Dead Ground in Between (11 page)

“How's his grasp of English?”

Edie answered. “Not bad, considering. He's been studying all summer.”

“You can say that again,” said Ned with a wink. “We're not supposed to talk to them any more than necessary but he loves to practise. Seizes every chance he gets to ask Edie questions. She has the patience of Job. Not me.”

“Why shouldn't I help him when I can? What if I wanted to learn Italian?”

“Italian?” said Susan. “Whatever for?”

Tyler intervened. “Where is he now?” he asked Ned.

“In the barn. At least that's where he's supposed to be.”

“Did you want to ask
me
anything?” Edie piped up.

“The inspector wants to know if you heard John's pa going out the door last night,” Susan Cartwright answered for her. “Perhaps he thinks you would have just ignored it. You know, who cares if a senile old man goes outside to catch his death of cold? Obviously that's the way of this household. John and I didn't give a toss.”

“Of course I wouldn't have let Mr. Cartwright go out on such a night,” said Edie. She appeared genuinely upset.

“Mrs. Cartwright, I have said no such thing,” said Tyler. “I'd like to determine exactly what happened. Please understand this is part of my job.”

“I'm sorry,” she muttered.

Tyler turned to the girl. “Miss Walpole, did you hear anything out of the ordinary at all last night?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. None of us knew Mr. Cartwright was even out until we came for our midday break.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears. “I'm so sorry. It's dreadful that he would die that way.”

Ned reached across the table and put his hand over hers. “Don't cry, Edie, there's a girl. I've heard dying from the cold is a peaceful kind of death.”

“Is it, really?” None too gently, she extricated her hand from his.

So that's the lie of the land is it?
thought Tyler.

“Why don't you take the inspector down to the barn, Ned,” said Susan, “seeing as how he's keen to have a chinwag with the Itie.” She returned to tending the stew. Her back was stiff with anger.

Tyler got his hat and coat from the hook and followed Ned out into the chill wind.

The inside of the barn was gloomy, only a single oil lamp burning. There was a warm, musty smell of animals and hay.

“Hello? Hello? Angelo?” called Ned.

Tyler saw a young man at the far end of the barn. He was mucking out one of the stalls. He turned but didn't move toward them.

“Hello,” said Ned again. “Can you come over here for a minute?” He beckoned. “Over here.”

The Italian was wearing the obligatory brown overalls of the Italian prisoners of war, with the two distinguishing orange patches on the legs of the trousers. He was fair-haired with pale skin, probably in his early twenties, medium build, wiry and fit-looking.

“This is Angelo,” said Ned. “Don't ask me for his last name because I can't pronounce it.”

Tyler had already got the surname from John Cartwright. It was Iaquinta. Not that hard, really.

Ned pointed. “This, Inspector Tyler,” he said in a loud voice. “He wants to ask you questions.
Comprende?
Questions. About Mr. Cartwright, senior. The old man. We've found his body.”

Angelo froze. “His body? Mr. Cartwright is dead?”

“Yeah. We just discovered him about an hour ago.”

The only places to sit were the hay bales stacked against one wall of the barn. Tyler went and sat down.

“Join me,” he said, emphasizing his words with a gesture.

Angelo leaned his pitchfork against a stall and came over. Behind them one of the cows mooed loudly.

“I am very sorrowful that Mr. Cartwright is dead,” said the Italian. “Please accept our best wishes.”

Ned didn't even try to hide his guffaw.

“He was found in the area of the north field, not too far from the barn,” said Tyler. “I am trying to determine – to find out – how he got there.” He paused. “All right so far?”

Ned jumped in. “
Comprende
? Do you
comprende
what inspector say?”

The Italian nodded, although Tyler thought Ned's mangling of both languages might be difficult to follow.

He continued. “Did you see or hear Mr. Cartwright at any time last night?”

“No. I was – were – locked into the barn for the night. After supper. Perhaps half past nine o'clock.”

