Alston could tell Constance really believed what she was saying. But she had killed a young woman, a woman her own age. Stabbed her in the chest. How had she done that?
Constance seemed to sense his unspoken question. ‘There are times when you have to act, to take steps. When doing nothing is the wrong thing to do.’
Alston remembered Constance talking about ‘taking steps’ before.
‘Have you killed anyone before, Constance?’
Constance gave a small smile. ‘I couldn’t possibly say.’
‘Who? Not your father?’
‘Of course not my father!’ Anger flashed across Constance’s face. ‘No. Definitely not my father.’
‘Who then?’
‘I can’t say,’ said Constance. ‘But I did the right thing then, and I’ve done the right thing now.’ She knelt naked next to Alston and stared deep into his eyes. ‘Can you forgive me, Henry?’ she said. ‘You have to forgive me.’
Alston’s brain was in turmoil. Millie’s murder horrified him, yet what Constance had done and the reason she had done it exhilarated him. She had ignored the petty constraints of petty English morality to act, to be bold. If ever there was a time for boldness it was now.
Her eyes were deep dark pools of intensity.
She put her hand between his legs. ‘Forgive me, Henry.’
29
Leiden, 23 November
Kriminalkommissar Wilhelm Neuser approached the porter’s lodge of the old Academy building in Leiden. It was just a few minutes past nine o’clock in the morning. He was a short, barrel-chested young man dressed in a scruffy overcoat, and had donned some clear-lensed spectacles. He spoke to the porter in slow, clear German.
‘Dr Fuhrmann of the University of Hamburg to meet Professor Hogendoorn.’ He handed the porter a passport bearing his photograph in the name of Dr Heinrich Fuhrmann. After some head-scratching and telephoning on the part of the porter, a man with a thick grey moustache appeared and introduced himself as the professor. He led Neuser up the stairs of the Academy building.
And then up some more stairs. And then up a steep spiral staircase and through a heavy oak door, which the professor unlocked.
They were in the attic of the old building. It was a large space, framed with a network of thick wooden beams; it was clear in the middle, but around the walls was stacked a jumble of ancient academic detritus: boxes, chairs, desks, boards, group photographs, even a couple of sculls. Thin grey light filtered in through narrow windows.
The professor switched on an electric light. ‘I plan to take Lieutenant von Hertenberg up here to meet de Lancey,’ he said in good German. ‘From their point of view it should feel safe; they are out of view and earshot of passers-by. But it is easy for you to hide somewhere and listen.’ The professor gave a little laugh.
Neuser scanned the attic. ‘This will work very well,’ he said.
‘I had my suspicions about Lieutenant von Hertenberg,’ the professor said. ‘And the Englishman he saw last time.’
‘You were quite right to warn us,’ Neuser said. ‘This meeting is unauthorized. I will listen to what they have to say, and if Hertenberg is indeed a traitor, I will tell my superiors back in Germany and he will be dealt with.’
‘And my part in this will be kept quiet, I trust?’ the professor said.
‘Naturally. Although I will make sure that when our two countries become closer, your loyalty to the Party will be remembered.’
Professor Hogendoorn giggled unnecessarily. ‘They won’t be here for another two hours. With all the comings and goings, no one will be surprised if the porter doesn’t remember seeing you leave, and a new man will come on duty at lunchtime. Probably best if you don’t go until after that. I’ll come up and fetch you about two o’clock.’
Neuser shifted some tea chests around near the entrance to the attic, and created a little nest for himself, from where he should be able to hear any conversation. He had been selected for the task because he spoke English, although his command of that language was not very strong and he was hoping that Hertenberg and de Lancey would speak in German.
He pulled out his weapon and fixed a silencer. He distrusted silencers, they were never really silent and they hampered accuracy. But it was unlikely that even if the students and professors below heard two muffled shots they would identify them as such. And accuracy shouldn’t be a problem at a range of two metres.
Neuser turned off the light, made himself comfortable and waited in the gloom.
Conrad strode rapidly from the station at Leiden to the Rapenburg Canal. He hoped the cynical Dutch detective was right about the evidence against Theo being fabricated. But who would do that and why? Conrad knew, because he had seen it, that although Holland was neutral, Dutch military intelligence had contact with their British counterparts. Maybe they were just trying to smooth over a tricky diplomatic incident. Or maybe they knew who really had killed Millie and were trying to cover it up. Why would they do that? Did Van know what had really happened? Did his father?
But Conrad knew he should guard against being complacent. There was still a chance that Van was correct, and that Theo had stabbed Millie, in which case there was also a chance, a good chance, that he might try to kill Conrad too. Conrad would just have to take that risk and keep his wits about him. Second-guessing the spies would never give Conrad the answers he needed; he had to speak to Theo face to face to do that. Only by knowing for sure whether Theo had killed his sister could he begin to make any sense of this damned war and his place in it.
Conrad slowed as he approached the Academy building and strolled past the gates, before turning abruptly and looking behind him. He didn’t think he was being followed, but he couldn’t really be certain. He hadn’t spotted any middle-aged men in raincoats and hats on his tail, but the place was buzzing with students on bicycles and he couldn’t keep track of all of them.
Theo would probably have some scheme planned to shake a tail. Perhaps another walk in the Botanical Gardens.
But this time Professor Hogendoorn led Conrad up a spiral staircase within the Academy building itself. ‘I thought this would be a good safe place for your conversation,’ said the professor as he opened a heavy door at the top of the stairs. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Conrad pushed open the door to reveal Theo waiting for him, standing alone in the middle of a large attic. A thin shaft of sunlight from one of the windows brushed his pale face.
He was unarmed, as far as Conrad could see.
‘Hello, Conrad,’ Theo said in English.
Conrad ignored the greeting. ‘Millie’s dead,’ he said in German.
‘I know,’ said Theo. ‘And I’m sorry for you.’
Conrad let the words hang there for a moment.
‘Did you kill her? Dutch intelligence thinks you killed her.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Theo said. ‘Why do they think that?’
‘Constance Scott-Dunton says she saw someone who looked like you walking away from where she found Millie’s body. And then a walker saw you coming out of the dunes wiping blood off your hands.’ Even as he said it, Conrad was reminded of van Gils’s line about Shakespeare. But he couldn’t just choose to agree with van Gils’s claim that Theo was innocent. He needed to know.
‘That’s crazy. You can’t believe that, surely? That I would kill Millie?’
‘Prove to me you didn’t.’
‘I didn’t leave my hotel until about nine when I went straight to Schiphol to fly back to Germany.’