We’ve mustered nearly thirty bicycles and one truck – Gregor’s. Perhaps more importantly, the weather is with us; a soft spring evening, a gentle breeze and clear skies. Perfect. And it has to be; I’m determined to impress Major Tony Caldwell who was dropped in by Lysander a week ago on an inspection tour of all the agents in the south west.
My boots sound loud on the cobbles and the smell of wood fires salts the air. I feel good, alive, as though every part of me has been freshly oiled and polished. And I’m seeing Lili. On business. As quartermaster for the town’s Resistance forces Lili has no time for romantic liaisons even if she did fancy me. We’re finalising the plans for tonight’s drop. She took her nom de guerre from the song we’re all humming or hearing – Nazis or Allies – on the radio stations. A funny business at times, war.
I cross the last street and head down a little alley. A path leads off it to the right. The path twists and turns at the foot of the back gardens of the neat row of houses. A fence follows the path. About halfway along is the garden door into the safe house. I turn one last corner and am almost at the door when I glimpse a figure moving away from me. The retreating walk seems familiar, a loping stride, but I can’t place it.
I walk fast past the back door; it’s slightly ajar. I quicken my pace to a jog, but when next I have a clear view, the figure has gone. Up ahead I can hear running footsteps heading away from me.
I stop, turn back and go through the gate. It’s a short garden leading to the kitchen door. There don’t seem to be any lights on. Perhaps Lili’s being over-cautious. I get to the door and I’m about to knock when I notice it’s open a fraction. I push and go into the dark kitchen. There’s a smell of soup from a big pot on the range. Lili promised me dinner. I sniff the air and think it’s caught. I turn the gas off.
I let my eyes adjust until I can see where the hall is. I walk on into the hall and there for the first time, call out softly for Lili. There’s no reply. I call again. Nothing.
I find the light switch in the hall. I walk into the tiny sitting room and see a table laid for a meal; fresh bread and two places: me and Lili. I back out of the room feeling something is wrong, very wrong. The floorboards groan as I slowly take the stairs. I call her name again as I round the corner and emerge on the landing.
There are two bedrooms. I try one and find it empty. I enter the next. I can’t see much; the curtains have been drawn and I can’t find the light switch. As my eyes adjust I see the rounded contours of a body on the bed. I walk over, dread filling me. As I get close I see that it is a woman, naked from the waist down.
I lean over and touch her shoulder and say her name.
My hand touches stickiness. I find the bedside light and my shaking hand switches it on. Lili is face down in the pillow. Her hair and the shoulders of her blouse are soaked dark red. The pillow and the bedspread are saturated. My eyes are drawn down. The cleft below her spine is oozing blood. Her white limbs are parted and blooded. Between them, lies the hilt of a bayonet.
I am paralysed with horror and grief. I don’t know what to do. I want to run. I want to hold her, give her succour. She is beyond hurting, but the bayonet goes on desecrating her. I want to remove this filthy intrusion. I lean over and gently take hold of the slippery hilt. I grip it firmly and tug. It gives, and jolts her poor limbs. It releases a fresh gout of blood. There is a foul smell from her ravished body. I pull out the vile weapon. I push her thighs together and flip the corner of the bedspread over her. I walk over to the sink and drop the bayonet in it, and begin running cold water. My bloodied hands are sticky and I have to scrub at them to get them clean.
That’s how they find me. Even as the cries in German echo through the house and their boots rush through the hall and on to the stairs, I know I’ve been set up.
I turn and wait for them.
In the Kirk I wept for me. Here in this whore’s palace, I lay grieving for her.
Eventually I eased myself up and got my feet on the floor. I wiped my face and looked around. It was a little bare room with cheap Chinese prints on the wall and some red satin throws on the bed and over the one chair.
I felt drugged and stiff, like I’d swum the Channel then got roaring drunk. Or vice versa. But I couldn’t think of anything I’d done that was so meritorious.
