Norfolk. Apparently six commandos from the Brandenburger Regiment went missing in September 1940. The story is that they were part of a team based in Norway, whose job was to infiltrate the British mainland, do reconnaissance and sabotage, that sort of thing. He has their names and everything.’ She hands Nelson a sheet of paper.
‘“Major Karl von Kronig,”‘ he reads. ‘“Oberstleutnant Stefan Fenstermacher, Obergefreiter Lutz Gerber, Gefreiter Manfred Hahn, Gefreiter Reiner Brauer, Panzerfunker Gerhard Meister…” Bloody hell. No wonder they didn’t win the war with names like that. Take them a year and a half to do the roll call. What the hell’s “panzerfunker” when it’s at home?’
‘Radioman,’ says Ruth knowledgeably, though she only learnt the word a few hours ago. ‘And here’s something you should know. Stefan Fenstermacher was missing a finger.’
‘It’s them then,’ says Nelson. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I think so, yes,’ says Ruth. ‘All the men were from a region near Brandenburg, which fits with the isotope analysis. One of the bodies was missing a finger. The ages seem right.’
‘So the only question is how did a group of six German commandos end up buried under a cliff in Broughton Sea’s End?’
‘Do you think Archie Whitcliffe knew anything about it?’
‘I think he did,’ says Nelson slowly, ‘but he died before we could find out more.’
Ruth looks at him curiously. ‘Do you really think his death could be suspicious?’
Nelson sighs. ‘I don’t know, Ruth. Old man dies, no suspicious circumstances, doctor signs the death certificate right off. But, I don’t know… The day before he’d more or less admitted he knew something about the deaths. Said he couldn’t tell me because he’d taken a “blood oath”. Next day, he dies. You don’t have to be Poirot to think that’s a bit suspicious.’
‘You might think it’s more suspicious when you hear this,’ says Ruth. And she tells him about Hugh P. Anselm.
‘Hugh,’ says Nelson slowly. ‘He was one of the men that Mrs Hastings mentioned. One of the three youngsters in the troop. Hang on… found dead on the stairlift…’ He is silent for a minute, thinking.
‘What is it?’ asks Ruth.
‘I don’t know. It just rings a bell somewhere. I think I ought to go to this sheltered accommodation place, talk to the warden. And I’ll ask for an autopsy on Archie Whitcliffe. There’ll be a battle royal with Whitcliffe, mind.’
‘Why? Doesn’t he want to know if his grandfather was murdered?’
It is the first time either of them has used the word ‘murdered’. It doesn’t seem to go with the world of care homes and stairlifts, but Nelson thinks of Archie Whitcliffe’s face when he talked about the blood oath, of Maria’s words: ‘
He turns to Ruth. ‘Whitcliffe’s funny about his family. You know what it’s like in Norfolk. His family have lived in their little village for donkey’s years. Probably intermarried with donkeys by the look of ‘em. Whitcliffe’s proud of his grandfather, thinks of him as a war hero. He was touchy enough about us interviewing him so he won’t want an inquest. He’ll want to bury him properly, coffin, flowers, black horses, the lot. He won’t want me holding things up, suggesting that the old man was done away with.’
‘Is Whitcliffe the only relative?’ asks Ruth, who has never met Nelson’s boss.
‘No. There’s a whole bunch of grandchildren, according to Archie.’
‘Well, some of them might support you.’
‘It’s possible. Whitcliffe’s talked about a sister. There’s a brother too, I think.’
Nelson frowns at the floor, which is still covered with books and packing cases. Ruth wonders when he’s going to leave. She’d like another few hours of tidying before she has to collect Kate. She suspects Nelson of holding out for a sight of Kate. He’d been most put out to hear that she was at the childminder’s.
Sure enough, when there is a sudden knock on the door, Nelson’s first words are, ‘Is that Katie?’
