To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(51)

“Yes, that’s Mr. Beale. He works for me.”

“Works for you? Well, well, well—man working for a woman. New one on me. Take a seat, Miss Dobbs—you can ask me all the questions you want to ask about Joe. Silly boy, skylarking around near a railway line, not able to hold his drink and standing on top of a wall like that.” He shook his head. “If he’d just had a bit of brain in his noddle, he would have seen that coming.”

“How did you find out how Joe died?”

“Freddie Mayes telephoned in—he’d found out from the police, then they came here.”

“I see.” Maisie sighed. “I wonder, Mr. Yates, what evidence do you have that Joe had been drinking?”

“Freddie told me—I had to ask him and Len, on account of the accident, and of course the police have been around. Said it was open and shut—death by misadventure and all that. But still, I’ll be going to see the family—probably tomorrow. Wanted to give them a bit more chance to get over the shock before I turned up. I’ve got Joe’s last pay packet, and a bit extra as a consideration for the family, to see them all right. Mind you, that’s if Dopey out there can pull herself together to get it all ready for me.” He looked past Maisie to Charlotte Bright, and then back again. “Auxiliary Territorial Service? That one? They’ll chuck her out after a week of her painting her nails in the dark when she’s supposed to be operating a searchlight—you mark my words.”

Maisie thought it best to ignore the comment. “It’s very good of you to visit Joe’s people, to help them out. They’ll need it for the funeral.”

“Not many firms would do it, but we like to take care of our own here at Yates. Now then, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Yates, I am curious to know if Joe was the only one of your men to experience headaches and other symptoms, likely associated with the emulsion they’ve been using—the fire retardant, and—”

“How do you know about all that?” asked Yates.

Maisie gave a half-smile. “I think it’s fairly common knowledge that your crews who are currently in Hampshire were working with a type of paint that prevents fire when air force buildings are under attack from the enemy.”

Yates shook his head. “Not one of them can keep a thing to themselves, that lot.”

“Were they supposed to?”

“Were they heck? I told every one of them—if anyone asks, you’re just giving the buildings a lick of paint. Making everything nice for when old Adolf waltzes right in.”

Maisie sighed, wondering how she might continue the conversation and perhaps tease more information out of Yates. “You can’t stop lads talking about their work or anything else when they’re away from home.” She held Yates’ gaze. “Do you know what’s in that emulsion, Mr. Yates? Do you know if it’s been tested properly?”

Mike Yates walked away from his desk toward a window. He stared down at the yard below, and after a minute had passed—an uncomfortable interlude during which Maisie thought she should have perhaps not pressed her point—Yates turned back to answer the question.

“I don’t know if it’s been tested at all. I was asked about the job, and I got it. You don’t turn down a government contract like that, and I know my blokes would agree—they’ve all got to put roofs over their heads and food on the table. If they get a headache, they can take an aspirin powder for their trouble.”

“So the contract just came to you, you didn’t have to bid for it.”

“Sometimes it works like that. Sometimes you bid against other firms, and sometimes you’re just asked to give an estimate and you’re in. That was how this one was done—I was in.”

“You must know some important people, Mr. Yates.”

Yates’ eyes appeared to narrow, as if the aperture through which he viewed her had been altered. “What’s it to you, Miss Dobbs?”

Maisie leaned forward, not allowing herself to be intimidated by Yates, and this time casting several more cards on the table. “Here’s what it is to me, Mr. Yates. Joe Coombes was a happy-go-lucky lad—I’ve seen him grow from a young boy into a thoughtful young man. Still green, admittedly, but a diamond all the same. And doing this job changed him—and not simply because he’d had a taste of being one of the older lads. I know this work had a profound physical impact upon him—but I know something else, too. Joe was worried sick. He was fed up with doing what he was doing and I don’t think the painting was the ‘doing’ that he hated. There was something else, and I am bound and determined to find out what it was. If nothing else, so his parents can be at peace—if that’s possible.”

Yates stared at Maisie, then looked out of the window again. Seconds later, he turned back, taking his seat once more. He leaned forward, hands clasped on top of the sheaf of papers. “There’s nothing more to tell you, Miss Dobbs. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense to me—you might as well be talking Greek. I sent Joe Coombes off to work with a crew on a job a lot of lads his age would jump at the chance of doing, and he goes soft on me—talking his head off about what he’s doing when he was supposed to keep his trap shut, and then getting himself drunk enough to kill himself. There’s your truth, Miss Dobbs—and I’m sorry I can’t make it easier for you to swallow.”