Season Of Darkness (2 page)

“Dad. Dad. Wake up. You’re wanted on the telephone.”

He opened his eyes. His daughter, Janet, was standing beside the bed.

“Who is it?” he said, his tongue thick. Too much booze last night.

“Sir Percy Somerville. He says it’s urgent.”

Groaning, Tyler sat up, waiting until the room stopped spinning before he ventured to stand.

“Gosh, Dad, you smell of beer. That must have been a super party.”

“It was a victory party and don’t be cheeky.” He yawned. “Did Sir P. say what he wanted?”

“Mom was the one who answered. All I know is he said it was urgent.”

Vera’s voice, shrill and irritated, came up from downstairs.
“What are you doing? Sir Percy’s waiting.”

Tyler winked at his daughter. “I need to go to the loo first. Tell your mom to say I’ll call him right back.”

Janet headed for the door, then turned. “Dad, I need to talk to you.”

He regarded her. There were dark circles underneath her eyes and her normally sunny expression had disappeared.

“What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t get into it now. Can we talk when you come home?”

“Of course. What is it, boy troubles?”

She flinched and answered sharply. “No. Nothing like that.”

Oops. He’d trod on a sensitive topic, obviously. “You don’t have to take my head off, Jan.”

“Sorry, Dad … I …” She didn’t finish and left.

He shuffled off to the toilet. His mouth was foul and his intestines felt as if somebody had had a go at them with a scrubbing brush. Relief from his bladder achieved, he pulled the chain, leaning for a moment over the toilet bowl, wondering if he was going to be sick. No, it seemed all right. He padded into the adjoining bathroom and stared into the mirror. He stuck out his tongue. Ugh. You could run a comb through that fur. His complexion was fair, the kind that goes with carrot red hair, and yesterday’s sun had burned his nose and flamed his cheeks. He’d been in the open air all day, first visiting some of the local farmers to check their stock, and later playing football. His team had won the game and it was definitely worth a bit of peeling.

Moving as fast as his head would allow, he shaved, and rinsed out his mouth. Finally, he went slowly downstairs, still the worse for wear, not completely awake but at least alive.

He could see Vera wiping at something on the kitchen table. He had the feeling it was where he’d dribbled jam late last
night when he’d tried to make himself a piece of toast. He’d hear about that one.

“Morning.” Once he would have kissed her; now they didn’t even exchange pecks.

“Take your time why don’t you? Sir Percy is waiting.” There was a tight knot between her eyebrows. “You were late coming home last night.”

“I know, I know, but it’s not every day the Wolverines win a championship. The lads had to celebrate.” He poured himself a glass of water and gulped some down. “Did Percy say what he wanted at this ungodly hour?”

“No, but he was in a real tizzy. You’d better give him a ring right away.” Vera was already dressed in her flowered house frock, her hair combed and pinned back. She must have been up at the crack of dawn. “Had a bad night, did you?”

She had turned away from him and he hardly heard the question.

“Why’d you say that?” he asked, startled.

“First, if you’ll excuse the expression, you’ve got a face on you that would turn milk sour, and second, you were moaning and twitching in your sleep like the devil was after you.”

He pushed away the feeling of guilt over his dream. Vera was very perceptive where he was concerned, but surely not even she could read his mind.

He shrugged. “One too many, I suppose.”

Taking the glass of water with him, he walked into the minuscule hall and picked up the telephone. The operator’s cheery voice came on the line first. “Number, please.”

“Hello, Mavis. It’s Tom here. Get me Beeton Manor, will you? I want to speak to Sir Percy.”

“Tom? What were you lads up to last night? Charlie came home drunk as a lord and singing at the top of his voice. He woke up the whole neighbourhood.”

Tyler groaned to himself, his memory of the final stages of the celebration lost in a beery haze.

“Good thing he’s got a fine voice, Mavis. How is he this morning?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. When I left he was dead to the world.”

“Well, he did score the winning goal. He deserves to celebrate.”

Mavis chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. It has been a long time coming. Hold on, I’ll connect you with Sir Percy. He sounds upset.” There was a short pause and Tyler drank some more water. He felt as if he were trying to irrigate the Sahara.

Then Mavis was back.

