“Sure, Major, I get it.”
“None of them are to be taken into custody or questioned officially,” he said, obviously not believing I did get it. “If you need to talk to them, pay a social call and have a nice chat. Inspector Payne has heard much the same, so I hope there will be no further confusion upon this point. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, clear as rain on my parade, Major. But you can’t tie our hands like this.”
“We are not engaged in a debate. You either understand these orders, or require further clarification. Which is it?”
“Understood, Major. But I do have one question,” I said.
“Go ahead.”
“Why? Why are the Millers off limits?”
“They are not off limits. Feel free to visit them in their home in a cordial manner. Now, I’ve sent Big Mike back to London. You don’t need an entourage to carry out this investigation. Having too many people about may have led you to dispatch Big Mike and Inspector Payne to take Miller to the police station in the first place.”
“Now hold on,” Payne said. “I’ve listened to this blather long enough. Captain Boyle did not dispatch me anywhere. We agreed Miller should be interrogated, like any sensible coppers would, here or in America. I’ve a mind to pay that social call to George Miller tonight, and find out what makes him so special.”
“You do that, Inspector Payne,” Cosgrove said in a low, threatening voice, “and I’ll break you. I’ll take your pension and put you in prison for the duration of the war. And don’t think I can’t. Or won’t. Now please wait outside for Captain Boyle. I need a private word.”
“Gladly,” Payne said, lifting his lanky frame out of the chair and giving the door a good slam on the way out.
Cosgrove sat back and watched me, his face softening a bit. “Boyle,” he said, weariness creeping into his voice. “Take everything I’ve said to heart. The stakes are enormous, and there is much I cannot reveal to you.”
“But what’s the game?”
“For now, the game has to be trust. The stakes are counted in lives, if not the direction of the war itself.”
“That’s a lot to swallow, Major. It would help to know more.”
“I can’t tell you more.” Cosgrove rubbed his eyes, and I could see the strain he was under as he let out a heavy sigh. He hadn’t shaved well; there was a cut on one cheek and stubble where he’d missed under his chin. He was dead tired. Something was keeping him up nights. Or someone.
“The man in civilian clothes, at Bushy Park. Tall and slim. We saw you have words. Is he calling the shots on this one?” I remembered that Kaz had pointed him out as the man who made Cosgrove sweat.
“He doesn’t exist. You’d do well not to mention him again. And there is always someone calling the shots, as you say.”
“Okay, forget I mentioned him. So what’s the private word you wanted?”
“Miss Seaton,” Cosgrove said, leaning forward and whispering.
“What?” I said, panic surging in my gut. “Is she all right?”
“Yes, yes,” Cosgrove said, trying to calm me. “She is fine, still staying here at the inn. What I’m about to tell you is unofficial. Quite off the record, do you understand?” This wasn’t a directive. I could see the concern in his eyes, sense it in his voice.
“I do.”
“She’s pressed the matter of the extermination camps at a high level. Her father facilitated access to some rather important people for her, but I fear he’s done her no favors.”
“Roger Allen, of the Joint Intelligence Committee,” I said, recalling Diana’s description of her meeting.
“A name that one does not bandy about,” Cosgrove said. “He was not pleased to have his viewpoint questioned. There are those who feel more should be done about the camps, bombing them, that sort of thing. Others maintain that landing on the Continent and defeating Germany militarily is the best way to end their murderous regime.”
“Which group is Allen in?”
“The third group. The group that does not care what happens to the Jews of Europe, as long as they do not become our responsibility. Especially not in Palestine, where an influx of Jews would upset the delicate balance of Arab politics and British rule. There are only a few of them, but they are powerful and secretive men. Please tell Miss Seaton to keep quiet about the camps, for a while at least. They have their eye on her.”
“Like you have your eye on me,” I said.
“No, Boyle. Not like that at all.” Cosgrove slumped back into his chair and signaled for me to go. In that moment he was an exhausted old man, shooing away a bothersome child. I left, thinking how crazy this game really was. Diana went undercover in Nazi-occupied Italy and brought back information on the extermination camps. Now her own people were suspicious of her, and Major Charles Cosgrove, an English straight arrow if ever there was one, was whispering their names here in this remote village lockup, looking afraid for his own life. And me, asking the wrong questions of the wrong people, apparently. Or the right people, judging by the reaction.
I caught a glance of the photograph of Constable Sam Eastman before I closed the door quietly behind me. He looked impatient.
CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO
“What the hell are you going on about, Boyle?” Payne demanded. “I had to sit through three versions of that intolerable man’s tirade before you showed up. What I want is an explanation, not questions about madness.”
“He’s a big shot with MI5, likes to throw his weight around. I don’t get why he cares so much about the Millers, but then I don’t get a lot of what MI5 does. But tell me more about the pleasure men,” I said to Inspector Payne, eager to get off the topic of Major Cosgrove and his motives.
“I’d say Cosgrove fits the bill,” Cook said with a chuckle, lighting his pipe and leaning against the whitewashed wall of the station. He, Payne, and Tree had been waiting out front, soaking up the waning rays of the late afternoon sun. The weather had turned away from winter’s last grasp, the skies were clear, and the ground damp and smelling of green.
“He’s under a lot of pressure,” I said, feeling the need to defend him. “There’s a lot he can’t tell us. I know he comes across as heavy-handed, but he can be a stand-up guy.”
“From what these fellows tell me, he’s not standing up much for your investigation,” Tree said. “I hope he won’t get in the way of proving Angry innocent.”
“That’s why I want to know about the pleasure men,” I said. “Now.” All I wanted to do was get back to Diana and pass on Cosgrove’s warning. I didn’t like the look on his face; it wasn’t the usual bluster, it was dead serious. Frightened.
“What are you talking about? Pimps?” Tree asked. Cook gave him the background about inmates serving at the pleasure of the King in the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum.
“You said you checked all of Sam Eastman’s arrests,” I said to Cook.
“I did. All dead or in prison, the serious offenders anyway. Might be a poacher or the like we missed, but I doubt that sort would be a threat.”
“Any in Broadmoor?”
“Yes, there were two sent there. One way back when Sam was new on the force, and another from nineteen thirty-five. One is still inside, and the other died there. Same with Tom Eastman: no recent releases.”
“Why the sudden interest, Boyle?” Payne asked.
“I was thinking how crazy Cosgrove sounded myself, and then I looked at the elder Eastman’s photograph. That made me wonder if we weren’t being too logical about this case.”
“You mean Tom Eastman being found on his father’s grave,” Tree said.
“Exactly. That’s nothing Angry would have done if he were the killer. There’s no point to it. It’s as if someone was delusional enough to think Sam Eastman would know his son had been killed. We may well be looking for a lunatic.”