I shook hands with McLean to show we were all in this together and went off thinking we’d each pulled one over on the other guy, which wasn’t the worst outcome I could have predicted. Just to be certain, I took the stairs to the basement and found the morgue. I asked a corporal mopping the floor if they’d come for Peter Wiley yet, as if I was checking up on my men. He consulted a clipboard and said they had. Well, it had been worth a shot, in case McLean had been bluffing.
I went out the main door in time to see the two MPs and the CIC agents hustling Major Dawes and a GI, probably the ambulance driver, into a staff car.
“Hold up,” I yelled, running over to them. “What the hell are you doing? You said no punishments.”
“No one is being punished, Captain Boyle,” McLean said, nodding to the MPs, who put Dawes and the driver in the rear seat, cop style, pushing down their heads as if they were handcuffed.
“Then what are you doing with them, goddamn it?”
“Giving them a lift,” McLean said with a self-satisfied grin. “Their transfers came through. The army transfers people all the time. It’s not a punishment at all.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“Cairo. Their ship leaves Bristol at dawn, so we have to hit the road.”
“Let me talk to Dawes. I want to apologize for getting him into this mess,” I said.
“There’s no mess, Captain,” McLean said. “Simply routine army procedures, but sure, say your piece.” He nodded to an MP, who opened the door.
“Sorry, Major Dawes,” I said. “You too, Private.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Dawes said. “We’re going to see the pyramids.” The private almost smiled at that.
“I’ve been there. It’s really something to see,” I said. I didn’t tell him about the flies.
SPECIAL AGENT MCLEAN had left nothing to chance. The only two men who even knew about a temporarily missing body were going to be shut up in a troop transport for weeks and then end up as far as you could go without finding yourself in the Pacific Theater of Operations. If Dawes managed to mail a letter from Cairo, it would take another few weeks to get to me. McLean was a burker, sure enough.
I knew I should contact Harding, but I was dog-tired and didn’t want to have to report on how CIC had outsmarted me. He did need to know about Wiley, but there was no reason to rush. What I needed to do was be at the reading of the will tomorrow and witness who got what and who hated whom for it. I thought about what Dawes had discovered and turned it over in my mind as I drove the now familiar roads. As I often did, I wondered what my dad would make of it. He’d taught me how to work a case and drummed it into my head never to assume what you don’t actually know to be true. It was one of the reasons he got me to read the Sherlock Holmes stories. The best piece of advice, in his mind, came from A Study in Scarlet, when Holmes stated something along the lines of it being a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. That’s when you begin to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. I realized I had done just that. I needed to focus on pure fact, not assumptions.
The air had turned cold by the time I pulled into the drive leading to Ashcroft House. It held a damned odd bunch of people, but it was beginning to feel like home. Or at least a comfortable place with good food. I parked next to Big Mike’s jeep, and as I got out, I spotted David returning from a walk. He was dressed in tweed, looking the part of the country squire. He gave a wave, and I waited as he headed for the door.
“Billy,” he said in a low voice, avoiding my eyes. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier today. Shameful that I was thinking of myself instead of poor Tom Quick.”
“It’s only natural,” I said. “He was your friend. We tend to see ourselves in the people we like.”
“Yes, quite. And I admired him too, for what he had endured. I do wish I’d seen how deep his despair must have been.”
“No one could have seen that,” I said, wishing that I had too. “You gave him some moments of friendship and understanding. I’m sure it meant a lot to him.”
“Thank you, Billy,” David said, his hand resting on my shoulder for a second before I opened the door. Coming from a proper Brit, it was like a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Captain, how nice that you’re back,” Helen said when she saw us from the hall. She was carrying a basket of cut flowers. “You will be dining with us, I hope?”
“I look forward to it,” I said. “Is the baron here?”
“Yes, he was helping me in the garden. Aren’t the flowers lovely?”
“Crawford’s green thumb?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s not all Crawford. I manage to cultivate a few things as well, Captain. How was your walk, David?” She leaned in for him to give her a peck on the cheek. All in all, Helen’s temperament had improved dramatically since I arrived. Or was it since her father’s departure?
“Just what I needed,” David said. “I walked to the village and back along the river. Bracing. I stopped in at the pub and bought a round. It’s the kind of thing the locals like, I’m told.”
“Who doesn’t like a free drink?” I said. I recalled Helen or Meredith telling David it was his duty to mingle more with the villagers, assuming Ashcroft House stayed with their side of the family. Most importantly, David was feeling good enough about himself to make the effort. Most of the residents of North Cornworthy had likely heard about his burns, but few had actually laid eyes on him.
“Maybe we’ll pop in again tonight,” David said. “There weren’t many fellows there this time of day.”
“Wonderful idea, David,” Helen said, taking him by the arm. “Oh, by the way, Captain, your Colonel Harding dropped in earlier. I believe he left a message for you with the baron.”
I found Kaz and Big Mike in the library. Kaz was reading the newspaper, and Big Mike had his feet up and his eyes closed.
“We have news, Billy,” Kaz said, folding his paper and slapping Big Mike’s foot with it.
“So do I, but not here,” I said in a low voice. “My room, and don’t make a big deal of it.”
Kaz came in five minutes later, followed shortly by Big Mike, carrying three bottles of Whitbread Pale Ale.
“Here you go,” Big Mike said. “Williams keeps his ale in the wine cellar. Said I could help myself. He’s not so much of a stuffed shirt downstairs.”
“You get anything out of him?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and sitting on the bed.
“Not really. He’s rooting for Meredith and Helen to inherit, of course. Job security. So what’s your news?”
“Tell me what Harding said first.”
“First, all the bodies have been found,” Big Mike said, taking a seat in an easy chair. “I got one right away at Slapton Sands, and the other washed ashore by Start Point.”
“The colonel said to tell you he’d gone to Brixham,” Kaz said. “He found the place deserted, so he never spoke to Major Dawes. He returned to Greenway House to contact SHAEF and determine what had happened. He was told that as soon as there were no more bodies to be found near Brixham, an order was given to shut that clearing station down.”
“It was the Counter-Intelligence Corps,” I said. “I bet once all ten BIGOTs were found, CIC gave the order to make all the other clearing stations disappear too. Our services were no longer required.” I took a long pull on the ale.
“Harding was not happy about it,” Kaz said. “He told us to find out whatever we could about how Lieutenant Wiley got aboard one of the ships. But how do you know CIC is involved?”
“I tracked down Dawes and found CIC questioning him. He’d snatched Wiley’s body for an autopsy, and the agents didn’t appreciate coming up one stiff short.”
“That mean trouble for Dawes?” Big Mike asked.
“He’s getting an all-expenses-paid trip to Cairo,” I said. “He gets to see the pyramids.”