“Where does that leave us?” Inspector Payne said. I wished I had an answer for him. Finding nothing else of interest, we left.
Outside, steam rose from the pavement as the sun broke through the clouds. I told Payne about the dog walkers along the canal and he agreed to have two constables patrol the area that night and ask people if they’d seen anything.
“Might turn something up. The constables won’t be happy after trudging through fields and woods all day, but there’s not much to be done about that. Are you still staying at the Hog’s Head?”
“No. Kaz and Big Mike should be back from London today, so we’ll have to find another place. Kintbury is halfway between Newbury and Hungerford, right?”
“It is. We’re starting the search from there, on either side of the canal, and going toward each town. If you want to stay in Kintbury, try the Prince of Wales Inn. You have business there as well?”
“I have a friend with the Six-Seventeenth,” I said. “Thought I’d pay a visit. Do you know anything about the constable who was killed in Hungerford?”
“Tom Eastman, you mean? That was in the village of Chilton Foliat, to be precise. I know Tom had a quick temper,” Payne said, “but was otherwise a good man. Odd that his body was found on his father’s grave, isn’t it? Strange place for a Yank soldier to dump it. Wait, he was from the Six-Seventeenth as well. Is your friend involved?”
“He’s the accused’s sergeant. He asked me to look into it for him. Nothing official.”
“Hmm. You’re a copper yourself, Boyle, so you know what it’s like to have someone snooping around your patch once a case has been closed. You’ll not make many friends.”
“But the Berkshire Constabulary didn’t close it, did they? It was the US Army, Criminal Investigation Division.”
“They’ll not like it, and Tom’s friends may not be pleased if they think you’re working to turn a murderer loose.”
“I promised to look into it. I don’t even know what evidence CID has.”
“Circumstantial is what I hear. A weak case, made strong by a quick arrest and the fact that the killer is a Negro. I understand that carries a lot of weight in some parts of America.”
“Alleged killer, Inspector.”
“Fair enough. This is nothing I care to interfere with, but I’ll ask a few questions of the right people and let you know what I find.”
“Thanks. It could be that there’s still a killer out there.”
“Let’s worry about the Neville case first, Captain, if you don’t mind. I’ve put out calls to the surrounding constabularies to see if they can find any living relatives. So far, no luck.”
“He has to have relatives, some place where he kept things. Personal possessions, important papers, letters and photographs.”
“Perhaps he was glad to leave that all behind. Don’t you ever feel like chucking it all, Captain Boyle? I’ll be at the Dundas Arms, in Kintbury. It’s right by the bridge over the canal. That’s where we’re starting the search.” With that, he got into his automobile, without waiting for my answer.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kaz and I had agreed to meet at the Miller place, so I headed there. Another jeep was parked in the driveway, and I found Kaz in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting with the Millers. It would have been cozy except for the fact that they were all speaking German, which made it creepy.
“Please excuse us, Captain Boyle,” George Miller said as his wife poured coffee. Doubtless American army coffee, since she gave me a full cup. “Baron Kazimierz wished to practice his German, and we do not get to speak it very often. He is quite fluent.”
“In many languages,” I said. “You and your wife must speak German at home.”
“No,” Carla Miller said. “We forced ourselves to speak English only when we arrived in England, to learn it better. Then, with the war, we did not wish to stand out. You understand.”
“Of course,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Feelings can be heightened in wartime. Like Pettigrew’s.”
“You met him, at the pub, I suppose?” Miller said.
“Yes. Was his response typical of how you are treated here?”
“No, not at all. The poor man was grief-stricken, and then I, a German, was standing right in front of him. His reaction was understandable.”
“That is gracious of you,” Kaz said. “Another man might have been angry at the slight.”
“I was upset, but we passed on the street some days later and nothing was said. I thought he might have been somewhat embarrassed,” Miller said, which fit in with what Pettigrew had said.
“Were there any other encounters like that?” I asked.
“When war first came, yes, there was some name-calling in the street, but that stopped quickly. Especially once Walter joined the Royal Navy. We are very proud of him. He wants to make a career of the navy, and become an officer. Do you think Mr. Neville was attacked accidentally?”
“I’m not certain of anything at this point. Just asking questions, like any police officer would.”
“Are you still working with Inspector Payne?” Carla asked. “I do hope Sergeant Sullivan is not in any trouble.”
“No, none at all,” I said. “This is a joint investigation, so we are cooperating with the local police. As a matter of fact, an American unit is helping with the search for the missing girl today.”
“Ah, the colored soldiers,” George said. “So I heard. It must be very hard for them, yes? With the discrimination in America. The Ku Klux Klan, do I have the name right?”
“You do,” I said. I damn well knew it was hard for Negroes, and I knew George and Carla Miller were anti-Nazi refugees, but I still felt uncomfortable talking about it. I hadn’t liked the comparison Kaz and Tree had made about Poles having to walk in the gutter when Germans passed or Negroes doing the same when southern whites had the sidewalk. It was like airing dirty linen in public.
“I hope they find the poor girl, one way or the other. It must be so hard on the parents,” Carla said. “Oh dear, I forgot. She is a refugee also.” The table went silent, and I wondered what degree of guilt the Millers felt, and how that affected their relations with the townspeople.
I set aside my own guilt at coming from the land of lynching and the KKK. “Are there any adults from the Channel Islands here?”
“No, I don’t think so,” George said. “A large number of children were taken off the islands, shortly before they were occupied. They were sent to different towns, where they could be cared for, but I never heard of parents with them.”
“That is right,” Carla said. “There was an article in the newspaper recently, about their headmistress. Laurianne Ross, I think. She volunteered to work as their governess and teacher.”
“So she would know if any of the children had relatives here?”
“I would think so, yes,” Carla said, concern etched on her face. “But why do you ask about that?”
“It could be as simple as a relative coming to take Sophia away,” I said. “Perhaps she’s not missing at all. A message could have been misplaced.” It had been known to happen, but what I wondered more about was the possibility of mistaken identity. With nothing to go on with Neville as a victim, it was tempting to focus on the Millers. But there were other possibilities. I could see a Channel Islander, perhaps someone who had recently escaped, taking out his frustration on the nearest German when he found Sophia missing. He cracks Neville on the skull in a case of mistaken identity and rolls him down the cellar stairs. It wasn’t much of a theory, but it gave me a good reason to head into Kintbury, and I had no clues to pursue.
Kaz and I waited until we were outside to compare notes. I filled him in on what we’d found at Neville’s office, and he recounted his conversation with Cosgrove.
“He refused to tell me how he came to know of the murder,” Kaz said.
“Let me guess: he said it was his business to know.”
“Precisely. I gave him what details we had, and the theory that the target may have been Miller instead of Neville, as well as the few details from the postmortem. He said to remind you to be sure Inspector Payne made no arrest without informing him first.”