Part of the rationing scheme, utility garments were designed to save fabric. Simple lines, no wasted material. Hard to tail one person when everybody is dressed alike.
“Miss Gardner,” I said when I caught up to her. “Captain Boyle. I was wondering if I could buy you lunch. I have a few questions, and I might as well ask them over a meal.”
“If you like,” she said, searching my eyes as we stood on the sidewalk. She still looked afraid, and I wondered what she was hiding or if she was frightened by what had happened to Neville. “There’s a teashop round the corner that will do.” She led the way as a flight of C-47s roared overhead, taking off from Greenham Common on the other side of town. I looked up, but few others did. It was a routine occurrence.
We found a table by the window and both ordered the special, mashed potatoes with carrots and meat sauce. “As long as you’re not curious as to what kind of meat,” Miss Gardner had said. “But don’t worry, there won’t be much of it.”
“I’m sorry about barging in on Mr. Flowers this morning, but we needed some straight answers. Would Neville have been typing anything confidential? Something that would be valuable?”
“Member records are all confidential, of course,” she said. “But that’s not what you mean, is it?”
“No. Did Neville have access to any member accounts?”
“Absolutely not! How dare you? Stuart would never … never have …” Her hand covered her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. Regaining her composure, she went on. “No, he didn’t, and he struck me as a very honest man.”
“A kind man?”
“Oh, please, Captain Boyle. Isn’t it obvious? You are some sort of investigator, aren’t you? I’m a sad spinster, pining for the eligible bachelor who on occasion showed a kindness. But I shan’t know if it was anything but common courtesy now, will I?” She leaned forward, the question hanging in the air between us, unanswerable. The unexpected burst of emotion brought a glistening to her eyes, and transformed her for a moment from that sad spinster to a passionate woman.
“I’m sorry. I could tell his death had affected you even more than the sudden death of a co-worker. Is there anything you can tell me about him? Where he came from? Family?”
“Up north is all he ever said. I asked him why he didn’t have pictures of his family in his office, like many of the gentlemen do. Of course I was wondering if there would be a picture of a wife, and I think he saw through me. All he said was that he and his family weren’t close, and he preferred to have no distractions at work. Except for a visit from me, he went on to say. He was nice like that, always with a friendly comment and a chuckle.”
“But no more than that?”
“No. He was a bit aloof, if you know what I mean. He went out with a few of the men after work every now and then, but not often. I think they resented him.”
“Why?”
“His accent, for one. It wasn’t Northern. More like London, and they thought he was putting on airs. His workload wasn’t particularly onerous either. He often got the plum jobs, a few days’ travel and expenses. All the chaps like those. Or the ones close by, easy to get to. Stuart always had the pick of the lot. One of the men asked Mr. Flowers if Stuart had Lord Mayhew looking out for him. There was a rumor that Stuart was his illegitimate son.”
“What did Flowers say?”
“He laughed it off. But he did have me connect him with Lord Mayhew that very day. It’s not often the manager calls the president of the board. Usually it’s the other way round.”
The waitress brought our plates. A mound of mashed potatoes was covered in a grey sauce with bits of meat scattered throughout. The only color was the bright orange of boiled carrots.
“It smells good,” I said, trying to sound believable.
“Potatoes and carrots,” Miss Gardner sighed. “After the war, I may never eat them again.” The two root vegetables were easily grown in any backyard garden, and were among the few foodstuffs not rationed. British civilians had put up with four years of strict rationing so far, and I could see how it could get depressing.
“It must make the black market tempting,” I said.
“Oh, everyone is tempted,” Miss Gardner said. “And a few corners cut here or there gives people a sense they can make it through. But if you mean criminal profiteering, that’s something else altogether.”
“Did Stuart ever bring gifts to work?”
“He did give me a small tin of coffee once, as a thank-you for staying late one night. He needed to finish his reports before leaving on a business trip. He said an American sergeant brought all sorts of things to his rooming house.”
“Mainly to impress the father, I’d say. Do you know the Millers?”
“No, although I do know they’re German. I wonder if it’s difficult for them.” She inclined her head, thinking about that. “Yes, it must be, mustn’t it?” She was smart, I could see that. I understood why she was good at her job.
“It can’t be easy. Have you heard of anyone with a real grudge against them?”
“No, not at all. Wait, do you mean what I think? A case of mistaken identity?”
“I’m just guessing, Miss Gardner. I have no reason to believe that’s the case.”
“Tell me, please, Captain Boyle,” Miss Gardner said in a low voice, almost a whisper. “Did Stuart suffer?”
“No. I doubt he even knew what happened. It was over instantly.” It was true, but it was what I always said, true or not. Easier on everyone that way.
“Thank you,” she said, her head bowed as if in prayer. “Do you think you will catch who did it?”
“I will do my best,” I said.
“You may need help. From what I heard, Mr. Flowers is unwilling to give you the information you requested. He spoke with Lord Mayhew again after you left, and I took it that you were not to be given any details.”
“The police may be able to get what they need through official channels,” I said.
“It’s a bit like the black market, isn’t it? A bit of a corner cut once in a while helps us all get by.” She took a pencil and a piece of paper from her handbag, jotted a few lines, and slid it across the table to me. “The last two mortgages Stuart worked on. If you need more, we can have lunch again.”
I walked Miss Gardner back to work, impressed by her willingness to help. She played the role of the spinster secretary well, but there was some depth to her, and I was glad to have someone to count on within the Newbury Building Society.
I drove straight to the Prince of Wales in Kintbury, booked our rooms, and changed out of the dress uniform I’d been wearing since yesterday. The bag had been packed by Walter with his customary Dorchester thoroughness. Boots and a Mackinaw coat topped with a soft garrison cap were a lot more comfortable, not to mention suited for a search in soggy terrain. I put on a new dark-brown wool shirt, knotted my khaki field scarf, and admired myself in the mirror. With the addition of a shoulder holster and my.38 revolver, I looked like George Raft. The innkeeper gave me directions to Hungerford Road, on the other side of town, and the manor house serving as home and school to dozens of Channel Island youngsters. Minus one missing girl.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I took the Bath Road out of Newbury, heading west on the north side of the canal. Military traffic was heavy, and there were formations of paratroopers on the road with full packs and weapons. It was slow going. To my left, fields sloped down to the canal, and as I neared the turnoff for Kintbury, I could see a line of GIs on either side of the water, moving across the fields, searching. I knew that what Payne was looking for was a clue, or maybe a body. There was little hope of the girl simply being lost.
Heading toward the bridge spanning the canal before Kintbury, I had to halt and pull over as a line of trucks jammed with helmeted GIs came up the road. Units were conducting field exercises, and I wondered if the white commander of the 617th Tank Destroyer Battalion volunteered them for the search because he wanted to help out, or if he figured they’d never make it into combat and this was all they were good for.
The trucks on my right slowed to a crawl and then stopped, a traffic jam at the intersection behind us
