‘He may have confirmed that she had intercourse but that’s hardly proof of rape. We are all men of the world, are we not?’ he went on with a ripe chuckle. ‘This situation is as old as the hills. A young woman drinks too much then gives herself willingly to a chance acquaintance. Later, when she comes to her senses, the only way that she can account for the loss of her virginity is to cry rape. It’s happened before a hundred times.’
‘Well, it’s not the case with Miss Stein.’
‘How do you know? Have you spoken to her about it?’
‘No,’ admitted Marmion, ‘but I talked with her mother. She was able to pass on the relevant details.’
‘Oh, so this is the mother’s doing, is it?’ said Birchfield, amused. ‘That settles it in my mind. What mother believes that her darling daughter would sacrifice herself before marriage? She simply has to claim that rape took place. It’s maternal instinct.’
‘We’re not only concerned with the charge of rape,’ said Keedy, annoyed by the man’s tone. ‘Murder, arson and theft are among the related crimes. In all probability, Gatliffe and Cochran may be guilty on other counts as well.’
‘Do you have any evidence to that effect, Sergeant?’
‘We know that they were at the rear of the premises at the time, Major. That’s evidence enough to make them suspects.’
‘And who provided that evidence?’
‘The young lady,’ said Marmion. ‘Miss Ruth Stein.’
‘Doing so by proxy, I gather.’
‘She was under immense stress. You have clearly never dealt with rape victims before, Major. Sergeant Keedy and I have, and we know how hard it is to get them to come forward. In all my years in the police force,’ he went on, ‘I’ve never heard one false accusation, because women know the kind of punitive cross-examination they’ll face in court, not to mention the cruel and unfair assumptions that people like you will invariably make.’
Biting back a reply, Birchfield walked behind the table that was serving as his desk. The room he was using as his office was small and low-ceilinged. It had undulating paving slabs on the floor and peeling walls. Judging by the pungent aroma, it had once been used to store cheese and other dairy products. Weighing his words, the major returned to the attack.
‘Do you know what is happening at the moment?’ he asked.
‘You’re fighting a fierce battle,’ replied Marmion.
‘It’s more than that, Inspector. This is the second time Ypres has been in the thick of the action and Brother Bosch has decided to assault us with a new weapon — poison gas. It’s already taken its toll.’
‘This is hardly relevant to the matter in hand.’
‘I think it’s extremely relevant, because it goes to the heart of the matter. Priorities — that’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it? What takes priority? Is it the word of some girl who let her emotions get the better of her, or is it two members of an overstretched army fighting against a deadly enemy? Private Cochran and Private Gatliffe are no use to us if they’re carted off to London. We need them here. They’ll be in the trenches very soon, where they’ll run the risk of being shot, shelled, forced to cough up their lungs by chlorine gas or made to cry their eyes out by a swinish German lachrymator, benzyl bromide. In short, they are brave soldiers acting out of patriotic impulse.’
Marmion was scathing. ‘I don’t consider rape to be brave or patriotic, Major,’ he said with asperity, ‘nor do I find the idea of two drunken men setting upon a defenceless young woman anything but repulsive. You should be ashamed that Cochran and Gatliffe are wearing army uniforms. They are a disgrace to your regiment.’
‘That’s for us to judge,’ said Birchfield, stung by his words. ‘All that I’ve heard so far are unsubstantiated allegations.’
‘They are supported by two arrest warrants.’
‘What if it’s a case of mistaken identity?’
‘Then the two men will be released without charge.’
‘From the information that we have,’ said Keedy, ‘that seems unlikely. The victim was able to supply us with the names of the two men and the fact that they were leaving for France on the following day. That led us to your regiment, Major.’
Birchfield scowled. He sat down behind his makeshift desk and weighed up the possibilities. Reluctant to hand the two men over, he searched for ways to send the detectives packing. Marmion seemed to read his mind and jumped in smartly.
‘I can see that we are wasting each other’s time, Major,’ he said, briskly. ‘You clearly don’t have the authority to make a decision on the matter. We would therefore ask to speak to your commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Knox. Unlike you, he will doubtless understand the importance of arrest warrants and a letter from the War Office.’
‘I was assigned to deal with this,’ said Birchfield, haughtily.
‘Then please do so without prevarication. Yes,’ said Marmion, stifling a protest with a raised hand, ‘I know that there’s a war on. My own son is stationed south of here with his regiment. And in case you think Miss Stein would surrender herself to a drunken stranger in an alley, I should tell you that she comes from a respectable middle-class family and that her brother, Daniel, is fighting on the Mesopotamian Front under the command of Sir John Nixon. Now then,’ he added, crisply, ‘are you going to comply with our request or do we need to discuss your obstructive behaviour with your commanding officer?’
Eyeing the inspector with distaste, Birchfield capitulated.
‘I’ll have these men sent for,’ he said, coldly.
Alice Marmion got back from school to find her mother on her knees as she cleaned the grate in the living room. When she looked around, Alice saw that the whole place was spick and span. Her mother had even burnished the copper plates that stood on the mantelpiece. There was no need to clean the grate. It might be months before they needed to have another fire. And there was no call for vigorous housework in a room that was already spotless. Alice understood. Her mother was eager to keep herself busy so that she did not brood on Marmion’s visit to the Western Front. The worried look on Ellen’s face showed that the strategy had comprehensively failed.
‘Hello, dear,’ she said, hauling herself to her feet. ‘I was just sprucing the place up a bit.’
‘It doesn’t need sprucing up, Mummy. Come here.’
Alice took her by the arm, led her to the sofa and lowered her onto it. Putting her bag aside, she sat beside her and held her hand.
‘Daddy is fine,’ she said. ‘There’s no point in worrying.’
‘I’m bound to have some fears, Alice.’
‘Why? He’ll be nowhere near the actual fighting — much to Joe Keedy’s disappointment, I daresay. The person we need to worry about is Paul, not Daddy. Paul is in the trenches yet you don’t let anxiety about him weigh you down.’
‘I did when he first joined up,’ said Ellen. ‘I stayed awake for nights on end. As time passed, it somehow got easier to bear.’
Alice squeezed her mother’s hand then rose to her feet.
‘I know what you need.’
‘I’ll make the tea, Alice.’
‘Oh no you won’t,’ said her daughter, easing her back down on the sofa as she tried to get up. ‘Stay here — that’s an order.’
Ellen gave a grateful laugh. Going into the kitchen, Alice filled the kettle, set it on the stove and lit a gas ring. Evidently, her mother had spent a lot of time there because every surface gleamed and every item was in its rightful place. In the time that Alice had been at school, her mother had also done the washing and ironing. The windows had been cleaned on the outside and the inside. When she glanced into the back garden, Alice saw that a lot of effort had been expended on tidying that up as well.
Having made the tea, she took it back into the living room on a tray and set it down on the low table beside the sofa. Alice perched on the edge of an armchair.