A Blind Goddess (18 page)

“Is that an apt comparison?” Kaz asked, perhaps feeling slighted as a European.

“Yes, and I think Tree has a point,” Diana said. “My father told me that the Americans had asked Anthony Eden of the Foreign Office to help get about sixty thousand Jews out of Bulgaria. Their government has yet to turn them over to the Germans, but no one knows how long they can last. I asked Allen about that, and he said they recommended that the British government do nothing.”

“Why?” Kaz asked.

“Because then Hitler might want to negotiate for all the Jews in
Europe. ‘And that wouldn’t do at all,’ Allen told me. When I asked why, all he said was, ‘Whatever would we do with them, my dear?’ ”

Diana twisted her napkin, her lower lip quivering. I reached out my hand to take hers, but she pulled away.

“Whatever would we do with them?” she whispered, and left the table.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I
HAVE FAILED, Billy.” Diana curled up against me in bed, twisting her hair between her fingers in a childlike gesture. “And I was a fool to think I wouldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault that the rich and powerful of the world don’t give a hoot about mass murder at a comfortable distance. To them, it’s like reading about a flood or an earthquake half a world away. Terribly unfortunate, but what can one do?” I spoke the last sentence in a snotty Beacon Hill drawl, trying for a laugh. I got a smile.

“No, it isn’t my fault. I know that,” she said, sitting up straight and clutching a pillow to her breast. “What really bothers me is the bravery and sacrifice of those who worked to get the truth out: Poles, Jews, Italians, even Germans. What will they think? Are we worthy of them? And the deaths, Billy. All the people dying in the camps every day, while we do nothing.”

“I feel the same way about Margaret Hibberd and Stuart Neville,” I said, understanding there was no real answer to the question Diana had posed. Some might argue that fighting men were dying every day to end this war, and that was the best we could do for those in the camps. But that wasn’t what she needed to hear right now, or what I necessarily believed. “My dad always said to remember that every murder victim deserved to be alive all the days we were investigating the crime, and more beyond. And that our police work had to be worthy of the days we had and they lost.”

“I would like to meet your father, Billy. He seems like an interesting man.”

“He’d like you,” I said. “Your spirit.” I kissed her. “But you’d have to lose the accent, and none of this lady stuff. Wouldn’t go over well in Southie.” Diana punched me in the chest. Hard. I tickled her, and then we forgot about the sorrows of the world for a while.

Inspector Payne came by in the morning, as we’d arranged. We planned to interview Ernest Bone and the other guy Neville had visited before he was killed. It was doubtful they’d be able to help, but we had damn little else.

“First, we drop in on Stanley Fraser, the solicitor,” Payne said, as a constable drove us into Hungerford. It was a warm day, the sun bright and the ground smelling sweet with the promise of spring. “I’m sure I’ve heard the name, but I can’t recall where. I do know most of the solicitors hereabouts, but I don’t think I’ve seen him in court.”

“I thought only barristers appeared in court,” I said. “Or do I have that backward?”

“No, you’re right that barristers argue before the bench, but a solicitor may view the proceedings, and I’ve got to know quite a few by sight over the years. But not this Fraser chap.”

“Any news on Sophia or the girl we found?”

“Nothing new, no. There is a panic rising, though, and I’m not surprised. It would be worth his life if anyone witnessed a man approach a young girl today. I’m worried about some innocent traveler being drawn and quartered for saying a simple good morning to a schoolgirl.”

“I’ve asked Kaz to drive Diana out to the Avington School for the Channel Island girls this morning, to see if she can get any information out of them,” I said, watching as we drove by a farmer plowing his field.

“Woman’s touch, that sort of thing?” Payne asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That, and the fact that she’s a Special Operations Executive agent,” I said. “She might pick up on something.”

“When our girls were young,” Payne said, leaning back and closing his eyes, as if visualizing the memories, “they could keep any secret from us. But perhaps Miss Seaton can wring the truth out of them. Nothing like an SOE interrogation to break a pack of twelve-year-olds, I imagine.”

“If there’s a truth to be told,” I said.

“Girls and secrets go together. You may learn that yourself one day, Captain. Perhaps you and Miss Seaton are headed in that direction?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But we’re more often going in separate directions. Maybe when the war’s over.”

“Hmm,” Payne said. “Peace. I wonder what that will be like? Ah, here we are.”