‘No, she’s still slightly too young to drive herself home,’ says Ruth, getting up. Who can it be? Dieter Eckhart, back with some more Eagle Has Landed stuff? Shona stopping by for a gossip? Cathbad?
But when she opens the door, she is greeted by an elegant woman with short, streaky hair, carrying a suitcase.
‘Ruth!’
‘Tatjana…’ Ruth stammers. ‘I wasn’t expecting you till tomorrow.’
‘You didn’t get my text?’
Ruth shakes her head. Her phone is upstairs, buried under a pile of rubbish.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Tatjana, looking back at the taxi, already performing a clumsy U-turn in the narrow road.
‘It doesn’t matter. Come in.’
Ruth is aware of a dark figure looming in the background. ‘Tatjana,’ she says. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Harry Nelson.’ She doesn’t know why she gave him his full title but she is surprised at the sudden interest on Tatjana’s face.
‘Pleased to meet you, Detective Chief Inspector,’ she says.
‘… it’s a deeply stratified alluvial site in the Paleocoastal tradition, so of
‘Of course.’ Ruth can’t remember exactly which site they’re talking about. Is this still Arlington Springs Woman? Over the past few hours Tatjana has ranged from the European Palaeolithic to the Beaker people and Civil War sites in Dorset. Ruth thinks they are now on New World archaeology, a subject on which Tatjana turns out to be rather an expert, but Ruth is finding it hard to keep up. She knows she is rather insular about archaeology, preferring British or European sites (Britain was, of course, part of the European landmass only ten thousand years ago) to those in the Americas or the Antipodes.
She is also distracted because she has collected Kate from Sandra’s and the baby, not content to remain snoozing picturesquely in the background, is making a bid for centre stage, cooing and emitting high-pitched yelps like a miniature cheerleader. Ruth thinks she is being rather sweet but she is scared to take her attention off Tatjana for too long. So she sits on the floor with Kate, who is propped up by cushions, occasionally handing her a brightly coloured toy which Kate ignores in favour of chewing the TV remote control. Tatjana has, so far, not looked in Kate’s direction once.
Nelson had stayed only a few minutes, long enough for Tatjana to pronounce him ‘interesting’ which, Ruth discovers, is her highest term of praise.
‘How come you are entertaining a policeman in the afternoon?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. Ruth hoped she wasn’t blushing.
‘I’m seconded to the Serious Crimes Unit,’ she said, trying to adopt a Serious Crimes face. ‘I help with their investigations sometimes. Forensics, bones, dating, you know.’
‘And is there much serious crime in Norfolk?’ Tatjana still looked amused.
‘You’d be surprised,’ Ruth says. She needs to leave Kate and start supper. As all she has in the fridge are two chicken breasts and a very old tomato (she had planned to go shopping tomorrow), the options are limited. She is going to call it chicken cacciatore and hope for the best. At least Tatjana has brought some Duty Free wine. The problem is that she can’t leave Kate on her own and she doesn’t like to ask Tatjana to keep an eye on her. Eventually she puts Kate into her baby seat and carries the seat into the kitchen. Jesus, there was a time when she could go out of the house any time she wanted; now even a trip to the next room is complicated.
Tatjana follows her, continuing the story of Arlington Springs Woman. Ruth tries to listen, cook, and respond to Kate at the same time. But before long Kate feels ignored and her cheerleader yelps dissolve into full-scale crying. Ruth picks her up and jiggles her up and down, whilst heating a bottle of milk in a saucepan. Tatjana watches from the doorway, glass of wine in hand.
When Ruth is sitting down with Kate (plus bottle) on her lap, Tatjana asks, in a tone of academic enquiry, ‘So, what about Kate’s father? Is he involved?’
‘He’s married,’ says Ruth shortly.
‘That must be tough.’
‘It’s okay,’ says Ruth, settling Kate more comfortably into the crook of her arm. ‘I wouldn’t want to be married. I like living here on my own.’