“Go ahead please, Sir Percy.”

The magistrate’s rumbly, slightly neighing voice came over the line. “Tyler. We’ve got a nasty incident on our hands.”

“What is it, sir?”

“There’s been an accident. Very serious. I can’t go into details over the phone, don’t you know, but I need you to come at once.”

“And where will you be, sir?” Tyler asked before the magistrate could hang up.

“Oh, yes. The incident seems to have occurred a mile or so above Ash Magna. On the Heath Road, not far from the crossroads. I’ll meet you there.”

Tyler hung up and went back into the kitchen.

Vera pushed a large cup of tea across the table. “What’s up? Sins catching up with you?”

“For God’s sake, Vera, put a sock in it. There’s been an accident on the Heath Road. Bloody blackout again, probably.”

She wasn’t that contrite. “That’ll probably take you all day to sort out. Just so you know, I’m at the Institute for the evening. It’s bandage night. Dad gave me a nice pork chop
for your tea. I’ll leave it in the oven and you can warm it up when you get back.”

Vera was nothing if not dutiful.

He reached for his hat and coat, which he vaguely remembered dropping on the floor when he came home but which were now on a hook by the door.

Vera wasn’t done with carping. “I want you to have a word with your daughter. She’s been late for work three times this past fortnight, and you know how Dad is such a stickler for punctuality. She’ll get the sack if she’s not careful, granddaughter or no granddaughter.”

Janet had been adamant about leaving school and “doing her bit” for the war effort, and Vera had pushed for her to go into the family business. Tyler knew that his daughter hated her job at the butcher’s shop his father-in-law owned. He wasn’t surprised she was in no hurry to get there.

Vera shook her head. “What with her and our Jimmy acting so strange, I’m worried sick about the two of them. Jimmy doesn’t come home until the wee hours. You don’t even know, but I hear him. And he must have already gone out. No breakfast, no notice, nothing. He’s not himself at all.”

She looked so worried, he softened toward her. “I thought he was looking more chipper lately. I’ll wager he’s found himself a lassie.”

Her expression changed abruptly. “Not everybody has that on their mind every minute of the day.”

So much for softening.

He grabbed his hat and coat and picked up his cup of tea. “I’ll take this with me.”

When he stepped out of the house, he stood and gulped down some of the tea. Not quite the hair of the dog, but it would have to do. The intensity of his dream about Clare hadn’t really faded, but there wasn’t anything he could do
about that. He wondered when he’d next see her.

He crossed the road to the tiny car park at the rear of the station where the sole police vehicle, an ancient Humber, was kept. As far as he was concerned, the wretched thing was more of a liability than an asset, but they had to make do with it. A lot of the time it refused to start, and he thought a trotting cow could move faster.

He forced himself to control his impatience and turn the crank steadily until the engine caught. Before it could change its mind, he jumped in and drove off.

The houses were bathed in the soft, golden light of early morning; cattle grazed on the green, lush hills behind the town. People bought postcards of places like this. England at its most beautiful. Whitchurch was too rural to be of interest to the Luftwaffe, and so far the bombers hadn’t touched it. It was only when you saw the black wreaths on some of the doors; only when you noticed that the shop windows were displaying fewer and fewer wares; only at night, when the streets went dark in compliance with the blackout regulations; only then did you have to acknowledge the old life had gone forever.

Tyler was in no mood to dwell on those thoughts, although they weren’t ever that far from his mind. Right now, he was concentrating on coaxing as much speed as he could out of the Humber. When he reached the turnoff, he was forced to slow down. The Heath Road was rough, dotted with potholes, and he couldn’t risk breaking an axle. He’d driven no more than five minutes when he saw a Land Army lorry at the side of the road. There was no one in the driver’s seat, and he felt a pang of alarm. Over the summer, he’d seen some of the Land girls who were billeted here. They seemed a grand bunch. He hoped one of them hadn’t got into an accident.

He picked up as much speed as he dared and rounded another bend, stopping just short of Sir Percy’s big white
Bentley. The magistrate was standing beside a lanky older man in soldier’s uniform. It was Ron Ellwood, a man Tyler knew from town. He could see how relieved both men were to see him. What on earth had happened?

