pretty logical conclusion. Who else could my grandfather have known in this area?’
Cooper passed back the medal and the package. ‘Families of the other crew members would have received their possessions from the RAF after the crash. Any one of them might have had your grandfather’s home address among their belongings.’
‘None of them lives anywhere near here.’
‘You’re certain, then, that Zygmunt Lukasz is involved in some way?’
‘Either that,’ said Morrisscy, ‘or my grandfather is still alive and living in Edendalc.’
The atmosphere in the CID room was icy. Gavin Murfin was already there, and he looked green, as if he had finally eaten too many chicken tikka masalas. He saw Dianc Fry come in and looked away.
‘What’s up with Gavin?’ she asked Hitchens. ‘Why does he look so sick?’
‘He’s been chasing down missing persons to match the Snowman, hasn’t he? And he finally got around to circulating the description nationally.’
‘Yes?’
‘He did it properly, too. Sent details to all forces.
Murfin definitely looked to be in a state of shock. His hair was standing on end, as if he had pushed greasy fingers through it in his agitation.
‘One of the forces had a match?’ said Fry.
‘Yes, and they’re on their way right now.’
‘That’s, good.’
‘Do you think so, Dianc?
‘If somebody can spare the manpower to give us some back-up, that’s great, surely? Well done, Gavin.’ Fry looked at their faces, and saw how uneasy Hitchens was. ‘It’s not the RUC, is it? Don’t tell me it’s the Ulster troubles after all this time?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Hitchens. ‘It’s nothing so straightforward as a terrorist execution.’
243
‘Who, then? Who’vc we stirred up? A neighbouring force?’ ‘No. A national force/ ‘National?’ Fry frowned. ‘Railway police, you mean, sir? No? Not the National Crime Squad? Special Branch?’
‘The military wing/ said Hitchens. ‘Ministry of Defence
Police. We we got two officers from the MDP arriving here
& &
today. They think they might know our Snowman. They think he might he one of theirs.’
‘One of theirs? A missing serviceman?’
‘The name of their missing person is Nick Easton. And when I say he’s one of theirs, I mean one of theirs. He was an RAF special investigator. They’ll be here in about an hour’s time, so thev’rc not messing about on this one. You’ll be working with
v Ct &
a Sergeant Jane Caudwcll.’
Ben Cooper and Alison Morrisscy split the bill between them and left the pub. For a few minutes, they walked in silence, until they found themselves on the river bank. In this one short stretch of river there were hundreds of birds on the water, calling and diving, splashing and arguing, cocking their
o o’ f c* & &’ o
heads at a few people on the paths. An old couple were discussing the difference between coots and moorhens. Two children argued over the last bit of bread, and tried to throw it to the furthest duck. Dogs became hysterical at the flapping of wings. Near the weir, the water became shallower, and you could lean over and stare at the bottom, looking for Ash. Rafts of dead willow leaves floated on the surface, swirling gently in aimless circles, clinging together in a dark scum as they touched the banks. Then, suddenly, a couple of feet away, the water roared over the weir. The meltwater was pouring off the hills, raising the level of the river. The water bounced so hard off the rocky bottom that it rose up again in white spurts inside the cascade. Then it foamed away towards the bridge, splashing over an old tree trunk that had lodged on the edge.
‘It wasn’t only my grandfather who was a hero,’ said Morrissey. ‘Klemens Wach had an admirable service record, too.
244
When he arrived in Nottinghamshire, he was already one of the heroes of Poland, the ones who aren’t forgotten, even now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Wach was transferred to Lcadcnhall from 305 Squadron, the famous Polish unit.’
‘Was he?’ said Cooper.
‘Sure. It’s in the file. They’re a legendary squadron in Poland, apparently.’
‘Right.’
They passed two bikers, a couple in their thirties, who sat on a bench sipping tea from paper cups, their helmets on the wooden slats next to them and their boots outstretched as they watched the ducks foraging for food. They sat without speaking, lifting their heads only to stare with amazement at a white-haired man in a black overcoat who attempted to hand them a religious pamphlet.
‘How long are you staying in the area?’ said Cooper.
‘As long as necessary.’
‘Have you no job to go back to in Toronto?’
‘I’m a high-school teacher. But I took a sabbatical,’ she said, with a small smile.
‘Lucky you. And no family?’
‘Only my mother and a brother a few years older than me. They support what I’m doing all the way. My mother
