“No. Can’t say it does. Sorry I’m of little help, Captain.”
“It was a long shot. One last thing. Did Sophia say anything when she was buying her candy?”
“I’m sure, but it was all about what I had on offer. I make my own, you see, working on a batch now, as a matter of fact. Boiled sweets the old-fashioned way, over open copper pans. Cough sweets, humbugs, that sort of thing. The children love them, but they can only get three ounces a week with their ration book, so you can imagine the excitement when they come in.”
“It must be tough for business,” I said.
“You don’t know the half of it. I have to cut the coupons out of the ration book, then thread them on a string, and turn them in for my own supplies. I’m sure the government knows what they’re doing, but they make it difficult enough. Sugar and flavorings are rare too, which is quite a hardship.”
“I’d like to buy some, for the girls back at the manor house,” I said. “But I have no coupons.” I looked at the display cases with rows of colorful sweets, jars of peppermints, bowls of licorices, hand candies, and candied fruit jellies. The sights and smells made me feel like a kid again.
“I’d dearly like to sell them, but they’d shut me down as a black marketer if they found out. Can’t have Yanks with cash buying out what’s meant for civilians, now can we? Not that they would. Americans have more chocolate in their pockets than we’ve seen for years. Still, I don’t begrudge them. I fought in the last war, and I know a soldier has to take what he can when he can. But here, I can give you one humbug as a gift. Don’t tell Lord Woolton.” Bone grinned and winked as he handed me a red and white candy.
The peppermint candy was refreshing. The Minister of Food would never hear from me.
I drove back through Kintbury to the search headquarters at the Dundas Arms. I found Inspector Payne hunched over a table in the dining room, marking a large-scale map of the area, and I asked him how the search was going.
“Nothing so far, and we’re almost to the army bivouac area to the west of Hungerford, and two-thirds of the way to Newbury. Still, there’s a lot of ground to cover. Either we find something or we rule out this entire area. If it’s the latter, then we know she was taken away forcibly.”
“I understand there’s a lot more canal traffic these days. It would have been easy for someone on a boat to grab her,” I said.
“If that’s the case, then we’ll never find her. She could be anywhere between Bristol and London.” Payne stared at the map, but I knew he wasn’t looking at the roads, rivers, and towns.
“Inspector?” A constable entered, followed by an American lieutenant. “The men on the north side of the canal have reached Bridge Street in Hungerford. Nothing to report.”
“The south side?”
“Slower going,” the constable said. “It’s quite wooded.”
“I’ll have the men march back to camp, if you don’t need them anymore, Inspector,” the lieutenant said. Payne nodded his head, his eyes still glued to the map.
“Lieutenant,” I said. “Where’s Baker Company?”
“Most of them are on the south side, heading toward Hungerford,” he said. “Lieutenant Binghamton, Captain. Can I help you?”
“Boyle’s the name. You’re with the Six-Seventeenth?”
“Yes, sir. Executive officer.” Binghamton was white, fair-skinned with the ghosts of freckles across his cheeks.
“Okay, Binghamton. Do you know where I can find Sergeant Jackson? Eugene Jackson?”
“Tree? He’s not in trouble, is he?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“Can we step outside, Captain?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and I followed. We stood in front of the whitewashed stone building, the water flowing and gurgling at our feet. “It’s been my experience that whenever a white officer shows up asking about one of my men, it’s because he’s taking the fall. And it’s usually not his fault. What do you want with Sergeant Jackson?”
“Relax, Lieutenant. I’m a friend of his from Boston. I’ve been detailed by SHAEF to assist the local police, and I only want to say hello to Tree. Purely a social call.”
“I have to say, Captain, you’re the first white officer ever to pay a social call on a Negro GI in this outfit.”
“Tree and I knew each other as kids. Our fathers were friends, of a sort. They both fought in the last war.”
“You’re the ex-cop, right?”
“Yeah. What did Tree tell you?”
“Off the record, that he thought you might be able to help Private Smith. On the record, nothing. I don’t want Sergeant Jackson getting in hot water for interfering with an investigation.”
“Do you think Smith is guilty?”
“Well, he didn’t get the nickname Angry singing in the choir. He’s a fighter, and he’s got no love for the white race. I’m sure he’s capable of it, but the whole thing doesn’t make sense to me. I think he’s been set up, and if we ever get into combat, we’re going to miss him. Have you learned anything yet?”
“No, we’re still gathering information. Officially I’m here to look into a murder in Newbury. This is close enough that I thought I could get away and speak to Tree.”
“Come on, Captain, I’ll run you out there. He’s on the end of the line, at the canal.”
Binghamton gunned the jeep, turning onto a farm track that led through the fields. We passed the small bridge, cutting across the road I’d taken. Binghamton pointed to a line of men as they left a wooded knoll and descended to the farmland below. He cut across the field, spitting out mud and leaving deep tracks. He was enjoying himself.
“Lieutenant, do you mind being in a colored outfit?” I said, holding on to my hat.
“I did at first,” he said. “Mainly because my father pulled strings to get me assigned to one. He figured that would keep me out of the fighting.”
“And you didn’t like that idea?”
“Hell no. But then they turned us into a Tank Destroyer outfit, and I figured we’d get into the fight sooner or later. Here we go,” he said, slowing the jeep to a stop and sending up a spray of mud. We’d caught up to the end of the line, near the canal bank. Men were walking a few yards apart, searching for anything that might provide a clue. Along the bank of the canal, a line of GIs with long sticks pushed the weeds down, checking every inch along the waterline.
“Tree,” I yelled out as I jogged up to the line of men. They turned and saluted. “As you were, men,” I said, tossing back a salute.
“Billy,” Tree said, and then with a glance at Binghamton, added “sir.”
“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” the lieutenant said. “Captain Boyle told me you know each other from back home. Take a break and you can catch up.” Binghamton went off with the rest of the men.
“Any news?” Tree said.
“Not yet. I have a man checking with CID in London. He should be back tonight. I’ve been sent to look into a killing in Newbury. That should give me a good reason to stick around and look into this. We’re staying at the Prince of Wales Inn in Kintbury.”
“Some English guy got killed, right? Funny that the army sends you to investigate that but won’t help Angry.”
“I’m here to help Angry. And if you think you can do better, then go find someone else, Tree.”
“Sorry, Billy. Never mind, it’s not your fault. We’ve been out beating the bushes all day long and haven’t found a thing. I know you’re trying to help.”
“So how’s Horace at the Three Crowns?” I asked.
“Okay,” Tree said, and then the light bulb went off. “Wait, you know about that? We got to keep Hungerford.”
“I was there when General Eisenhower gave the order. So maybe we can have a drink together after all.” I didn’t want to claim credit. Better for Tree to think it came direct from Ike. My interfering with his life was a sore point between us, and even this small gesture might be misunderstood.
“Let’s hope you can solve the murder as quick as that,” Tree said. “We can have that drink at the Prince of Wales Inn, too. Kintbury is too small a village to be allocated to anyone. Guys don’t bother going there much.”