted murder. I knew I didn’t fall. Someone hit me; not a killing blow, but hard enough to knock me off balance and send me into the drink. That much I knew for certain, as well as the fact that it didn’t add up. No one knew I was headed to the Miller place. Hell, I didn’t know it until I was in the jeep heading back there. So who was there, and why did they smack me one?

“Billy!” Big Mike had to stoop to enter the room, barely squeezing through the door as he did. “Diana said you woke up. How you doin’?”

“I’m all right. I’d like to know who hit me though.”

“Yeah, I knew you didn’t fall in,” Big Mike said, taking a seat in a straight-backed chair that groaned under his weight. “You remember anything?”

“I recall being struck on the side of the head. Then the water, I guess. It was cold.” I didn’t bother trying to describe how cold.

“The sawbones said you might have slipped and hit your head.”

“No,” I said, feeling the tenderness above my ear. “I was up, then hit, then in the water. It wasn’t a blunt object, like whatever was used against Neville. More like a two-by-four, maybe lighter.”

“I spoke to the Millers. They said they didn’t know you were out there.”

“No one did, that’s the strange part. It was a whim. I wanted to walk the ground again, get a feel for what it’s like at night.”

“Well, you got that, Billy.” I couldn’t argue.

Diana came in with a tray. Hot tea, cakes, and jam. It tasted great. Being alive probably had something to do with it. Big Mike filled me in on what had been going on while I was sacked out. Kaz had gone off to help Inspector Payne with a more extensive search of the pathway behind the Millers’ house. Big Mike and Diana had stayed to watch over me in case anyone else wanted to have a go at cracking my skull. My clothes were being cleaned and ironed, Berlin had been bombed, and the Detroit Tigers had signed Boom-Boom Beck as a pitcher, with great prospects for the upcoming season. That last bit was of interest only to Big Mike, who thought everyone else cared as much about Detroit baseball as he did. I freshened up, shaved, put on a new uniform, and promptly fell into the easy chair by the window.

“Okay, Big Mike,” I said. “What did you find out at CID?”

“Plenty of nothing,” he said. “I told Diana on the ride out here that those guys are the laziest investigators I ever saw. They got no real evidence, other than Private Smith’s nickname is Angry and his skin is black.”

“That’s what Constable Cook thought, too,” I said, and filled Big Mike and Diana in on the story he’d told me.

“It was Rosemary Adams’s statement that they hung their hat on,” he said. “Even though she admitted she lied.”

“Why didn’t your Criminal Investigations Division turn over the case to the local police, if Private Smith’s guilt was in doubt?” Diana asked.

“They want convictions as much as any police force,” I said. “To be fair, if they thought a GI was a suspect, they had to investigate. Once they turn it over, there’s no going back. It’s all because of the Visiting Forces Act.”

“You’d think common sense would win out,” Diana said. “There’s a killer on the loose now, and no one is looking for him.”

“We are,” Big Mike said.

“Yes, we are,” she agreed. I was about to ask what had happened with Roger Allen when footsteps sounded in the hall and the door opened.

“Glad to see you up and about,” Inspector Payne said. “I have news. Bit crowded in here, isn’t it?”

“Join the party,” I said. “What do you have?”

“This,” he said, setting a small worn suitcase on the bed. “We found it in one of the boats not far from the Millers’. Likely it belongs to the girl in the canal. Margaret Hibberd.” He held up a tag tied to the handle. “Her name, with an address in Great Shefford crossed out and an address in London added.”

“Where’s Great Shefford?” I asked.

“About ten miles north of Hungerford. They have a school for children evacuated from London during the Blitz. We have a constable headed there now to see if this girl is missing, ask for a photograph, and break the news if it’s the same one. Lieutenant Kazimierz is accompanying him. The clothing points to a girl the same size.” Children had been evacuated not only from the Channel Islands, but from all the major cities in England within range of German bombers.

“Terrible,” Diana said, picking through the threadbare garments.

“It is,” Payne said. “What’s worse is that the girl’s street in Shoreditch was bombed back in January. I called Scotland Yard and they checked the records. Her father’s body was found, but not her mother’s. Missing, most likely incinerated. They already had her listed as a runaway to watch for.”

“So this poor girl takes it upon herself to travel to London, only to be killed before her journey is barely begun,” Diana said.

“How would she get from Great Shefford to London?” I asked.

“Most direct route would be south on the road to Hungerford, then by train to London,” Payne said. “I’d wager she left on foot from Great Shefford, someone offered her a lift, and she never made it to the station.”

