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‘It’s what was said at the trial.’

‘You don’t sound convinced.’

Helen Carter took a deep breath. ‘Chrissy wasn’t the bonniest of lassies — she’d tell you that herself. But she liked the attention of men, and she found ways to make sure she got that attention.’

‘She was a flirt?’

‘It went a bit beyond that.’ Carter almost had a glint in her eye. ‘Another good reason for her to head south — our parents weren’t going to stand for much more of it. They were religious, as was I, I suppose. They knew they could trust me not to get into trouble.’

‘But not Chrissy?’

‘No.’

‘Were you dating your future husband at this time?’

Carter considered for a moment. The breeze had caught her hair. She pushed some strands back behind her ear.

‘Should we go sit in the car?’

‘A friend is picking me up soon.’

‘Stefan Novack, by any chance?’

She smiled. ‘You are a detective, aren’t you?’

‘The pair of you just seemed comfortable with one another as you were leaving the bar that day.’

‘Well, maybe you’re right.’ She gave a slight shiver. ‘I can feel this wind getting into my bones.’

Rebus put his arm out for her to take, but she waved the offer away, gripping the handles of her walker and shuffling towards the gates.

‘Do you come here on Chrissy’s behalf?’ he asked.

‘I suppose so.’

‘You never did answer my question about your boyfriend...’

‘Fred,’ she said. ‘Friedrich, actually. We were friends for a while, lovers eventually.’

‘Your parents approved?’

‘Not overly. There was always that element of “sleeping with the enemy”.’

‘Did they grow to like him?’

‘They grew to accept him.’ Her beady eyes drilled into Rebus’s. ‘Why are you asking about all this?’

‘I’ve listened to the recording Keith made of his interview with you. You told him Chrissy didn’t really know Hoffman. He wasn’t part of her coterie?’

‘They’d met on several occasions. The evidence pointed to him as Gareth’s killer.’ She offered a small shrug.

‘Could there have been another reason why Sergeant Davies was targeted?’

‘I can’t think of one.’

‘And none of her other admirers might have been jealous of him?’

‘I’d imagine they were all jealous of him.’

‘These were British guards or internees?’

‘Both. As I say, Chrissy had a certain reputation and she was hell-bent on upholding it.’

‘She sounds a handful. I don’t suppose you were jealous of her, Helen?’ They had reached Rebus’s car. He opened the passenger-side door.

‘Maybe I was — just a little.’

‘But then you had Friedrich...’

The car door was still open, but she seemed reluctant to get in.

‘As a friend, yes,’ she said. ‘But if I’m being honest, I had my eye on Franz, too. A bit naughty of me, but I think I was trying to stir Friedrich into action, if you know what I mean.’

‘Franz? As in Frank Hess?’ Rebus watched her nod. ‘Another of Chrissy’s admirers?’

‘Oh yes — until Gareth came along and swept her off her feet.’

‘And was Joe Collins part of that group too?’

Carter wrinkled her brow in thought. ‘Not that I remember. Josef was a bit gruff, a bit of a grouch. We always wondered...’ She broke off.

‘What?’ Rebus asked.

‘We wondered if, given a gun, would he shoot the lot of us? I mean, we used to ask that question a lot — me and Chrissy and the other girls. They all seemed so polite and so charming, but until they surrendered, they’d been merrily slaughtering our menfolk. Plenty at Camp 1033 were still loyal Nazis. One or two even went to Nuremberg.’

‘Shall we get in?’ Rebus gestured towards the car’s interior, but she shook her head. ‘What if I told you,’ he continued, his voice dropping a fraction, ‘that Joe Collins’ revolver had been used to kill Keith Grant?’

Her face didn’t change. ‘Is that what happened?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I don’t really know what to say.’

‘Keith was bringing the past back to life, dusting off a few ugly truths some people might have wanted kept hidden.’

‘You can’t seriously think one of us...? We’re almost ready for the grave ourselves!’

‘Maybe there was more than one attacker,’ Rebus commented. He saw she was becoming agitated. ‘Then again, it could all be a con trick — pushing the investigation one way when the truth is hiding down another track entirely.’ He heard a car approaching and turned towards it. ‘Looks like your ride’s here. Handy that Mr Novack’s still up to driving.’

‘Try and stop him,’ Carter said with a faint smile.

The Land Rover came to a stop next to them. Novack gave a wave through the window.

‘The walker goes in the boot,’ Carter told Rebus. He opened the passenger door for her, then stowed the walker while she eased herself into the car. Rebus went to the driver’s-side window.

‘What brings you here?’ Novack asked, winding the window down.

‘Paying my respects.’

Novack’s look suggested that he doubted this. ‘You’ve heard about the revolver?’

‘Wasn’t sure word had got out.’

‘I assure you it has, along with the news that Joe and May are under arrest.’

‘What?’ Helen Carter froze with the seat belt half strapped across her.

‘They’re verifying the gun, that’s all,’ Rebus countered. He went around the car and closed Carter’s door. Novack lowered the passenger-side window.

‘Joe’s gun, though,’ he went on. ‘Used to murder a man.’

Rebus leaned in at the window. ‘Do you see your old friend Joe as a killer, Stefan?’

‘Of course he doesn’t!’ Carter snapped.

‘Maybe his daughter, then, eh?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘Best not let rumours get started. You never know where they’ll stop.’ The window began to rise, Novack’s finger on the switch as he glared at Rebus, while his passenger couldn’t make eye contact at all.

You’re rattled, Rebus thought. You’re both rattled.

Rather than watch the Land Rover roll away, he marched back into the cemetery, stopping once more at Gareth Davies’s resting place.

‘She didn’t bring anything to mark the occasion, did she?’ he asked out loud. No flowers of remembrance, no card or note.

Just Helen Carter herself.

34

Siobhan Clarke’s mobile rang at precisely noon. She didn’t recognise the number.

‘Hello?’ she answered.

‘I’m calling because Issy Meiklejohn more or less demanded it. I have no intention of giving you my name, so please don’t ask.’

The voice was clipped, upper class, English Home Counties.

‘Define “demanded”.’

‘There’s rather a venomous streak to that young woman, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I’ve always found her perfectly charming.’

‘Is that supposed to be funny? Anyway, you know why I’m calling?’

‘You’re Lord Strathy’s alibi, the one I’m supposed to accept on trust — without seeing your face or having a name to put to it. You’ll appreciate that’s not usually how we operate on a murder inquiry. Still, I’m listening.’

As were the others in the MIT office. Clarke ignored them and walked into the hallway, closing the door after her. Fox was in the admin room next door, talking to one of the staff. Clarke descended the stairs until she was beyond his eyeline.