We’d gone from fields and farms to a residential street on the outskirts of Hungerford. Atherton Street, where Stanley Fraser lived, contained rows of modern semi-detached brick houses with neat gardens and lace curtains in every window. Two women were walking back from the market in Hungerford, bags heavy in their hands and jackets open to the warming air. An elderly gentleman pedaled his bicycle slowly past us. The neighborhood was quiet, the few people subdued, as if not to disturb the tranquil setting.

Payne told the constable to wait. Fraser inhabited both sides of the semi-detached, a brass plaque marking the right half as his office with the left side apparently his home. In the reception area we were greeted by a young woman who was busy putting away her nail polish, and with little else.

“One minute, please,” she said, without asking our names. She walked to an inner door, swiveling her hips all the way, and stuck her head in the room. Payne raised his eyebrows at the view and looked away guiltily. Me, I kept looking in case there was a clue in that general direction.

“Go in, gentlemen,” she said, returning wearily to her chair. It looked like a tough job.

“Inspector Payne, Berkshire Constabulary,” Payne said, holding up his warrant card. “This is Captain Boyle. We have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“What do the police and the American army want with me?” Fraser said, leaning back in his chair and studying us, pointedly not inviting us to sit in the two comfortable armchairs fronting his desk. He had a paunch restrained by a tight-fitting vest and a disappearing hairline that had left a glossy sheen in its wake, as if the crown of his head had been polished. He tapped a fountain pen on his desk, flashing his manicured nails.

“Now I remember you,” Payne said, snapping his fingers. “Razor Fraser, they called you for a while, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know to whom you are referring, Inspector, nor am I responsible for what names I am called by. I am not aware of any matters pending with the police, so please state your business.”

“How does murder sound as a pending matter?” Payne said, seating himself and crossing his legs. “Didn’t know you’d set up shop in Hungerford, Razor.”

“First of all, I find that name offensive,” Fraser said. “Secondly, what murder?”

“How’d you get it?” I asked, following Payne’s lead and sitting. “The nickname, I mean.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Fraser said, tossing the pen onto his desk.

“Then you should get a real receptionist instead of your girlfriend out there,” Payne said. “Bit young for you, eh Razor?”

“Miss Swinson is not my girlfriend. She is my employee.”

“As I said,” Payne continued. “It was up at the Oxford Crown Court, if I recall. There was a case of an enforcer from the Noonan Mob who had slit the throat of a rival criminal and was clumsy enough to have gotten caught. You prepared the brief for the barrister, which included testimony from witnesses who were threatened with the same treatment if they didn’t cooperate.”

“That was never proven,” Fraser said. “It’s nothing but a pack of lies.” He worked at staying calm, but his face was getting beet red.

“Proven and known to be true are two different things, I grant you,” Payne said, nodding sagely. “So you and your barrister get the villain off, and then guess what happens? He himself turns up dead,
his own throat slit for the trouble he caused the Noonan boys. That, Captain Boyle, is how our friend here came by the nickname Razor Fraser. Nice sound to it, eh?”

“Interesting coincidence too,” I said. “Us being here on a murder investigation.”

“Do you need representation, Captain?” Fraser said, trying to gain control of the conversation. “It was so nice of the inspector to think of me.”

“Actually it was the Newbury Building Society who thought of you,” I said.

“What? About the loan, do you mean? I thought that was all settled.”

“Do you recall the representative from the society who visited you?” Payne asked.

“From the Newbury, you mean,” Fraser said. “They prefer that name, you know.”

“Yes,” Payne said. “The Newbury. I can understand how sensitive you are to the matter of names. Do you recall that visit?”

“Of course,” Fraser said, leaning back in his chair and making a show of remembering, wrinkling his brow and rubbing his chin. The guy was a pro. “We went over the paperwork and I showed him the plans for the place. We want to put a passageway between the office and the house, and to add a morning room and a small greenhouse for my wife. She so enjoys puttering about her flowers and all that. Any law against the enjoyment of flowers, Inspector?”

“What was his name?” I asked, thinking back to Ernest Bone not mentioning he’d been visited by Stuart Neville.

“Can’t recall, really. It was strictly pro forma as far as I was concerned. Ah, I almost have it. Chamberlain? Something like that.”

“You’ve got it turned around. Neville was his last name. Stuart Neville,” Payne said.

