A Bitter Wind, page 12
“‘Supposed’ is easy for you to say. Your skull never rested on that pillow.”
“True. But if he is involved in the murders and the missing hardware to any extent, it would be the perfect opportunity to cast suspicion elsewhere,” Kaz said. He raised an eyebrow in my direction and bit into his toast.
“So he smashes his bottle of brandy and comes running to me,” I said. “Then we assume the killer is anyone but him. Not bad. It would be a smart move if he is the killer.”
“But motive is entirely lacking,” Kaz said. “Perhaps Sally will explain all.”
“Here’s to Sally,” I said, and drained my cup of joe.
We drove to Elham House as the sun cracked the horizon, the pale, rosy light promising good weather. Bombing weather. Inside, Sergeant Halfpenny was at her usual post.
“Sergeant Joyce Halfpenny,” I said, and introduced Kaz.
“I’ve already had the pleasure,” Kaz said, offering up a smile. I fully expected him to kiss her hand like in the movies, but he held back.
“How is Angelika doing, Baron?” Halfpenny asked. I guessed Kaz had played the nobility card. He’d made a better impression on the desk sergeant than I had.
“She is quite fascinated by your work here, thank you,” Kaz said. “Are you always on duty, Sergeant?”
“I just arrived, actually,” she said. “Glad to see you up and about, Captain.”
“You heard?”
“The whole base knows by now. People are on edge with a killer about, not that we don’t deal with death every day,” she said.
“News travels fast,” I said. “Was it like that when Sally Miller was sent away?”
“Tongues wagged, I’ll give you that. Why do you ask?”
“I wonder if word about our interest in Sally got around,” I said.
“I saw how surprised you and Captain Seaton were about Major Brockman coming to see her,” Halfpenny said. “Then Squadron Officer Conan Doyle came down to check my register. She wanted to see for herself. Lots of traffic through here, Captain. Anyone could have overheard either conversation.”
“But you didn’t hear anyone talking about it?” I said.
“No, but I’m not one for gossip as some are,” Halfpenny said. “Be sure to say hello to Sally for me, will you? And tell her if we get any news about Johnny I’ll be in touch. She’s probably worried sick. It’s bad enough thinking he’s in a POW camp, but if the Jerries discover he’s a Jew, and German-born at that, he’s sure to earn a bullet.”
“Let us hope he is safe and does not reveal that he speaks German,” Kaz said. “It is often easy to identify a native speaker by accent and phrasing.”
“Johnny’s a smart one,” Halfpenny said. “He always studied maps of the ground they’d be flying over and went through intelligence reports about escape routes and the like. Some of the lads don’t like to think about it, but Johnny said he needed one leg up if both feet hit the ground. A little joke of his. Now excuse me, I need to attend to some things. Be nice to Sally, will you?”
“Of course,” I said while Halfpenny busied herself with the pile of incoming mail.
“You’re up early,” Diana said from the upstairs landing. “Pillow too lumpy?”
“I’m glad you’re not consumed by worry,” I said as I climbed the stairs. Kaz was right behind me and could barely keep his chuckle to himself. “But I am worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” she said, and slipped a pistol out of the front pocket of her FANY uniform. “My Beretta hardly breaks the line of my coat, but it will do the job.”
“It’s almost elegant,” I said. The Beretta M1935 was a slim .32 automatic, an Italian sidearm highly prized by scroungers, souvenir hunters, and spies alike.
“Is Angelika with you?” Kaz asked.
“Yes, she’s quite safe,” Diana said. “When I’m on duty she’s with other WAAFs to learn about what they do, at Jean’s direction. You don’t have to worry. Between my Beretta and Angelika’s knife, an attacker wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“A knife?” I said.
“An SOE-issue gravity knife,” Kaz said. “A Christmas present.”
“That’s a cheery gift,” I said. The gravity knife contained a blade within the handle, which at the push of a button could be opened or closed one-handed. Designed mainly for parachutists who needed to quickly cut themselves loose from tangled shroud lines, it was also issued to commandos and agents as a compact and silent weapon.
