Lost Among the Living(43)

“Perhaps,” Martin agreed. “There was no one else in the plane to use the parachute. But I have to say, Cousin Jo, that it’s possible he was injured without leaving blood in the cockpit. Broken bones, bruises. A head wound can knock a man so hard he’s helpless as a baby.”

I was quiet, staring into the dark.

Martin continued. “And if he jumped in broad daylight in the middle of the German woods, where the hell did he go? Why didn’t he turn up anywhere? He’d be a valuable prisoner for the Huns—an RAF officer like him. His name should have appeared on prisoner lists.”

“Alex had German blood,” I said. “He knew the language.”

“Which just means he could have negotiated better treatment at one of their prisons if he was taken up. I had my contact do a thorough search, Cousin. Alex’s name does not appear in the records anywhere.”

I pressed my fingers lightly to my forehead. The pressure from my rib cage seemed to have migrated there. “Alex could have been killed in those woods,” I said. “The enemy could have found him and shot him, buried him in an unmarked grave. If he had a head wound, he couldn’t have defended himself. For all I know, he took the chance to—” I clamped my mouth shut, my cheeks heating.

“Took the chance to what?” Martin asked.

To switch sides and join the German army. The words had been on the tip of my tongue, impulsive—I had almost spoken them aloud. I was shocked that I had even thought them. Stupid words, shameful words. Words I did not mean and could never say, especially to a man who had given his health and nearly given his life fighting for England.

“I’m upset,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

He looked bemused. “Of course you’re upset. You needn’t apologize.”

I shook my head. I was losing my perspective, letting the dark conversation I’d had with Dottie get to me. He went off to live with Germans. Germans! And he looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to go. Alex was fluent in German. He had family there—family he was loyal to. He had never spoken in detail to me about his father’s family, but I knew his time with them had been important to him, that he had been grateful they’d taken him in.

He told you nothing.

If he’d joined the enemy’s army, his name wouldn’t come up on any lists. If he’d even used his own name, that was—

Hans Faber.

I sat still, my head in my hands, my heart stopped in my chest, my breath going still.

“Jo?” Martin asked.

Hans Faber. The name in the camera case. I had nearly forgotten it until this moment.

No. No. It cannot be. Stop thinking this, Jo. Stop it.

“Jo? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said. I raised my head. “I’m just upset. I’ve been over and over this so many times, and I never get any closer to an answer.”

Martin rubbed a hand over his face. “I know. I wish I could be more help. But you see, I did try.”

“I’m going to write Colonel Mabry,” I said. “If I meet with him, will you come?”

“Of course. What do you plan to ask him?”

“I want Alex’s military record—his file at the War Office. I’m certain the colonel has the authority to get it for me.”

Martin looked at me thoughtfully. “You can try it, Jo, but I don’t think the official record is going to tell you very much.”

“It’ll tell me more than I know now, which is nothing.” A thought occurred to me. “Unless you can pull more favors and get it for me?”

He shook his head. “My influence doesn’t reach that high, I’m afraid. But you know, I’ve heard Mabry’s name before. I’m sure of it. I’m just not certain where.”

“He seems rather high ranking,” I said, “though I don’t know much about these things. It isn’t strange that you’d have heard his name.”

“No, no, it wasn’t through the army. I have it now. It was Mabry’s son—he was in one of those hospitals, you know, for shell-shocked fellows. Do you remember the hospital in Yorkshire that was in the news a few years ago?”

I dimly recalled it. “The one that was closed due to mismanagement?”

“That’s the one. It was supposed to be an exclusive place, but there was an influenza outbreak and some sort of scandal.”

“I remember,” I said, “though I don’t remember Mabry’s name.”

“I do. The poor chap was one of the patients. That must have been a tough pill for a man like the colonel to swallow, having his son in a place like that. Not that I’m judging anyone—I’m in no position for it.”

The terrace door opened behind us, and a set of footsteps sounded across the stone. “It’s a little cold out here for telling secrets, isn’t it?”

We turned. Robert was coming toward us, the light from the house behind him casting him in silhouette. He was dressed in his usual dapper suit, his hair slicked back from his forehead. I had barely seen him in the weeks I’d been at Wych Elm House.

“Good evening, Papa,” Martin said. “Care to join us?”

“No, though I do admit I’m curious as to what you’re whispering about. Your heads are bent so close together I’m wondering if we should plan a wedding after all.”