“That's right,” said Ned. “I brought him over myself. Barred and shuttered, as we're supposed to do with these fellows. Don't want them running around the countryside wild and free, do we? Who knows what they might get up to? No woman would be safe, would they? Not with them Italians.”

Angelo's hands clenched. Tyler could see that the man was taking in everything Ned Weaver said.

“Private Iaquinta, when did you know that Mr. Cartwright was missing?”

“When I went to house for meal. A discovery was made that he not in room. Not in
his
room.” His English was almost better than Ned's.

“You speak English very well,” said Tyler.

“Thank you, sir. I am studying since I am a prisoner. No, I should say I
have been studying
, should I not?”

“Hmm. I suppose that is correct. And there was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary last night?”

To his surprise, his question seemed to bring a rush of colour to the man's face. His fair skin couldn't hide it.

“It was not usual for me to spend the night here. Only occasional. But weather was very bad. Too bad to bike. Other than that, there was nothing. Nothing at all.”

“All right then.” Tyler got to his feet. “Continue with what you were doing.”

Angelo addressed Ned. “I shall assume you will need me on tomorrow?”

“There's always work to be done,” answered Ned. “Cows won't milk themselves, will they? So you'd better be here. Or somebody should be.”

“Thank you, and again I must say I am most sorry at the news of Mr. Cartwright.”

Ned shrugged. “He was old. He'd lived his life. We've all got to go sometime.”

Tyler walked with Ned back to the farmhouse. He was tempted to give the young man a dressing-down about his treatment of the Italian but he didn't think it would do much good. He guessed it wasn't just the fact that Angelo was Italian that was riling Ned. A pretty girl was in the mix somewhere.

In spite of the delicious odours emanating from the stove, the atmosphere in the kitchen was as cold as the weather.

“How was Angelo?” asked Edie as soon as they entered.

“Fine, I think,” said Tyler. “He sent his condolences to you, Mrs. Cartwright.”

Susan didn't answer and Tyler wasn't sure she'd even heard.

He headed for the door. “I'll get out of your way and wait for the ambulance in the parlour.”

Edie called out to him. “There's a paraffin heater in there, Inspector. You should probably turn it on. That room can get very cold.”

Susan focused on her stirring.

The parlour was indeed decidedly chilly but Tyler didn't light the heater. He could tough it out as good as any farmer.

Perhaps for a previous generation this room would have been fairly grand, with its big, heavy furniture, flocked wallpaper, two or three ornately framed oil paintings on the walls. Ancestors? Hard to tell. There were a couple of hooked rugs on
the wooden floor. Placed across the far corner was a wooden screen, the kind modest Victorian ladies used to dress behind while their lascivious husbands waited impatiently in the marriage bed. There was a towel hanging over the top of it, and Tyler guessed this corner was where Edie slept. It was certainly neither luxurious nor particularly private.

Rubbing his hands hard to get some circulation going, he walked over to the settee and sat down. It was as uncomfortable as it looked, but at least there was a colourful wool throw draped across the back. He tucked it around his knees, feeling decidedly octogenarian.

Mortimer had left the book that she'd been reading to the boys on the side table, and he reached for it. There was a marker at the place where she'd left off. The story was called “Cavalier Christmas.” Lots of plucky action involving plucky young lads of the age likely to be reading the annual. It was all romantic claptrap, really, but in spite of himself, he was getting quite absorbed when he heard the sound of a vehicle arriving. He left the Cavaliers eating roasted boar's head washed down with tankards of ale and went out to meet Dr. Murnaghan.

It was about three-quarters of an hour later when Tyler returned to the house. They'd lit more oil lamps against the gloom. Susan was once more at the kitchen counter, and Edie was at the table, darning a sock. Ned was nowhere to be seen. John Cartwright looked up from the large book he was reading, and Tyler realized it was a Bible.

“Have they taken him?” John asked.

“Yes, they have.”

“When will we be able to bury him?”

“There'll be a post-mortem, and the body will be released to you after that.”

“Thank you, Inspector. We'd better start making arrangements.”