“She’s never without it,” Diana said. “Must run. There’s a lot of radio traffic from Salò this morning. Quite unusual for our Italian friends to be up so early. Don’t let Kaz drive too fast. Ciao!” I was glad to see Diana had taken precautions. But still, I wished for a touch of sympathy after the second attempt on my life, even if I hadn’t been anywhere near it.
Kaz took the Aston Martin out of the garage, and I pulled my jeep in, knowing I’d be driving Brockman’s staff car back later in the day. Maybe I’d keep it. The army loses stuff all the time, and it would be nice to have real windshield wipers.
Kaz drove slowly through Capel-le-Ferne. He wound through the narrow streets where wisps of fog clung to the cobblestones, waiting for the feeble morning sun to burn them off. Leaving town, we took the Folkestone Road along the coast, where the wind off the Channel took care of what fog remained. Kaz shifted coming out of a turn, no fishtailing this time. With a clear stretch of road ahead, he accelerated, and I did my best to enjoy the ride without glancing at the speedometer.
“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Kaz said with a wide grin on his face. “Gives one a sense of freedom from responsibility.”
“Along with an appreciation for life,” I said.
“Ah yes, it wouldn’t do to die today, would it?” he said, and took his foot off the gas. “I am very interested in what Sally Miller can tell us, after all. From Sergeant Halfpenny’s description of Johnny Adler, he sounds like the sensible sort.”
“What does that tell you?” I said as I caught a glimpse of white chalk cliffs when the road curved.
“That Sally may be the same,” he said. “Perhaps she had a very good reason to see Adler in the men’s barracks. Beyond the libidinous, that is. Both must have known the penalties. And the fact that Sally was only sent to another posting, no matter how remote, demonstrates the high regard Conan Doyle must have for her work.”
“Nothing happened to Adler. Except for having to go on another mission and being shot down,” I said. It would be hard to give him any punishment that was worse than doing his own job. “Once we learn more from Sally, I do want to question Walters about snitching on them. Seems petty.”
“And Lieutenant Harker about his gambling,” Kaz said. “If he has significant debts, it could be a factor.”
I mulled that over as we drove through Dover and circled around Dover Castle. The fortress overlooked the Channel where the Dunkirk evacuation and rescue was organized. I looked down at the harbor and realized that this was probably where Diana had come ashore after her destroyer sank out from under her. Ages ago now, but, I knew, still fresh in her mind.
The town itself was in shambles. Most civilians had been evacuated early in the war due to heavy shelling from across the Channel in Pas-de-Calais. It looked like a few had returned, but the streets remained thick with rubble and burnt timber.
Once we cleared Dover, the road along the cliffs opened up under a cold, crystal-clear sky. A loud drone grew from behind, and I craned my neck to catch sight of big four-engine B-17 bombers streaming toward us as they climbed on their flight path from airfields in Kent and Suffolk. Kaz pulled over on the verge, and we got out to watch the procession that grew larger by the moment. The thrum of the radial engines rapidly rose to a crescendo as the dozens—no, hundreds—of aircraft passed overhead, the bomber stream wide and long as it gained altitude. The morning sun glinted off the gleaming metal, but I knew it wouldn’t warm the ten crewmen in each B-17. Where they were going, the cold was beyond cold; a frigid ice blue that was as deadly as flak.
“You’re right, Kaz. It wouldn’t do to die today.”
We drove in silence.
Chapter Eighteen
WE NEARED ST. Margaret’s at Cliffe, passing a massive gun emplacement where two heavy cannons silently watched over the Channel. A few months ago, they had lobbed shells across the water, but the war had moved far beyond their range. The octagonal windmill was easy to spot, painted white and perched on a slight rise overlooking the cliff. It stood upon a sturdy one-story structure built in the same eight-sided pattern. Smoke curled from the chimney of an attached house, and the whole place looked like a picture postcard.
