wasn’t likely to be a stranger just passing through, or a burglar. It had to be someone who felt suspicion was likely to fall on him or her: Matthew, Brad Szikorski or
“Well, it wasn’t me. And I told you, Matthew never raised a finger to her.”
“Which leaves Brad Szikorski.”
“Perhaps. Though I doubt it. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“Why not?”
She allowed him a thin smile. “Because Brad Szikorski was killed in a flying stunt in the desert outside Los Angeles in 1952. Ironic, isn’t it? During the war, Brad flew on bombing raids over Europe and survived, only to be killed in a stunt for a war film seven or eight years later.”
“What about Charles Markleson?”
“
“Edgar Konig? Billy Joe Farrell?”
“I don’t know what happened to them, Chief Inspector. It’s all so long ago. I only know about Brad because it was in the newspapers at the time. I suppose you’ll have to ask them yourself, won’t you? That is, if you can find them.”
“Oh, I’ll find them, if they’re still alive. Had either of them reason to kill Gloria?”
“Not that I know of. They were simply part of a group we went around with. Though Billy Joe, I remember, did have a violent temper, and PX was rather smitten with Gloria.”
“Did she go out with him?”
“Not to my knowledge. You couldn’t… he wasn’t… I mean, he just seemed so
“Did you notice any blood in Bridge Cottage after Gloria’s disappearance?”
“No. Obviously, if I had done, I would have been suspicious and called the police. But then I can’t say I was actually
“Not one little spot? Nothing that might, in retrospect, have been blood?”
“Nothing. Anyway, what makes you think she was killed in Bridge Cottage?”
“It’s a logical assumption.”
“She could have been killed outside, in the backyard, or even in the outbuilding where you found her remains.”
“Possibly,” Banks allowed. “Even so, whoever did it was very thorough. What happened next?”
“Nothing. We just carried on. Actually, we only stayed on in the village a few weeks longer, then we got a council house in Leeds.”
“I know. I’ve seen it.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d want to do that.”
“So you’re saying you have absolutely no idea what happened to Gloria?”
“None at all. As I said, I simply thought she couldn’t face life with Matthew anymore – in his condition – so she ran off and started up elsewhere.”
“Did you think she might have run off with Brad Szikorski, arranged to meet him over in America or something? After all, the Four Hundred Forty-Eighth Bomber Group moved out around the same time, didn’t they?”
“I suppose it crossed my mind. It was always possible that she had ended up in America.”
“Did it not surprise you that she never got in touch?”
“It did. But there was nothing I could do about it if she wanted to disappear, sever all ties. As I said, she’d done it before.”
“Did you ever try to find her?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What about Matthew?”
“What about him?”
“Did you kill him?”
“I did not. He committed suicide.”
“Why?”
“It wasn’t related to Gloria’s disappearance. He was ill, confused, depressed, in pain. I did my best for him, but it was ultimately no use.”
“He shot himself, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“With a Colt forty-five automatic.”
“Was it? I’m afraid I know nothing about guns.”
“Where did he get the gun?”
“The gun? I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Simple question, Ms. Elmsley. Where did Matthew get the gun he shot himself with?”
“He always had it.”
“Always? Since when?”
“I don’t know. Since he came back from the war, I suppose. I can’t remember when I first saw it.”
“From the Japanese POW camp?”
“Yes.”
Banks got to his feet, shaking his head.
“What’s wrong, Chief Inspector?” Vivian asked, hand plucking at the turkey flap at the base of her throat.
“Everything,” said Banks. “None of it makes any sense. Think over what you’ve just told us, will you? You’re telling us you believed that Gloria simply upped sticks and left without leaving a note, taking her clothes and a few personal belongings with her in a cardboard suitcase. If you’re telling the truth, then whoever killed Gloria must have packed the suitcase and either taken it away with him or buried it somewhere to make it look as if she had run off. Then, five years later, your brother Matthew shot himself with an
Once they were out in the hot street again, Annie turned to Banks, whistled and said, “What was all that about?”
“All what?”
“She was lying. Couldn’t you tell?”
“Of course she was.” Banks looked at his watch. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Yes. I’m starving.”
They found a small cafe and sat outside. Annie had a Greek salad, and Banks went for the prosciutto, Provolone and sliced red-onion sandwich.
“But why was she lying?” Annie asked when they had sat down with their food. “I don’t get it.”
Banks swatted a fly away from his sandwich. “She’s protecting herself. Or someone else.”
“After seeing her,” Annie said, “I’d say she was probably big and strong enough to kill and bury Gloria. Fifty years ago, anyway. Did you notice her hands?”
“Yes. And Gloria Shackleton was petite.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Nothing,” said Banks. “We’ll leave her to stew overnight and then have another go at her tomorrow. I get the impression she has a lot on her conscience. There was a definite struggle going on inside her. If I’m right, she’s near the end of her tether on this. It’s amazing how guilt has a way of gnawing away at you through the small hours. She wants to tell the truth, but she still has a few things to weigh up, to settle with herself; she doesn’t quite know how to go about it yet. It’s like that character in her book.”
“The one you were reading on the train?”
“
