The Mapping of Love and Death

'And the old girl in question doesn't look so old to me.'

James grinned as if he were a boy. 'She's only on loan-extended loan-from a company called Aston Martin. They're in a bit of a financial bind, actually, so I may buy this one. It's for racing, thought I might take it to Brooklands.'

'Oh…' Maisie was not sure what the appropriate response might be to a prospective racing driver, but another thought occurred to her. 'Might that not be a bit risky for someone who has responsibility for the smooth running of a large company?'

'Oh, the jungle drums, they are a-beating.'

''Fraid so, James.' Maisie slipped the MG into gear, the change in engine sound signaling that she was ready to leave.

'Back soon?'

'Saturday afternoon, I would imagine.'

'Good-I'll take you for a spin.'

Maisie smiled and waved. 'I'll think about it. 'Bye, James.' And before James Compton could reply in kind, Maisie was on her way.

Detective Inspector Caldwell?' Maisie was sitting at her desk, with Billy seated opposite. 'Caldwell has been promoted?'

'Yes, and full of himself, he is.'

'Oh, why did Stratton have to move to Special Branch?'

'I thought the same thing. And Caldwell isn't any nicer for moving up, either. Throwing his weight around even when he's asking a few questions. He's what my old mum would call a bombastic little nit of a man.'

'I'll remember that every time I see him now.'

'Anyway, he wants the contents of the parcel sent by the Cliftons.' Billy looked up at the mantelpiece clock. 'And he'll be here in a minute.'

'Well, let's see what we've got for him to take away.' Maisie scraped back her chair and stepped across to the table by the window where the Clifton case map was laid out. 'We'll fold this and put it away for a start-don't want him snooping. Have you worked through the letters from the claimants?'

'Yes. Every name noted, and I've put them in batches, just like you said. They're listed from the believable to the downright loony.'

'Then let's give him the letters. Shame I have the correspondence sent to Michael Clifton by his ladylove safe at home, isn't it?'

Billy grinned. 'I didn't hear that, Miss.'

'I'd like to keep the photographs, but Caldwell will probably want them. Luckily, I brought them with me. There are some other odds and ends here, but nothing of note as far as I can see.' Maisie reached into the box and took out an oblong leather case which, when opened, revealed a collection of pens. She lifted the red pen from the case and removed the cap. Where there might have been a nib, had this been a fountain pen, there was instead a point rather like that of a needle, and when she drew the pen back and forth across the paper case map, the ink ran in a hair-thin red line that reminded her of blood. 'These must have cost a pretty penny-and I cannot believe they still work, after all this time!'

'Being underground, buried, kept in the dark, that's what must have stopped the ink from evaporating. Amazing, really, but that's what you get when you spend good money on something,' said Billy.

Maisie nodded, replaced the top on the pen, and put the pen in the case, which she slipped into the drawer on the underside of the table. 'Right, let's put this box aside ready for Caldwell. He should be content with his find.'

The doorbell rang, announcing a caller.

'Better go and let them in, Billy. I'll fold and file the case map.'

And the purpose of Mr. and Mrs. Clifton's visit to you, Miss Dobbs?' 'They wanted to find a woman they believed their deceased son to have had a liaison with in the war. An advertisement had been placed in several newspapers and they were overwhelmed with inquiries, so they came to me to wade through them, investigate each individual, and try to find the one authentic claimant.'

'Is there money involved?'

'They will of course pay my usual fee.'

'I meant, is there family money, Miss Dobbs-will the woman receive any money, as far as you know?'

'I do not know what plans they might have once the woman is located, though you must know that the Cliftons are a family of some considerable wealth, with their deceased son favored by a trust that has been accumulating interest for some time and which was not adversely affected by the Wall Street crash.'

'What do you know about the Cliftons?'

'They are among America's aristocracy, so to speak.'

'Cliftons?' Caldwell shrugged. 'Clifton-the shoemaker's son? An aristocrat?'

'I'm given to understand that moving up the social ladder can be achieved by hard work alone on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.' Maisie smiled at Caldwell.

'And there's some who make it look easy here-but I suppose that depends who you know.'

Maisie knew the comment was spoken in an attempt to undermine her, but she did not wish to rise to the bait. 'Yes, I suppose it does, Detective Inspector. But at least you and I are both familiar with the meaning of hard work, aren't we?' She smiled to accentuate a willingness to assist the police. 'Now then, we've collected the items you requested. I hope they help you in your investigation. In the meantime, I wonder if you could give me an account of Mr. and Mrs. Clifton's progress. They were a close couple who seemed to have good intentions, so we were shocked to hear of the attack.'

Caldwell appeared to relax, leaning back and shaking his head. 'It was a nasty business-there was blood all over the place. And talk about ransacked! Fortunately Mrs. Clifton used the hotel safe for her jewels and valuables, but that didn't stop the perpetrator turning over the whole room. We think they disturbed him when they returned after tea.'

'What kind of weapon was used?'

'He didn't need to bring a weapon, there was one already there.'

'What do you mean?' Maisie leaned forward.

'An interesting piece of equipment-they call it a theodolite. Heavy it is, made of solid brass. This one was engraved with their son's name. Apparently it was retrieved from the dugout after his remains were found-and they found other tools that belonged to him, all with his name engraved. According to communication I've had with the eldest son, each member of his family bought him an item of equipment when he first became a cartographer, so their names were also on the tools of his trade.'

'I see…' Maisie was thoughtful.

'Right then, this will never get the eggs cooked, will it, Miss Dobbs?' Caldwell stood up, buttoned his coat, and picked up his hat. A detective sergeant who had accompanied him put away the notebook into which he had inscribed details of the conversation, and the two walked to the door.

'Oh, before you leave, Inspector-do you have a description of the assailant? Did anyone see an interloper make his way to the room?'

Caldwell shook his head. 'The hotel's a busy place-don't know how people can afford that sort of money, myself-so we've little to go on. We've been interviewing the staff, but it seems that any suspicious characters, when described, could be just about anyone on the street. Now then, Miss Dobbs, I really do have to leave. I trust you'll be in contact should you come across any information that will assist us in our inquiries.'

'Of course, be assured you'll be the first to know. Oh, and Detective Inspector, when do you think Mr. Clifton might be well enough to receive a visitor?'

'Not yet, Miss Dobbs, but…' Caldwell faltered. 'But I'll see what I can do in a day or so.'

'Thank you. I appreciate your consideration.' Maisie paused for a second. 'Might we expect return of the letters when you have had an opportunity to go through them? Mr. and Mrs. Clifton were anxious for work to begin on the investigation as soon as possible.'

Caldwell shook his head. 'We'll need them for a while. You'll have to start work with whatever you have at the moment.' He placed his hat on his head and made one last comment before turning to leave. 'Oh, and I should tell you that Mr. Edward Clifton Junior is on his way, expected to arrive in Southampton at the