“Hardly a terrible banishment,” Kaz said, and parked the Aston Martin next to a small truck in front of the windmill. “The view is spectacular.” I had to agree. I stepped out of the car, and, with the perfect visibility, I could easily see across the Channel to the coast of France, about twenty miles away.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” a Royal Navy officer asked. He’d stepped out of the windmill and shrugged on his wool overcoat. “This is a restricted area.”
“We know,” I said as I handed over my orders. It would have been simpler to ask Conan Doyle to call ahead and clear us, but I wanted to question Sally before she had time to think about her story. I studied his face as he read, his surprise quickly covered up as he took in the names that granted me the authority to do pretty much as I pleased.
“Lieutenant Commander Stanhope, Captain Boyle,” he said as he handed the orders back. “How may I assist you?”
“Lieutenant Kazimierz and I would like to speak with Flight Sergeant Sally Miller,” I said. “A quick chat and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“What is this regarding, may I ask?”
“It is a routine matter, Lieutenant Commander,” Kaz said. “We simply need to gather information, which the flight sergeant may be able to assist us with. She is in no trouble herself.”
“Those orders tell me it’s more than routine, but that’s your business, I suppose,” he said. “Mine is to make sure our work here is not compromised. Since Squadron Officer Conan Doyle signed your orders, you must be aware how important security is.”
“Absolutely,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of movement. A sailor wearing a duffle coat and toting a Sten gun appeared from the direction of the house. Stanhope gave a nod and the guy halted before he got any closer.
“Good,” Stanhope said with a polite smile. “Sally’s work is top-notch, by the way. I’ll take you to her.”
Stanhope led us inside. He earned disapproving looks from the Wrens in the room, members of the Women’s Royal Navy Service, at the blast of cold air from the open door. He muttered an apology that went unheard, as each of the women wore headphones and immediately went back to tuning radio dials or taking notes.
Radios were set up on workbenches around the octagonal perimeter of the room. Six Wrens in their blue double-breasted jackets and skirts were at work, along with a solitary WAAF. She looked up from her radio, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Sally, these men would like to speak with you,” Stanhope said. “Perhaps you could take them into the house for a cup of tea?”
“Oh no,” she said. Worry raced across her face.
“It’s not bad news about Johnny,” I said, before she could mistake our visit for a condolence call.
“But it is bad news, isn’t it?” Sally Miller said. She removed her headphones and sighed. “Whatever it is you want, I suppose tea is in order. Thank you, Lieutenant Commander.”
Sally led us out through a back door at the end of a short hallway, sparing the Wrens another blast of cold air. I introduced myself and Kaz and told her we wouldn’t take too much of her time.
“Time? I’ve got plenty of that, Captain Boyle,” she said. We entered the kitchen of the adjacent house. It was painted a light blue, and, with the view of sky and water out the tall windows, it was much more pleasant than the crowded radio intercept room. Sally herself was tall and trim, with wavy blond hair and striking blue eyes.
“We understand you were sent here as a punishment,” Kaz said as he admired the view.
“Yes. Picturesque, isn’t it?” Sally said. She plugged in a brown enamel tea kettle and readied three cups. “I adored the view the first twenty times I saw it. Did you come out here from Hawkinge?”
“Yes. Has anyone else visited you, or been in touch?” I asked.
“You’re the first,” she said. “Do you have any identification? I find it odd that Squadron Officer Conan Doyle hasn’t called to say you were coming. And neither of you are RAF.”
I handed over my orders and watched again as they worked their magic. Sally handed them back and raised an eyebrow. “I’m fascinated to hear what comes next,” she said as she carried a tray to the table and set out three cups.
“It’s not pretty,” I said. “Major Brockman was killed on Christmas morning. Murdered.”
“Dear God,” Sally said. She set down the teapot with a thud. “Who would do such a thing?”
“And why? During our investigation, we found that he came to see you at Elham House, about two weeks ago,” I said. “What was his purpose?”
“He wanted to know if Johnny had told me anything,” she said. “Flight Sergeant Johnny Adler, I mean, although you probably are aware of that. Major Brockman was concerned about missing documents, the restricted sort.”
