The news of the German offensive had made an immediate impact at Manston, too. In Captain Barclay's office, Tanner had been dismissed, albeit with a warning.
'All right, Tanner,' said Barclay, 'you can get back to your platoon. This matter will have to wait for the moment. There are more pressing things to attend to now.'
'And what about my car?' asked Lyell.
'For God's sake, Charlie,' Barclay snapped, 'how should I know? Get it to a garage and see what they say. Damn it, we've got a war to fight now.'
Lyell shoved back his chair angrily and made to leave with Granby. Tanner opened the door for them, but as Lyell passed him, he stopped and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. 'I'll be sending you the bill, Sergeant. You might have been saved for now, but I shan't forget about this.'
Not for the first time Tanner had to bite his tongue. Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to wipe the arrogant snarl from the man's face and knock him out cold. He wouldn't forget the incident either, but he had long ago learned that patience was indeed a virtue. One day, he assured himself, his chance would come, and then he would teach the man a lesson.
He started to leave but Peploe stopped him. 'A moment, Sergeant,' he said, then turned back to Barclay. 'What about the murders, sir?'
Barclay sighed wearily. 'If they were murders, Peploe. What about them?'
'As the duty officer when the incident occurred, I wondered whether I should now contact the police.'
'No, Peploe. Leave it with me. I'll make sure it's looked into. No doubt they'll want to speak to you, but this should go through the proper channels.'
Peploe nodded, then he and Tanner walked out of the building. Outside, the deep blue of the sky was broken by rolls of plump white cumulus. Tanner squinted in the glare. 'I'm not sure this can wait until Captain Barclay contacts the police, sir,' he told Peploe. 'I'm not saying he won't speak to them, but he's got other things on his mind.'
'You could be right.'
'I just don't think time's on our side, sir. I suppose we could always move him instead.'
Peploe eyed Tanner carefully. 'Is there something you're not telling me, Sergeant?'
Tanner sighed. 'I'm sure the CSM knows something about this, sir. And I'm not just saying that because I don't like the man. It's precisely the kind of stunt he used to pull in India.'
'Murder?'
'No - no, not murder. At least, I couldn't really say. Maybe he wasn't involved in that. Really, sir, I meant the fuel theft. Nothing happens in this company without him knowing about it, and who would dare to pull off something like this under his nose? I watched him, sir, in there. And I'm certain he knows something.'
Peploe took off his cap and ran a hand wearily through his hair.
'There's one way we'll know for sure,' continued Tanner, 'and that's if anyone turns up at the hospital asking for Torwinski. If they do, they've got to have been told by someone in that room a moment ago. Those RAF boys couldn't have been involved as they were getting drunk at the time, so that leaves you, me, Captain Wrightson, the OC and Blackstone. I think we can exclude ourselves, sir.'
Some Blenheims took off, their engines a roar. The two men watched three emerge into the sky on the far side of the office block, then head out towards the Channel.
'I don't know. Christ, I don't know what to think - but I'm not sure I'm convinced the CSM has anything to do with it,' said Peploe, 'but if he has, you're right. We need to protect Torwinski.' The lieutenant consulted his watch. 'We're not on duty again until three o'clock, and it's not ten yet. All right, Tanner. I'll go to the hospital now and see Torwinski. Maybe I can say something to the doctors there - perhaps they can ring the police.'
'I think that's best, sir.'
Peploe nodded. 'Good. I'll get off, then. I can drive down in my own car.'
'And, sir? Thank you for what you said in there.'
'I'm sorry I wasn't there at the beginning. I'm furious about it, to be honest,' he said. 'Stupid sods. Sorry, Tanner, shouldn't really be talking like this, but I'm afraid it's all because of Squadron Leader Lyell and his being the OC's brother-in-law and everything. Lyell knows perfectly well that he's in the wrong and that the station commander would give him short shrift. So he tries to get his revenge by nobbling Captain Barclay and reeling you in for a grilling - a grilling, I should add, to which he knew you couldn't answer freely because of your rank. It's nothing less than bullying - the sort of carry-on one used to have to put up with at school. I've always hated that kind of closing ranks, and I'm damned if I'm going to toe some line just to keep in favour with my fellow officers. I was brought up to do what I believe is right, Tanner.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Listen to me, ranting like some parson. Anyway, go and get some rest.'
Tanner set off for the hut. He felt exhausted and his body suddenly craved sleep. But despite that, the death of the Poles, and its significance, continued to circle in his mind. He was convinced more than ever that Blackstone had to have been involved. The man was like a cancer spreading through the company, corrupting and poisoning, turning good men to bad. Jesus. It didn't pay to go to war with men like him. Tanner passed another platoon going through their drill, the sergeant screaming his orders, boots heavy on the tarmac as the men tramped up and down, wheeled to the left, then halted almost as one. The sergeant admonished them for slovenliness. A miserable, useless lot, they were.
Tanner smiled to himself, momentarily distracted, only for darker thoughts to return. He wondered whether the lieutenant would reach Torwinski in time. Perhaps Barclay had already contacted the police. Perhaps. Tanner couldn't help believing that Torwinski was still in grave danger, yet catching any would-be murderer was, he knew, probably the only chance they would have of finding evidence that would nail anyone for this crime. The flattened verge would probably have recovered already. Neither Captain Barclay nor any of the other officers had shown much appetite for Peploe's claims. And would the police be any more interested? After all, who cared about a few Poles? If whoever had done this had any sense, they'd keep clear of Torwinski and leave him be.
Lying on his bed, Tanner smelled wafts of tobacco smoke, felt a cool breeze drift across his face and realized, to his annoyance, that he was awake. Opening his eyes, he saw Corporal Sykes standing in the doorway, his slicked-back hair shining in the sun, his field cap tucked into the epaulette of his battle-blouse. Between finger and thumb, he brought the cigarette to his mouth, then noticed Tanner was watching him.
'Oh, Sarge, you're awake.'
'No thanks to you, Corporal.' Tanner sat up.
'Sorry, Sarge. I was wondering whether or not I should wake you. Only I've something to tell you.'
'What? It'd better be good, that's all I can say.' He glanced round at the others, all still fast asleep. McAllister was snoring gently.
Sykes motioned him outside. Tanner buttoned his battle-blouse, grabbed his field cap, then stood up and stepped out of the hut. A glance at his watch - a quarter to one - and a fumble in his breast pocket for his cigarettes.