“Could be,” Big Mike said. “Question is, why was the suitcase found near the Miller place?”

“Does Miller have an automobile?” I asked.

“No,” Payne said. “And if he did there’s no petrol to be had. It’s rationed for official use only, and for businesses that require it.”

“He could have met the girl in Hungerford easily enough,” Diana said. “Offered to help her, perhaps.”

“I think we might be asking the wrong question,” I said. “The real question is why was I attacked, at that time and place?”

“Perhaps it was Miller,” Payne said, stroking his chin. “He sees you snooping about, figures you’ll find the suitcase, and Bob’s your uncle, you’re in the canal.”

“What you’re suggesting is that George Miller has committed one murder and one attempted murder, all to keep the suitcase from being found. If he’s the guy who took Margaret Hibberd, why didn’t he put rocks in the suitcase and toss it in the canal? Or bury or burn it?”

“So why
were
you attacked, Billy?” Diana asked.

“Because somewhere along the line, I got somebody nervous. My guess is the girl’s killer had the suitcase and needed to get rid of it. What better place than near the scene of a recent murder? Maybe we’d start looking at Neville or Miller as suspects. He waits until dark to plant the suitcase, and then sees me walking down the path. He might think I followed him, and he can eliminate me as a threat and divert suspicion at the same time.”

“Or he didn’t try to kill you,” Big Mike said. “You told me you weren’t hit that hard. Maybe he figured by attacking you, he’d ensure a search of the area.”

“I’m not sure I see the same connection you do,” Payne said. “You’re assuming the disappearance of Sophia and the murder of Margaret are tied to the Neville case. Why?”

“Because of the warning Neville gave to Eva Miller. He told her to be careful.”

“It’s not much,” Payne said.

“What else do we have?”

“There’s a sad truth,” he said. “Perhaps it is time to press our German friend Miller a bit harder.”

“Why not? It may serve to get some things out into the open.”

“Where MI5 are concerned,” Payne said, “they may be better left hidden. But we’ve little else, so I will invite Miller to come
to the station for a bit of a chat. Would you like to attend, Captain?”

“No, I’m still a bit wobbly. How about Big Mike?”

“Indeed! We shall put the fear of God into the man, and see what happens.”

After Payne and Big Mike left the room was quiet, and I enjoyed the silence with Diana in the chair beside me. No talk of dead girls or drowning. After ten minutes of peace came a knock at the door.

“Tree,” I said, surprised at the visit. “Come in.”

“There’s been trouble, Billy. Oh, sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tree said as soon as he noticed Diana. But he was worked up, and halfway into the room.

“It’s okay,” I said. “This is Diana Seaton, the woman I told you about.”

“You’re Billy’s friend, aren’t you?” Diana said, extending her hand. “Sergeant Jackson?”

“Yes, Miss Seaton. Call me Tree if you like, everyone does.”

“You must call me Diana,” she said. “Come and sit down, tell us what has happened.”

“Billy, what’s the matter?” Tree asked as we sat. “You don’t look so good.” I filled him in on the events of the night before, and the discovery of Margaret Hibberd’s suitcase.

“I’m still a bit shaky, but I’m fine,” I said. “Now what kind of trouble?”

“There’s rumors flying all around about the girl we found. Two of our guys were changing a tire on their jeep when four white GIs jumped them. They beat them up pretty bad, told them there’d be a lynching if any more white girls were raped and murdered. We had a supply truck headed to Greenham Common today and they had to turn back when their windshield was smashed.”

“Same story?” I asked.

“Worse. GIs at the base said they heard we had a white girl held prisoner in camp, and a bunch of rednecks were going to head out tonight to rescue her. I hope they come, they’ll see how Negroes can fight, you better believe it.” I believed. I knew Tree would stand up
for what he knew was right, but in this situation it was likely to get him killed.

“Jesus. Did you go to the MPs?”

“Billy, have you heard anything I’ve been telling you? I go to the MPs and I’ll get my head busted for making trouble. Just like going to the cops in Boston. A waste of time at best, dangerous most likely.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, knowing it all too well.

Diana shot me a questioning look.

“I’m sorry, Miss Seaton—Diana,” Tree said. “But it’s the truth. Seems we can’t get away from prejudice and hatred even when we’re fighting the same enemy.”

“What can you do, then?”

“I was hoping Billy was about to apprehend the real killer. That would help.”

“Not even close,” I said. “Not to who killed Neville, the guy I was sent here to investigate. Or to who killed this girl, or Constable Eastman, for that matter.”