Arab politics and British rule. There are only a few of them, but they are powerful and secretive men. Please tell Miss Seaton to keep quiet about the camps, for a while at least. They have their eye on her.”
“Like you have your eye on me,” I said.
“No, Boyle. Not like that at all.” Cosgrove slumped back into his chair and signaled for me to go. In that moment he was an exhausted old man, shooing away a bothersome child. I left, thinking how crazy this game really was. Diana went undercover in Nazi-occupied Italy and brought back information on the extermination camps. Now her own people were suspicious of her, and Major Charles Cosgrove, an English straight arrow if ever there was one, was whispering their names here in this remote village lockup, looking afraid for his own life. And me, asking the wrong questions of the wrong people, apparently. Or the right people, judging by the reaction.
I caught a glance of the photograph of Constable Sam Eastman before I closed the door quietly behind me. He looked impatient.
CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO
“What the hell are you going on about, Boyle?” Payne demanded. “I had to sit through three versions of that intolerable man’s tirade before you showed up. What I want is an explanation, not questions about madness.”
“He’s a big shot with MI5, likes to throw his weight around. I don’t get why he cares so much about the Millers, but then I don’t get a lot of what MI5 does. But tell me more about the pleasure men,” I said to Inspector Payne, eager to get off the topic of Major Cosgrove and his motives.
“I’d say Cosgrove fits the bill,” Cook said with a chuckle, lighting his pipe and leaning against the whitewashed wall of the station. He, Payne, and Tree had been waiting out front, soaking up the waning rays of the late afternoon sun. The weather had turned away from winter’s last grasp, the skies were clear, and the ground damp and smelling of green.
“He’s under a lot of pressure,” I said, feeling the need to defend him. “There’s a lot he can’t tell us. I know he comes across as heavy-handed, but he can be a stand-up guy.”
“From what these fellows tell me, he’s not standing up much for your investigation,” Tree said. “I hope he won’t get in the way of proving Angry innocent.”
“That’s why I want to know about the pleasure men,” I said. “Now.” All I wanted to do was get back to Diana and pass on Cosgrove’s warning. I didn’t like the look on his face; it wasn’t the usual bluster, it was dead serious. Frightened.
“What are you talking about? Pimps?” Tree asked. Cook gave him the background about inmates serving at the pleasure of the King in the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum.
“You said you checked all of Sam Eastman’s arrests,” I said to Cook.
“I did. All dead or in prison, the serious offenders anyway. Might be a poacher or the like we missed, but I doubt that sort would be a threat.”
“Any in Broadmoor?”
“Yes, there were two sent there. One way back when Sam was new on the force, and another from nineteen thirty-five. One is still inside, and the other died there. Same with Tom Eastman: no recent releases.”
“Why the sudden interest, Boyle?” Payne asked.
“I was thinking how crazy Cosgrove sounded myself, and then I looked at the elder Eastman’s photograph. That made me wonder if we weren’t being too logical about this case.”
“You mean Tom Eastman being found on his father’s grave,” Tree said.
“Exactly. That’s nothing Angry would have done if he were the killer. There’s no point to it. It’s as if someone was delusional enough to think Sam Eastman would know his son had been killed. We may well be looking for a lunatic.”
“I’ll inquire with Broadmoor again,” Cook said. “Perhaps they overlooked someone. I’ll go through the files and make sure none of the chaps who received lesser charges went on to more serious offenses. They might blame their first brush with the law for everything that followed.”
“Maybe you should check up on anyone from the village who was sent to the asylum,” Tree said. “Criminal or not. It could be any local nut case.”
“Fair point,” Cook said. “I’ll talk with Doc Brisbane, the coroner. He’d likely know who has been committed over the years.”
“Good thinking, Tree,” Payne said. “Were you a detective yourself in the States?”
“Naw,” Tree said, grinning mischievously. “I was a criminal, according to the judge.”
“Hardly a criminal mastermind,” I said. “But that’s a good idea. I’ll come by tomorrow, Constable, and see what you’ve found out. I’ve got to get Tree back to his unit.”
“I will be back at the Newbury Building Society in the morning,” Payne said. “I want to find out if Neville might have made any notes after his last visits. I still think finding Razor Fraser in the midst of all this is damned odd.”
“He’s kept his nose clean, that’s all I can say,” Cook offered. “The gossips say his wife craves the respectable country life. In a comfortable sort of way, of course.”
“You think he’s reformed?” Payne asked.
“No, his type seldom do. But quieter than in his youth, I’ll bet. Smarter maybe. I’d say the driving force behind his new image is the wife. She’d not like her reputation besmirched by the inconvenience of her husband going to prison. Certainly not over a bank loan.”
“Still, there’s something fishy there,” Payne said, “even if it’s not about Neville’s murder.”
“The missing girl?” Tree asked.
“No,” Cook said. “Not Razor’s area of interest. Well, good night, gentlemen. I’ll go and see if I can reclaim my office.”
Cook returned to the station, Payne walked to his car, and Tree and I got into the jeep. I buttoned up my coat against the cool evening air, and was about to start the engine when Cook burst out of the front door.
“He’s unconscious,” Cook yelled. “Cosgrove. I’ll get Doc Brisbane.” As he raced across the street to the coroner’s office, we rushed inside, Payne not far behind. I didn’t know what we’d find, and I felt a surge of fear it would be a corpse.
Cosgrove was sprawled on the floor in front of Cook’s desk, but he wasn’t dead. Yet. His face was flushed and sweaty, his mouth agape as he tried to draw in air with ragged, wheezy gasps. One arm clutched the edge of the desk, as if it were a life raft floating upon the deepest sea. Papers were scattered around him, spilled out of the files he’d been carrying.
“The doctor’s on his way,” I said, kneeling next to Cosgrove. I took his hand from where he was grasping the desk and laid it on his chest. His skin was clammy. I loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, the collar soaked with sweat. Tree took off his jacket, folded it, and slid it under Cosgrove’s head. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” came the answer, a hiss of air, no more. Cosgrove’s eyes darted left and right, looking for something. I prayed for the doctor to hurry.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“Pa … papers,” he whispered. The papers from the file he had on the desk. Secrets.
“I’ll take care of them, Major,” I said. “I promise. Relax and wait for the doctor, you’ll be okay.” He didn’t really look like he’d be okay anytime soon. Payne entered the room with a stretcher and set it down next to Cosgrove.
“How’s he look?” Payne whispered.
“Bad,” I answered, in a low voice. “I think it’s a heart attack.”
“Boyle,” Cosgrove said, his voice surprisingly strong.
“Yes,” I said, my face close to his.
“Get … the papers. No sedative.”
“Okay, the papers,” I said. “But do you know what’s wrong? Have you been ill?”
He thumped his chest, weakly. His heart.
“Out of the way, young man.” Doctor Brisbane, at last.