As Tyler parked the Humber and got out, Sir Percy hurried over to him, hand outstretched. Ellwood gave him a crisp salute, presented arms, then stood at attention with his rifle at his side.

“Ah, Tyler, thank goodness,” said the magistrate. His hand was cold, the handshake the usual limp kind he always gave. “The, er … the victim is over there.”

There was a tarpaulin a few feet away in a narrow pass-by. A swarm of flies hovered above the mound.

Tyler walked over, and pulled back the cover.

Underneath was the body of a young woman. She appeared to have been shot.

Her left temple was completely shattered. Pieces of white bone protruded from the blood and brain tissue.

“Oh, Lord. I know this girl,” exclaimed Tyler. “Her name was Elsie Bates.”

T
YLER LEANED OVER AND BRUSHED AWAY THE BUZZING
flies. The congealing blood had sealed closed one of her eyes; the other, once blue, now already darkening, stared at him. The entire left side of her face and throat was caked with blood, as was the front of her tan coat. Gingerly, he pulled the tarpaulin farther down. Her snug dungarees were tucked into dusty gum boots and appeared to be undisturbed. Thank God for that.

The girl’s arms were beside her, and a gun was lying underneath the fingers of her right hand.

“Look at that, will you,” exclaimed Sir Percy. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice. “God forbid, have we got a suicide here?”

“I don’t think so, sir. The wound is on the wrong side of her head for one thing. It would be on the right if she’d done it herself.” Besides, Tyler couldn’t believe this girl would kill herself. Not Elsie Bates with her palpable hunger for life. He’d last seen her on Saturday night as she walked down the street to the church hall where the dances were held. Her skirt swung around her tanned knees, her scarlet lipstick drew attention to her full lips.

He eased the gun free, holding it carefully by the tip of the barrel, then shook out his handkerchief, wrapped the gun, and examined it more closely. It was an older model German Luger
P-08
. The stock was blue and the letter
B
was carved on one side. He slipped off the safety catch, removed the magazine, and cracked it open. Only one bullet had been fired, and that recently.

He put it aside and turned his attention back to the body. Elsie had brown, straight hair, which she wore parted down the middle and swept up at the sides, where it was secured with two plain green combs. It was neat and tidy. Carefully, he lifted each limp hand. In life, they had been strong and capable, the palms showing signs of calluses and the fingernails cut short. What he’d expect from a Land Army girl. There was no smell of cordite on the hands, no sign of gun residue, no blood.

Curiously, there was a bunch of white flowers lying on her chest.

“Did you put these here?” he asked Ellwood.

“No, I didn’t. Can’t say I even noticed them. I just wanted to cover ’er up as fast as possible.”

Tyler laid the flowers on the grass. They were white poppies.

Sir Percy inched closer and peered down. “Are they significant, Tom? I know all those conchies sell them. They’re the emblem of the Peace Pledge Union. She’s a Land Army girl. I can’t imagine her being in with the Bolsheviks.”

“I’ve no idea. They grow all around here and these are fresh.”

He fished in the pockets of the dungarees. There was a shilling and a motor car key in one pocket, a packet of cigarettes and a handkerchief in the other. He put the key in his own pocket and placed the other items beside the flowers.

She was partly propped up against the hedge, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her body forward. Her head tilted sickeningly to the side before he could stop it.

“The bullet exit wound is here, right at the base, but there’s hardly any blood on the hedge where you’d expect it to be. Corporal, did you move her?”

“No, sir. She were exactly where she is now. All I did was cover her with a tarpaulin we had in the lorry.”

At that moment, the sun winked through the trees and glinted red on a nearby sharp-edged rock. Tyler lowered the body gently and walked over to the spot. He dropped to his haunches.

“There’s blood here.” He saw the metal bullet casing lying about two feet away, and picked it up. “This is definitely where she was shot. I doubt she put a gun to her head over here, blew out her brains, then got up and sat down against the hedge.”

The grass along the verge was slightly flattened and he could see scuff marks in the dust of the road. Here and there were more splotches of blood. “And then she was dragged over to the pass-by … We’re looking at a homicide, all right.”

“She’s just a young lass,” said Sir Percy. “What savage would do a thing like this?”