The Armada Boy (12 page)

'Right. .. I'll get over there.'

He looked at his watch: half past
one. He would have liked Wesley to go with him but he didn't want to disturb
Pam at that time of night, not with the baby so close. Rachel was second choice.
He told her to meet him at the hotel in half an hour.

Chapter Five

Wherever American troops were stationed,
the local girls seemed to find them irresistible, especially with their own
young men away in the forces. Our area here in South Devon was no exception.
Many local girls married American servicemen and swapped the rolling fields of
Bereton for the adventure of living on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

From
A History of Bereton and Its People
by June Mallindale

Heffernan got a patrol car to drop him
at the hotel. He met Rachel in the foyer, brightly lit in view of the current
crisis. Dorothy Slater greeted them wearing a substantial pink dressing gown.
For the first time the inspector wondered if there had ever been a Mr
Slater, and if so what had become of him.

A Mr Johnson rang in after his wife
had failed to return from a drive.' Rachel began, sounding remarkably alert
considering the late hour. 'Apparently she'd hired a car on Saturday afternoon from
a garage in Tradmouth so she could do some sightseeing.'

'She's probably got lost, Rach ...
or run out of petrol. Any accidents reported?'

'None, sir. And I've checked all
local emergency hospital admissions... nothing.'

'Okay. Tell all patrols to keep a
lookout for the car. Got the number?'

'Yes, sir. It's been done.'

'She'll be lost down some country
lane. You know what they're like round here . .. like a maze when you can't see
over the hedgerows. She'll meet up with some farmer on his tractor out for the
dawn milking.' He turned to go. 'Nothing more we can do, Rach ... all been seen
to. Have you talked to the husband?'

'He's very upset, sir... especially
after the murder.'

'What did you say to him?'

'More or less what you've just said.
If you don't know the lanes you can easily get lost, especially in the dark.'

'Fair enough, then. She'll turn up
safe and sound in the morning. Let's get back home for some kip, eh?'

'There's one more thing, sir. She's
not a stranger round here...not really. She was brought up locally ... married
Mr Johnson in the war and went over to the States in 1945. A GI bride, I think they
called them.'

Heffernan, hovering by the door,
turned round. 'Right, then. Let's have a word with the husband, shall we?'

Ed Johnson sat in the empty lounge
on the edge of a faded chintz armchair. He was a small, wiry man with steel-grey
hair. His face, as he looked up at them, was heavily lined, indicating that
he'd spent a good proportion of his life out of doors. His eyes,
a piercing blue, were rheumy with unshed tears. 'Have you found her?' His voice
cracked with anxiety.

'Not yet, sir. But there's been no accident
report. It's our guess that she's got herself lost. Did she say where she was
going exactly?'

Johnson shook his head. 'She just
said she was going for a drive.'

'What time was this?'

'After dinner... half past eight.'

'How did she seem?' Johnson looked
at Heffernan blankly.

'Was she upset about anything? Did she
seem unhappy? Was there anything different about her behaviour?'

Johnson shook his head. 'She just
went for a drive, that's all.'

'Did she know this area well?'

'She did once. I guess. It don't
seem to have changed that much.'

'Where exactly did she live before she left England? Is there anywhere she
talked about wanting to see again?'

'She lived in Maleton ... little
place a couple of miles from here. Her pa ran the village store. But her folks
died some years back.' He looked up challengingly. 'What are you going to do to
find her?'

'We've put out a message to all our
patrols to look out for her car. We'll check Maleton in case she's gone back
there on a sentimental journey. But I'm sure she's got herself lost or run out
of petrol somewhere.'

'Petrol?' Johnson looked puzzled.

'Gas,' translated Rachel.

'No, the tank was nearly full... I
checked this morning.'

Heffernan looked at Rachel. Another
theory gone out of the window. "There's probably nothing to worry about.
Mr Johnson. She'll turn up in the morning, you'll see. In the meantime try and get
some sleep. Just one more thing ... has she taken any luggage
with her?"

Johnson looked at him blankly.

'Perhaps DC Tracey here could help
you check.'

Rachel waited until the man rose
slowly to his feet and then followed him from the room. After a few minutes she
returned and caught Heffernan about to doze off on the sofa.

'Sir.' He came to with a jolt 'There's
something you should know. Some of Mrs Johnson's clothes and one of her cases
are missing. Mr Johnson's in a bit of a state. He's taken one of his pills.'

'At least we know that wherever
she's gone she's gone then: of her own free will. Got a description of her?'

'Better than that... I've got a photo.'

There's nothing more we can do here.
I'd get home to bed if I were you.'

When Rachel had driven off, Heffernan
wandered back into the hotel foyer where Dorothy Slater still kept her lonely
vigil behind the reception desk, studying some forms, although her eyes were hardly
focusing on them.

