‘And?’
‘And these are leads you should be following.’
‘I’ve got the lead I need right here at the lab.’
‘Prints on the revolver?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ The line went dead. Rebus felt like punching something. Instead of which, he started the engine.
The cemetery lay a mile inland from Tongue, above the village and just off the road to Altnaharra. A low stone wall surrounded it, with high metal gates giving access for hearses. Rebus reckoned that at one time there’d have been a horse-drawn procession from the nearby communities. Maybe not even horses – the coffin carried aloft by family or friends. Only a handful of the gravestones looked new; most were weathered, their inscriptions faded. The grass had been mown recently, though, and fresh flowers had been added to several plots. Not an easy place to hide, and Rebus saw Helen Carter straight away. She was leaning on her walking frame, deep in thought – or more likely remembrance. Rebus approached her, clearing his throat to announce his presence.
‘I heard the car,’ she said.
‘And here was me thinking you’re stone deaf.’
‘I’ve got my hearing aid in.’ She pointed to one of her ears.
Rebus took up position next to her and studied the name on the headstone.
‘Anniversary of his death,’ she explained.
‘I know – I looked him up online. Thought he’d be in one of the war cemeteries.’
‘We guessed he’d want to be here,’ Carter said quietly. ‘Chrissy did anyway.’
Rebus took stock of the scenery. It felt like they might be the only living things in the whole landscape – no livestock visible, no birdsong. Then he turned his attention back to Sergeant Gareth Davies’s grave.
‘Age twenty-nine,’ he recited. ‘How old was Chrissy?’
‘Nineteen. Two years younger than me.’
‘I heard she died a few years back.’
‘She had a good life down south, and a long one.’
‘You kept in touch after she left?’
‘She didn’t often visit – too many memories.’
‘It was a terrible thing to happen.’
‘And such a stupid thing, too.’
‘Sergeant Davies’s killer must have harboured strong feelings for her,’ Rebus agreed. ‘That was what it was, wasn’t it – a crime of passion?’
‘It’s what was said at the trial.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
Helen Carter took a deep breath. ‘Chrissy wasn’t the bonniest of lassies – she’d tell you that herself. But she liked the attention of men, and she found ways to make sure she got that attention.’
‘She was a flirt?’
‘It went a bit beyond that.’ Carter almost had a glint in her eye. ‘Another good reason for her to head south – our parents weren’t going to stand for much more of it. They were religious, as was I, I suppose. They knew they could trust me not to get into trouble.’
‘But not Chrissy?’
‘No.’
‘Were you dating your future husband at this time?’
Carter considered for a moment. The breeze had caught her hair. She pushed some strands back behind her ear.
‘Should we go sit in the car?’
‘A friend is picking me up soon.’
‘Stefan Novack, by any chance?’
She smiled. ‘You are a detective, aren’t you?’
‘The pair of you just seemed comfortable with one another as you were leaving the bar that day.’
‘Well, maybe you’re right.’ She gave a slight shiver. ‘I can feel this wind getting into my bones.’
Rebus put his arm out for her to take, but she waved the offer away, gripping the handles of her walker and shuffling towards the gates.
‘Do you come here on Chrissy’s behalf?’ he asked.
‘I suppose so.’
‘You never did answer my question about your boyfriend … ’
‘Fred,’ she said. ‘Friedrich, actually. We were friends for a while, lovers eventually.’
‘Your parents approved?’
‘Not overly. There was always that element of “sleeping with the enemy”.’
‘Did they grow to like him?’
‘They grew to accept him.’ Her beady eyes drilled into Rebus’s. ‘Why are you asking about all this?’
‘I’ve listened to the recording Keith made of his interview with you. You told him Chrissy didn’t really know Hoffman. He wasn’t part of her coterie?’
‘They’d met on several occasions. The evidence pointed to him as Gareth’s killer.’ She offered a small shrug.
‘Could there have been another reason why Sergeant Davies was targeted?’
‘I can’t think of one.’
‘And none of her other admirers might have been jealous of him?’
‘I’d imagine they were all jealous of him.’
‘These were British guards or internees?’
‘Both. As I say, Chrissy had a certain reputation and she was hell-bent on upholding it.’
‘She sounds a handful. I don’t suppose you were jealous of her, Helen?’ They had reached Rebus’s car. He opened the passenger-side door.
‘Maybe I was – just a little.’
‘But then you had Friedrich … ’
The car door was still open, but she seemed reluctant to get in.
‘As a friend, yes,’ she said. ‘But if I’m being honest, I had my eye on Franz, too. A bit naughty of me, but I think I was trying to stir Friedrich into action, if you know what I mean.’
‘Franz? As in Frank Hess?’ Rebus watched her nod. ‘Another of Chrissy’s admirers?’
‘Oh yes – until Gareth came along and swept her off her feet.’
‘And was Joe Collins part of that group too?’
Carter wrinkled her brow in thought. ‘Not that I remember. Josef was a bit gruff, a bit of a grouch. We always wondered … ’ She broke off.
‘What?’ Rebus asked.
‘We wondered if, given a gun, would he shoot the lot of us? I mean, we used to ask that question a lot – me and Chrissy and the other girls. They all seemed so polite and so charming, but until they surrendered, they’d been merrily slaughtering our menfolk. Plenty at Camp 1033 were still loyal Nazis. One or two even went to Nuremberg.’
‘Shall we get in?’ Rebus gestured towards the car’s interior, but she shook her head. ‘What if I told you,’ he continued, his voice dropping a fraction, ‘that Joe Collins’ revolver had been used to kill Keith Grant?’
Her face didn’t change. ‘Is that what happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I don’t really know what to say.’
‘Keith was bringing the past back