“If you say so,” Fraser said with a small shrug. “Has he done something wrong?”

“Got himself killed,” Payne said. “Head bashed in three nights ago in Newbury. Did you happen to be out that night yourself, Razor?”

“Please, Inspector. Why would I kill a chap from the Newbury when they have just agreed to give me a loan? And if you suspect me of nefarious dealings with criminal figures, why do you suspect I would wield the weapon myself? I’d be more apt to hire one of those Noonan fellows you spoke of.”

“Would your wife, or perhaps Miss Swinson, know where you were that night? Late, I mean.”

“Three nights ago?” Fraser made a show of counting on his fingers. “Yes, three nights ago it would have been my wife.”

“Was there anything unusual about Neville when he was here? Something he might have mentioned?” I asked.

“I hardly remember what he looked like,” Fraser said. “He seemed perfectly ordinary. We discussed the terms of the loan, hardly stimulating conversation. What I do find interesting, though, is why you are here, Captain.”

“Captain Boyle is assisting us,” Payne said. “He helped coordinate the search for that missing girl from the Avington School, and is working with us on the Neville case, it being a matter of mutual concern.”

“Why?” Fraser asked, allowing a smirk to show. “Do the Americans need a loan? I thought they were swimming in money.”

“We ask the questions here, Razor,” Payne said. “So is there nothing you remember about Neville’s visit? Nothing you noticed?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I’d have thought he’d have been more interested in reviewing the plans,” Fraser said, gesturing at drawings unrolled on a nearby table. “We had an architect draw them up, all ready for inspection, but he gave them only the slightest attention. He is supposed to determine whether we have everything planned out properly, after all.” He sounded offended, as if he wished the dead man alive again only so he could berate him for his shortcomings.

“You haven’t heard anything about a kidnapping gang around here, have you?” Payne asked. “I know you’ve defended some dicey characters in your time, but crimes against children were never among the charges. Sexual crimes. If you’ve heard anything, it might save a young girl’s life.”

“I’ve heard about the drowned girl, it’s all over town,” Fraser said quietly. “Speaking in the hypothetical, I may have had certain contacts with people you’d not consider on the up and up. But every last man of them would draw the line at children. If I knew anything that would help apprehend the fiend who put that poor girl in the canal, I’d tell you and be glad I’d done my duty. Sadly, I cannot.”

“Thanks for your time, Mr. Fraser,” Payne said, ending on a cordial note. He rose and studied the drawings. “A greenhouse, eh? My wife’d fancy that herself.”

“I trust this incident will not hold up the loan, Inspector,” Fraser said, opening the door for us to leave.

“No, it should not,” Payne said, squinting at the printed legend on the plans. “You can tell the firm of Harrison Joinery not to worry. They should be on the job in no time.”

We left the office, and quickly confirmed with Mrs. Fraser that her husband was home the night of the murder. I wanted to ask about the other evenings, but bit my tongue. Instead, I asked Payne what his comment about the carpentry firm was all about as soon as we were out of earshot.

“Just a hunch,” he said. “Razor Fraser has likely accumulated income he cannot properly account for. I wouldn’t be surprised if the business doing the renovations is owned by him. Then he has the work end up over budget, and pays himself the difference from a stack of pound notes given to him by his criminal clients, so the illegal income gets washed clean. All sorts of ways ’round the taxman for a rogue like him.”

“Do you believe him about his gang drawing the line at crimes against young girls?” I asked Payne.

“From what I know of Fraser, I’d guess he believes that. There is a code of sorts among most villains. But there’s always a chance of one really rotten apple among all the merely bad.”

Payne’s driver took us out of Hungerford, taking the long way around to Kintbury, since the main road was closed off because of military traffic. We could hear the roar of engines in the distance, perhaps the start of the maneuvers Tree had mentioned. I wondered
if he’d found out anything useful at the Chilton Foliat jump school. We planned to meet for lunch at the Three Crowns Pub and exchange information. He was as anxious for me to solve the case of the murdered and missing girls as he was to get Angry Smith out of the slammer, now that wild rumors were sweeping through every base and billet in the area. As we drove along back roads where farmers were plowing their fields, I thought about Tree and how nothing was ever easy between us. It was like we could never simply do one thing and not have it cascade into a dozen problems. There was no straight line between us, only the hard angles of race and distrust, softened by familiarity, then hardened again by betrayal.