“Yes,” Kaz said, and reached for the teapot. “Allow me. Joyce Halfpenny sends her regards, by the way, and said to tell you that if they receive any news of Johnny, she will be in touch.”
“She’s a good egg,” Sally said. “Thank you.”
I waited for the first sip of tea to be drunk and then returned to my questions.
“Why didn’t Brockman speak directly to Johnny? Why come to see you?”
“I imagine because Johnny was on his way to bomb Berlin at the time,” she said. “The major was in a hurry. He didn’t explain himself fully, but I didn’t expect him to. I got the distinct impression some important plans had gone missing.”
“Radio intercept hardware, that sort of thing?” I asked.
“That’s a fair guess,” Sally said. “But Brockman didn’t confide in me. So I thought I should give Johnny a heads-up when he returned.”
“Got it. When was it you visited Johnny in the men’s barracks?” I asked. I sipped my tea, the warmth going down easy.
“It was the next day. I’d stopped at Johnny’s aircraft first. He sometimes was wound up so tight after a raid that he couldn’t settle down. He’d check and recheck his equipment.”
“You came across something,” Kaz said.
“I did. The entrance hatch was open but there didn’t appear to be anyone aboard,” she said. “The wind was gusting, and I saw a piece of paper dancing about inside the fuselage. I didn’t think much of it until I got closer.”
“Did you go inside the aircraft?” I asked.
“No, I simply looked in and hollered for Johnny,” she said. “There was no response, then a gust of wind blew the paper right into my face. It had RESTRICTED plastered across the top. My first thought was that Johnny could get in trouble for leaving it, so I stuffed it in my pocket.”
“Is that why you went to see him in his barracks?” Kaz asked.
“Yes,” Sally said as she let out a heavy sigh. “The more I thought about Major Brockman’s interest in Johnny and the fact that the document was left so carelessly, the more I worried. The special operators have their own barracks, and I knew they must have been sound asleep after a night raid, so I went round to see if I could wake him without disturbing the others.” Sally drank more tea and looked beyond us at the view she said she’d become so accustomed to. “I took a chance that nobody would spot me and entered the SOs’ barracks. Obviously, someone did and told tales out of school. I was only in there for a few minutes, so worse luck for me.”
“What was Johnny’s reaction?”
“He told me he was working with Major Brockman,” Sally said. “He’d noticed that some electronic components had gone missing as well and they were both concerned. He said I should bring the document I found to Brockman, and not tell a soul about it. Johnny wanted one more piece of information but said he was certain he knew who was behind the whole affair.”
“I assume he didn’t tell you,” I said.
“Right. He thought it too dangerous. He gave me a kiss and promised he’d make things right. But that night his Lanc was shot down before he could speak to Brockman. When the major came to see me, I gave him the document. He told me the same thing—to keep mum about it.”
“Did you look at the restricted document?” I asked.
“No, I was nervous enough just having it,” Sally said. “I was worried someone would turn me in.”
I sipped my tea, thinking about Sally’s story, while Kaz kept her talking with questions about her duties here. He knew it was vital to keep a witness talking about anything, since each word could bring up a forgotten memory. He asked how she got along with the Wrens. They were friendly and welcoming, and after what happened to Johnny, she was glad of the peace and quiet. As she spoke about St. Margaret’s, I wondered if she’d disturbed the killer when he was searching Johnny’s Lancaster. Perhaps secret documents had been left on the plane and were about to be pilfered when she showed up and called for him. She was lucky she hadn’t gotten whacked herself. I knew that when Lancasters came back from a raid, the ones that had been damaged received immediate attention. If Johnny’s was in good shape, it could have sat unattended for hours.
“Are there any devices Johnny mentioned specifically?” I asked. I wondered if Jostle or Jackal had come up in conversation.
“He was quite excited about H2S and told me about it,” Sally said. “It’s ground-mapping radar designed to pick up areas of water or large buildings in any weather. It’s mounted on the underside of the aircraft, and data is fed to a cathode-ray tube at the navigator’s position. Good for assessing bomb damage as well as navigation.”