'Mr Johnson's gone up to bed."
he began. 'I'm sure there's nothing to worry about ... probably just got
herself lost. Seen anything of that nephew of yours?'

'No. I'm hoping he's gone back where
he came from.'

'We've got his two mates down at the
station. Giving them a hot meal and a bed for the night. .. looked like they
could use it.'

Mrs Slater looked unsympathetic. 'If
you see your Nigel, you will let us know, won't you? We'd like a word."

'I'll do that. Inspector.'

'How's your mother?'

'Fine. I've not told her about
Nigel. It's best that way.'

'Does he know where her flat is?"

'Of course not. Why?'

"Nothing .. . just being nosy.
Goodnight, then. I'd get to bed if I were you.'

When Heffernan left he walked the
half-mile up the lane to the incident room at the village hall. He had a key,
given to him very reluctantly by the formidable woman caretaker, so he let
himself in, trying hard not to make a noise and awake any village vigilantes.

The room they were using was in
darkness. Heffernan switched the fluorescent light on and it flickered into
life. The file he was looking for lay neatly on Wesley's desk. He flicked
through the statements taken from the American veterans and their wives until
he came to the one he was looking for ... Sally Johnson's.
Between nine and eleven on the evening of Norman Openheim's death, she had been
taking a walk along the beach. She had seen nobody except another woman walking
her dog: she did not know whether the woman had seen her.

Sally Johnson had gone missing ...
and she had no solid alibi for the murder of Norman Openheim. Heffernan picked
up the phone and rang for a patrol car to take him back to Tradmouth...back to
his bed to think.

Rachel came into the incident room
yawning, surprised to see her boss so alert after their disturbed night. 'Any
news of Mrs Johnson?'

'Nothing yet... but have a look at
this.' He flung the statement on to the desk in front of her. 'She's got no
alibi.'

'Doesn't mean she's guilty, sir."

'But it's worth a look, isn't it...
seeing she's gone missing.'

'I'll check the house-to-house statements... see if anyone with a dog was
walking it on the beach that evening.'

"Good. Seen Wes?'

"He's around somewhere. We're
meant to be going to see Norman Openheim's daughter. She's over in Tradmouth
... on the estate.'

'Before you do that can you pick up
Openheim's things from the hospital and take them to the widow. I want her to
see if anything's missing. Then you can have a chat to the veterans about Sally
Johnson ... find out what you can about her and what her relationship was with
Norman Openheim. She was a GI bride: find out if she talked about seeing anyone
while she was over here... or visiting any particular place. Get her old home
checked as well ... village store in Maleton.'

"If it still exists. Lots of
village shops have closed down.'

'Well, find out. Openheim's love
child can wait till tomorrow.'

'That's an expression you don't hear
much ... love child.'

'Probably not politically correct...
not many things are nowadays.
 
Take
Wesley with you to the hotel. I know Steve'd prefer an armed stake-out but I'll
get him to go through these statements instead ,.. see if we can find a woman
who walked her dog on the
beach on Sunday night.'

After driving to Tradmouth for
Norman Openheim's belongings,
 
Wesley and
Rachel drove back along the coast road, quiet at this time of year before the
tourists began their annual invasion. When they reached the hotel they were
told that most of the
veterans had gone over to Tradmouth to have a look at the town and its church.
Dorinda Openheim, however, was in the lounge reading the morning paper and
sipping a cup of strong black coffee. Todd Weringer sat in an adjoining
armchair, his face
hidden behind a broadsheet.

'Sorry to disturb you, Mrs
Openheim.' Wesley glanced at Weringer, who had put down his paper and was now
peering at the newcomers over half-moon reading glasses. 'If we could have a word
in private.'

'It's okay, honey. I've no secrets
from Todd. I'd like him to stay. He's been a tower of strength since Norman
passed away...don't know what the heck I'd have done without him.' She smiled sweetly
as she spouted the cliches, determination in her eyes.
Wesley didn't bother to argue. Todd Weringer's presence could do no harm.

Rachel produced the plastic bag that
contained Norman Openheim's personal belongings. I wonder if you could go through
these. Mrs Openheim ... see if anything's missing or if
there's anything unusual. Take your time... there's no rush." She emptied
the contents of the bag on to the coffee table carefully. Dorinda looked at the
items without much interest. A handkerchief, clean; a couple of leaflets, one
about a nearby castle and one describing the delights of a local museum - there
was a whole rack of such material in the hotel reception and Norman had
probably picked these up as he passed. There was some loose change, a ten-pound
note and a half-eaten packet of strong mints.

'Is this all the money he had with
him?' Rachel asked.

I guess so.'

'Anything missing?'

Dorinda shook her head. Then she
studied the objects again with renewed interest as if she'd remembered
something that had been eluding her. 'Yeah ... the lighter. It's not here.'