My watch said three fifteen and I assumed that was am. But it was too light. I peeked out the one curtain to check; full daylight ransacked the room. I got here about four pm. Had I slept for nearly twenty-four hours?
The door creaked. I looked up and saw Mary’s dark fringe peeping round. I was naked but too tired to pull the covers round me. Besides, she and Colette had handled every inch of me in the bath. I don’t recall any erotic charge out of the event, just the soothing balm of warm water and gentle hands, like a child again. I wonder if I hurt Colette’s feelings? “So you not dead, Danny.” Mary came fully into the room.
“Unless this is heaven, Mary.”
She laughed. “Just back room. You sleep whole day. Now, you put clothes on and come eat. Plan next things.” She pointed at my suit and shirt hanging in smooth clean drapes on a hanger behind the door. I did as I was told. The clothes were fresh and perfectly pressed. Chinese laundry. I found my way through the labyrinth to Mary’s front room.
While Mary made more tea I kept going over my new recollection. It felt true. If only I could prove it. I stared at the mountain of newsprint she’d dragged out yesterday to check my tale. Headlines shrieked of murder most foul, starting just after I left the hospital and arrived back in London. But then a thought struck me. I cursed myself for not thinking of this sooner.
“Mary! Have you got a piece of paper and a pencil?”
I explained, and we began scrabbling among the papers until I could get the dates straight for all five murders. I knew that at least some of my fugues corresponded with a killing. Though in truth, my episodes had been so frequent it was hard not to. I jotted down the figures. Once a month I did have an alibi, and a prominent psychiatrist who would confirm where I was on each occasion. The trouble was the dates varied; they were roughly around the middle of the month but it depended on Doc Thompson’s schedule and what they wanted to inflict on me. The normal visit – talks and examination – took two days. Electrocution took a week out of my life.
I didn’t have my diary with me, but I had an idea. It was a long shot and it might prove nothing. But it was a worth a phone call to Thompson’s secretary. My one big risk was if the national press had picked up my photo and the accusations in the London papers. It was four thirty and I might just catch her before she clocked off. I used Mary’s phone in the hall. I could hear the two operators trying to put me through.
“Good afternoon. Doctor Thompson’s office. How can I help you?”
“Elspeth? This is Danny McRae. I have a query about my appointments.” Mary was eavesdropping so close I could smell her sweet breath; she was always dipping into a little bowl and chewing some cumin seeds.
No hesitation. “Hello, Mr McRae. I thought we’d confirmed next month’s?”
“It’s not about the next one, Elspeth. It’s about the earlier ones. I’m trying to check some dates. It’s to help with my memory. A little exercise for the Doctor.”
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“It’s a pain, I know, but could you give me the dates of my appointments since…”
I looked down at my pencil jottings. “… August last year.”
“Hmm. Can I call you back with this, Mr McRae? I need to check through the diary and I’m rather busy at present.” She didn’t like being rushed. Elspeth had her methods and her routine.
I looked at Mary. She raised her already elevated eyebrows. “Yes, please, Elspeth. I’m sorry to trouble you but this is fairly important. So if you could call me today? My number is…” I inspected the phone base. “… Westminster 5191.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Good afternoon, Mr McRae.”
All I could do was sit down and wait. And hope Elspeth didn’t call the police.
She didn’t call that evening and I was beginning to think the worst, waiting for the door to crash down and Wilson to steamroller through. It was a rotten night’s sleep, what with the worry and the noises through the paper- thin walls.
Those girls worked for their money. I was down in Mary’s parlour by seven thirty.
“Mary, I won’t ever be able to thank you for what you’re doing. You could be in big trouble for looking after me.”
She giggled. “I know. You gonna have to use my girls lots in future.” I doubted that. Having listened through the paper walls to the fake sounds of pleasure, I’d probably never use room service here again.
“Why are you doing this, Mary?” It wasn’t as if I was her best customer.
She studied me for a moment. “You no such bad man. You help me before. Now you ask for help, I give it. Bring me luck. Some day you give it back. That how life work.”
