To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(87)
“And what about Joe Coombes’ killer?”
“Got Murphy on it, down in Basingstoke. Should be picking him up at any minute. How did you know it was him?”
“It was a process of elimination. Freddie Mayes had a lot to lose, with Joe being so ill and him worried more people would notice and then the balloon would really go up. Mike Yates, Freddie—they’re all Jimmy Robertson’s men, one way or another.”
“The money way,” said Caldwell.
“The past ten years have been bad for a lot of people—no work to be had, and even when you get a job, you’re not being paid as much, or you’re on short time. I would bet that Freddie had more going on at home than we know about—and responsibility brings a need for more money. I have no idea who Jimmy Robertson’s driver is, but I imagine he was the man with the cosh, and Freddie just knew the route that Joe took when he was out for a walk, trying to clear his head. He was an accomplice, not the perpetrator.”
“We found the motor, and the driver—he’s got previous as long as your arm, including grievous bodily harm—good old GBH. In fact on his record, there’s a long line of GBH, GBH, and even more GBH. His name’s Sidney Spooner—the initials suit him. He should be over there with old Hitler.” Caldwell paused, then inclined his head toward the back seat of the motor car. “And what about their parents? I’m looking forward to hearing their side of the story.”
“Can I talk to them first?” asked Maisie.
Caldwell nodded. “All right. This time, yes—I owe you.”
Maisie watched as Caldwell moved away. His rhetoric was the same, but it was tempered, flat, as if someone had stepped hard upon an essential—and not entirely likeable—part of his character. And such was the air of melancholy that emanated from him, underlined by his willingness to follow her lead, that she reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Inspector Caldwell—wait. There’s something amiss.” She kept her voice low as he stepped back to face her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Caldwell shook his head. “I don’t like to admit it, but there’s not much anyone can get past you, is there, Miss Dobbs?” He took a deep breath, looking up at the barrage balloons, then casting his eyes down to the sandbags and barbed wire. He exhaled as he brought his attention back to Maisie. “It’s Able—you remember Able?’
“Yes, of course—of course I remember. You said he joined the navy.”
Caldwell nodded. “He did—and I made a joke of that too. Able Seaman Able. That’s what I said when he joined up. And the lad took it all in good heart.” Caldwell looked at his feet, then at Maisie again. “HMS Keith went down on Saturday. She came under attack by German aircraft, taking out her steering gear first, then they dropped a bomb right down her funnel. And she’d already done one run to Dunkirk, evacuating over nine hundred soldiers—she was on her way back to get more when they attacked her. A lot of men were saved, but Able wasn’t one of them.”
“I am so sorry, Inspector. I’m so very sorry.”
“I feel bad about it—the way I teased him, made everyone laugh at his expense.”
Maisie shook her head. “Don’t—don’t blame yourself for anything. Able was a good sport, and even though you ribbed him, he would smile and laugh in return. You noticed him, Inspector—even though you had a joke about his name, he was never invisible, and was held with great affection by the other men because of the way he took it. I believe he knew it too—knew he was popular, and well liked.”
“Thank you, Miss Dobbs. Thank you very much for that. Now then—I’d better get these two over to the Yard, before they kill each other in the back of my motor car.”
Maisie watched the vehicle drive away.
“I heard that—about Able. Terrible shame,” said Billy, who had been waiting outside the café for Maisie. “Miss—did you really mean it, about Able knowing he was held with affection? By Caldwell? I mean, does that man hold anyone in any sort of affection?”
Maisie raised a hand to hail a taxicab. “He was a good assistant to Caldwell, and though Caldwell could be merciless in his teasing, Able had a gentle kindness about him, and I believe he would see no advantage to saying anything that would add to Caldwell’s grief and guilt.”
A taxi stopped, allowing Maisie and Billy to climb aboard.
“So, why do you think someone like Able joined the police in the first place, if he was that gentle? I mean, you really need to be a bit of a tough nut to do that job, unless of course you’re on the beat in a little village somewhere.”
“I don’t really know—and by the way, from my experience, being on the beat in a village can be fraught with danger. But I would imagine that if we delved a bit further into his motivations, it might have something to do with his father. Perhaps he was a policeman, and even in a small village—a man who aspired to Scotland Yard and pressed his son into the same profession. Perhaps when war was declared, the navy offered a way out of the family business for Able, so he jumped at the chance of enlisting into the senior service.” She paused. “It’s all perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. And on that note—talking about a family business—we’re going to see Phil and Sally Coombes.”