“No. Do you mean I might have been the target, not poor Mr. Neville?” George looked astounded at the idea, Carla frightened.
“It’s something to think about. It was dark, he was at the rear of your house. Any idea what he was doing out there?”
“No. Perhaps he took the path along the canal and was returning from work.”
“Or from the pub,” Sullivan said. “He stopped at the Hog’s Head once in a while. I mentioned that to the inspector.”
“I’m sure he’ll check that out. Mrs. Miller, I assume Neville had given you his ration book, since he took his meals here.”
“Yes, of course. He enjoyed my cooking very much. He said it was nice to have a home-cooked meal after traveling as he did.” He was the perfect roomer. The Millers got use of his ration coupons but he ate many of his meals away.
“What about your daughter, Mr. Miller? Is she in the house?”
“Yes. The inspector spoke to her and told her she could go about her duties. She helps us with the rooms, keeping them clean. She’s tidying up Mr. Neville’s room now.”
“Show me, please,” I said, standing up. “Have the police checked his room?”
“This way,” Carla said, taking the stairs at the back of the house. “Yes, the police went through it already. I thought we should organize things in case a relative wants his possessions.”
I bit back a comment about overly efficient Germans and followed her up to the third floor. Payne likely gave the room a thorough search, but I’d feel better if I had my own shot at it. One of my dad’s favorite sayings-and he had a lot of them-was if you wanted something done right, don’t wait for someone else to do it. And since he’d taught me everything I knew about being a cop and a homicide detective, I thought I ought to follow what advice I could remember.
“Eva, this is Captain Boyle, he’d like to look at the room,” Carla said, standing with her hand on the doorknob.
“Yes, Mother,” Eva said, bundling up sheets stripped from the bed in her arms. She was fair-haired, with a spread of freckles across her face. A bit on the short side, with an intelligent look in her eyes, even as they avoided my gaze. And her mother’s. She stared down at the floor, in sadness or obedience, perhaps.
“Hello, Eva,” I said, trying to ease the tension.
“Hello, Captain. Are you going to find who killed Mr. Neville?”
“I hope so. I’m sure Inspector Payne is working as hard as he can on it. I’m here to help.”
“The police can use the help,” Eva said. “There’s some girl gone missing and most of them are out looking for her. I think they’d rather find her than look for whoever murdered Mr. Neville.”
“Eva, don’t say such a thing,” her mother said.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Eva had no trace of a German accent. Her voice was pure English schoolgirl. “If there’s a chance of finding that poor girl alive, why wouldn’t they send all their men out to look for her? Mr. Neville is dead already.”
“Finding whoever killed him is important too,” I said, although I liked her logic. “Especially if we can stop him from killing again. Do you know the missing girl?”
“No, I only heard about it at school yesterday. She’s one of the evacuees living in that manor house outside Kintbury.”
“There are several large houses in the area where the children were put up,” Carla said. “They were evacuated from London when the Blitz was at its worst. Some have gone back to the city now that the bombing has lessened. Perhaps the poor dear tried to find her way home.”
“Oh no, she wasn’t from London,” Eva said. “She was with that group from Guernsey. She had no place to go back to.” Guernsey was one of the Channel Islands occupied by the Germans. When the war began, many of the children were brought to the mainland in case the Germans took the islands, which they had done with ease.
“Be that as it may,” Carla said firmly, “take the washing down and let Captain Boyle look at what he wants.”
“Has anything else been removed?” I asked.
“No, I just hung up a shirt that was on the chair, and cleaned up a bit. In case any relatives come for his things, I wanted it to look nice,” Eva said.
“Was Mr. Neville a nice man? I mean the friendly sort.”
“A bit reserved, wouldn’t you say, dear?” Carla said. “Like most of the English.”
“Perhaps,” Eva said. “But he didn’t talk to me like most adults. Treating me like a little kid, I mean. I am eighteen years old, you know.”
“Just last week, you were,” her mother said with a smile, ushering her daughter out. “Don’t rush things, Eva.”
They left me alone in Neville’s room. Searching a dead man’s place was never a favorite pastime. It didn’t bother some guys, but the little things people left behind always got to me. Change on the dresser. An unfinished book. All the possessions we think will be waiting when we return but only point to the uncertainty of life and the sureness of death.
The room was long and narrow, with a dresser on the wall to the left of the door. Next to it was an armchair, a bit worse for wear, but well placed. It faced the double windows on the opposite wall, which had an excellent view of the canal and the town beyond it. A church steeple crept above the rooftops, barely above the chimneys spouting grimy coal smoke. I watched a rowboat in the canal, the rower paddling idly as the current took him. A bed stood by the other wall, with a nightstand and lamp. Past the bed was a closet, and I opened the door to find a pair of shoes, slippers, and old boots. Neville had two suits hanging neatly, next to a few shirts and a couple of pairs of older trousers. A raincoat and a heavy winter overcoat filled out his wardrobe. After several years of strict clothes rationing, most Englishmen were making do as Neville obviously was. The suits were well- worn, a few faint stains and patches showing their age. I went through the pockets and found nothing but lint and a ticket stub for the Great Western Railway, Newbury to Cheltenham. Made sense, from what I knew of his job.
The book on his nightstand was
I sat in his chair. I looked out the window, then at the one picture on the wall, a standard country scene. The wood floors were polished and clean, no dust anywhere. It looked like it would take about ten minutes to move Neville’s stuff out and get the place ready for a new tenant. I got up and checked the dresser drawers. Nothing but clothing. Stuart Neville appeared to be a man with few needs. He had a job, a room with a pleasant view, and friendly housekeepers. No pictures of family, no smokes, none of the debris of everyday life a working man might pick up and leave behind. I wondered what his office was like, and what he kept there. I checked the closet one more time, and noticed a clothes hanger had fallen on the floor. It seemed oddly out of place, which made me think.
I took the stairs quietly and darted into the scullery, which opened onto the backyard. Eva was pouring hot water into a dolly tub, a big metal-rimmed tub for doing laundry. The bed sheets were in the tub, but hanging from a peg was a blue serge suit.
“Oh, Captain,” Eva said, stepping in front of the clothing as if I might not notice.
“Did you take anything else?” I asked. “I don’t care about the suit, although his relatives may.”
“No,” she said, her eyes downcast. “Just this. I thought I might take it out a bit and it would fit Father nicely. He’s had nothing new since the rationing, and Mr. Neville told me he had no close relatives. I was worried the police would take everything away. I’m sorry.” That last bit was drawn out as if she was talking to an idiot, which meant she wasn’t sorry at all, and that I should stop being so mean.
“Don’t worry,” I said, going through the pockets and coming up empty. “Did Mr. Neville tell you anything else that you forgot to mention?”
“Yes. To be careful and not go out at night alone. He said the world was a dangerous place, and that I should watch out for myself. He was very serious about it. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mama, it would
