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?”