To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(6)

Coombes rubbed his chin. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been four weeks since he was last home for a Saturday and Sunday. He was quiet then. Me and the missus put it down to him being a bit tired, what with knocking around the country, sleeping in different places. She thought he could do with a tonic, and even went around to Boots, to see what she could get for him. You know, it probably seemed like a big adventure at first, this job, but them lads are working at a clip, and then there were the headaches, like I said.”

Maisie allowed another moment of silence to pass before asking her next question. “Is there anything else you can add?”

Coombes shook his head. “I know he was all right before that last visit. One of Archie’s mates was stationed in the area, so he looked in on Joe at his digs in Whitchurch and said he was on top form. Those were his words. Top form. But I don’t think he’s on any top form now, or he would have picked up the blower and made a call to me and his mum. And all we know is that he’s near this place called Whitchurch.”

“Hampshire. I can—” Billy began to speak, but Maisie shook her head, aware Phil Coombes was watching her, waiting.

“As Billy was about to say, he’s making regular visits to Hampshire to see his wife and daughter. I believe he’s not too far from Whitchurch.” She paused again. “Phil—Mr. Coombes—I think I should speak to your wife. She should know you came to talk to us. I understand you don’t want her to be worried, but the thing is, I bet she is worried sick too, and it might help if she’s given the opportunity to air her feelings without thinking she’s adding to your worries. Something she says might throw more light on Joe’s situation.” Maisie smiled at Coombes. “I promise I will take care of her. And in the meantime, Billy here will go along to Yates’ yard, and have a word with them—you know Billy, he’s a terrier. He won’t be put off by anyone and will find out if something’s amiss about Joe’s working conditions. They’re probably not used to dealing with families, because their workers have always been in London, so they go home at night. Your questions might easily be settled.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“But all the same, I am taking your concerns seriously, and we will do all we can to help.” Maisie came to her feet. “And you’re not to worry about the money.”

She caught Billy’s eye.

“I’ll see you out, mate,” offered Billy.

Coombes nodded and held out his hand to Maisie. “Thank you, Miss Dobbs. I feel better, having got that off my chest. I’ll tell Sally to come round after closing time this afternoon—that all right?”

“Perfect. I’ll be here. And she’ll have a chance to see Sandra’s baby—she comes in one or two afternoons a week with him, to catch up with the paperwork. It’s a treat for all of us, seeing young Martin. Anna, our evacuee, loves it when he comes to the country.”

“How’s the little lady getting on?”

“Very well, Mr. Coombes—thank you for asking. We’ll see Sally at about three o’clock then.”

“Three o’clock it is.”

Billy was holding the office door open for Phil Coombes, when Maisie called out.

“Oh, just one more small thing—do you have the name of the lad who was in touch with Joe—his brother’s friend?”

“Teddy Wickham. Nice lad—known the family for years.”

Maisie thanked Coombes, and nodded to indicate that it was her final question.



Maisie was waiting, still sitting by the gas fire, staring into the flame, when Billy returned to the office and took his seat again.

“What do you think, miss?”

“I think he has cause for concern. I know it’s easy to say boys will be boys, that they don’t keep up with their parents when they’re away like Joe’s away, but he’s a lad who always struck me as someone who is respectful of his family. They’re a tight little unit—look at how he grew up, over the pub. In some respects, he probably was looking forward to getting away, setting out on a big adventure—but that aside, Phil’s description of the past weeks is a bit unsettling. Joe might not be well and his fellow workmates have failed to notice, so he’s soldiering on. Or he might have been ill and told his mates not to say anything to Yates—he might be fearful about losing his apprenticeship.”

“I can see that.”

“So can I—to a point. But there’s something that worries me far more.”

“Miss?”

“Think back to when Mr. Coombes first started telling us about his son, about his worries—not a few minutes into the conversation. He made a slip.”

“What sort of slip.”

“‘Very precise with his hands, he was. . . .’ He used the past tense, Billy. When he looked down at his own hands, and talked about his son, about his steady hands. Past tense.”

“You don’t think he’s got something to do with his son going quiet?”

“At this point . . . no, I don’t think so. But I believe Mr. Coombes has a greater sensitivity with regard to his children than he might give himself credit for. We must get to work without delay, Billy—I fear for Joe’s safety.”

“But if you look at it another way, he’s been working for the government.”