“I should be getting back to the station. I'll be in touch as soon as possible.”

Edie put her darning into a basket by her side. “Shall I drive the inspector back to Ludlow, Mrs. Cartwright?”

Susan nodded.

“I'd appreciate that, if you really don't mind,” said Tyler. He was being a trifle insincere. Unless he requisitioned the horse, he actually had no other way to get back to Ludlow except on foot. Constable Mortimer had already left on the motorcycle, with the boys in the sidecar, and Biggs had followed after them on the boys' bicycle.

Edie pushed back her chair. “I'll get my things.”

She left the room and the heavy silence descended again.

Then John said, his voice low, “Just last week, Pa said he wanted to be buried in the old cemetery in Bitterley. My ma is laid to rest there, and my granddad and grandma. Strange he should be talking about it so recently.”

Susan made a scoffing noise. “Your pa was always talking about dying. Where he wanted to be buried. Who he was leaving his money to. Not me, for sure. He never stopped. Every second day, he'd bring it up. ‘Now when I go, I want a proper funeral, good pine coffin. And I want to be put in the family plot. Right beside my Grace. If you don't put me right beside her she'll follow me beyond the grave to nag me.' Come on, John. You know how he was.”

John's face wore a wounded expression.

Edie came back into the room wearing her overcoat.

“I'm ready when you are, Inspector.”

“Right. Mr. Cartwright, Mrs. Cartwright, please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you, Inspector, you've been very kind.” John glanced at his wife. His eyes were full of unhappiness, but she'd already turned her back and was fiddling with something in the sink.

Night had fallen, and the vehicle headlights, with the mandatory restricting strips, gave out only a feeble light. The rain had stopped, but a low-lying mist had come up, intensifying the impenetrability of the darkness. Edie seemed familiar with the road, and didn't drive too fast

She steered the lorry carefully around a sharp curve, then said, “So, Angelo was all right when you talked to him?”

“Yep. Seemed like a decent chap. His English is good, all things considering.”

She smiled. “He's a fast learner. I hope talking to you didn't get him all worried.”

“Worried?”

“Well, you know, the Italians are our enemies at the moment. The men here could be accused of anything, at any time.”

“Not if I have a say in the matter.”

“What did you think of him? As a person, I mean.”

Tyler thought he would test the waters a little. “Good-looking lad.”

“Yes, he is, isn't he? You don't usually see somebody that fair who's Italian, but he's got northern blood in his veins. They're all blond in the north, according to him, and some of his ancestors must have come from there. And those Italians are real hard workers, let me tell you. We arrived at the Cartwright farm at the same time in fact. Angelo asked me to help him with his English, so we've had lots of chats.” She shot a questioning glace at Tyler. “To tell you the truth, Inspector, sometimes it's hard to see them as enemies, if you know what I mean. Not when you're working together in the broiling sun and they do their best to make some of the jobs easier for you. They didn't have to do that but they did. I know we're not supposed to fraternize, but how can you not talk when you're working together for hours and hours?”

“I'm sure it would seem unnatural.”

“Before the war, Angelo was a dairyman in Italy. He's really helped us with the cows. Even old Mr. Cartwright listened to him.”

“I thought Mrs. Cartwright said Jasper didn't like the
POWS
. He was rude to them.”

“Oh, he'd get into bad moods with everybody. He wanted to talk about soldiering but their English wasn't good enough, and that frustrated him. But I wouldn't say he was exactly rude. Not the way he was with Ned. Blimey, he could be rotten to him. Said he was a coward because he'd been discharged from the army.”

“The army? I'd assumed he wasn't called up because he was in a reserved occupation. Do you know what happened?”

‘'I'm not entirely sure. It's a touchy subject. Near as I can make out, something occurred when he was in training camp and he was invalided out.” She caught Tyler's questioning look. “I don't know what the problem was. He wasn't hurt or anything like that – at least not in any way that shows – but apparently he had some sort of nervous breakdown.”

“Is that why his mother said he only helps out when he can? I wondered about that.”