Catching the Wind(40)

He hoped the officials over in Germany flayed whichever pilot dropped that bomb on Breydon Court. They were supposed to be diverting attention from this property by bombing down south, not marking the spot where their man had landed.

The parachutist was livid as well. He’d run through the snow last night to find a hiding place for himself, no time to stow his parachute.

Now Roger—the name on the man’s fake papers—was in Lady Ricker’s car, waiting under a canopy of trees with the chauffeur. They needed Olivia before they could leave.

Eddie peeled back the blackout curtain to look outside, but he couldn’t see anything unusual in the fading light. Then the telephone rang, and he swore into the receiver.

Olivia whirled toward him. “What is it?”

He hung up the phone. “One of the detectives is driving this way.”

“There’s no reason for him to stop here—”

“He’s planning to interview everyone on Mulberry Lane.”

Olivia blanched. “Where’s the girl?”

He raced across the landing and found her under the cot. “Get up!”

She actually listened this time, standing as he stuffed the small pile of clothing from her closet into a paper bag. Then he shoved it into her hands. She dropped the bag and bent over to fold the feet of the cot.

“Nein,” he said. “You won’t need that.”

He tried to pull her away, but she clung to the cot.

“Aus.” He pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

But the girl wouldn’t let go of her bed, and he had no time to fight.

“Fine,” he shouted, quickly collapsing the cot and rolling it up. “Take it with you.”

The doorbell rang below, and for the first time since he’d moved to Breydon Court, Eddie thought their jig was up. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait for the investigator. He could go to Newhaven with Olivia and the parachutist right now. Start over again in a new town.

He had already hidden the wireless transmitter, but his camera was still in the cellar, with film inside. He’d been careless, leaving the film, but he hadn’t thought someone would be searching his house.

If he ran, the detective would surely suspect him. And the images on his camera would seal his fate. Ultimately they’d discover that he and Lady Ricker were collaborating.

The doorbell rang again, and Olivia burst onto the landing. One suitcase was tucked under her arm, clothing trailing out both sides. The handle of another case was clasped in her hand.

He would stay here and face the investigator, feigning ignorance. Helpfulness, even, if he must. He would tell them that his former wife had been a photographer.

Olivia rushed down the stairs, and he grabbed the end of the girl’s cot and pulled her down the steps as well. Near the back door, his wife leaned to kiss him, but he pushed her outside with the girl. There was no time for sentiment when they were all in danger of being shot or hanged.

“Run!” he commanded them.

The doorbell rang for the third time, and he tugged at his collar. What a bally mess. Sweat poured off his forehead, down his neck, and he reached for a dish towel to wipe it off before he opened the door.

A wool topcoat did little to hide the rolls of flesh cushioning the detective’s frame. “I’m Inspector Hill.” The man tipped his black trilby hat. “Are you Eddie Terrell?”

“I am.”

The man looked over Eddie’s shoulder. “Does it always take you this long to answer your door?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

The detective studied his face.

“You interrupted my bath.”

The man gave a curt nod. “I’m from Scotland Yard. And I have a few questions to ask.”

He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

“Anyone else here?” the inspector asked as he stepped over the threshold.

“No,” Eddie said, tugging on his stiff collar again. “I live alone.”





CHAPTER 24





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The Royal Institution of Great Britain was caged in light—the atrium, lift, even some of the walls were made of glass. In a laboratory, behind one of these glass walls, Quenby waited as Lucas’s friend—a pretty technician named Meribeth—connected Quenby’s iPad to a camera on the microscope.

After a tutorial, Quenby sat on a stool beside the steel table and removed one of the microphotographs from the envelope with tweezers, sandwiching it between two slides. Meribeth helped her adjust the lighting, eyepiece, and zoom dial until the image grew clear. The picture was of a building with an open front. Like an airplane hangar. Instead of being colored black and white, it was an ivory and brown.

Quenby copied the image onto her iPad before slipping the next photograph onto the microscope stage.

Last night, she’d learned that Lucas worked solely for one client—Mr. Knight and his company, Arrow Wind. This morning, Lucas was at his office writing other contracts, but his text had opened the door for her to use one of the best dissecting microscopes—if not the best—in the United Kingdom.

The next photographs captured a lineup of old airplanes, the British roundels on the fuselages distinct. There were no people in these pictures and only the outline of buildings in the background. She saved those photographs to examine later before viewing the last one. A hand-drawn map of an airport. There were no markings of the map’s location but plenty of notes about hangars, headquarters, barracks, and runways.