rat when the pension doesn't come through. Stil, more officers were sentenced to death than you'd think. Just not shot on the whole. Recommendations to pardon or commute hurtling across the Channel like whizz-bangs. Hart was unlucky.'
'What a bugger.'
'Yes. I expect he thought so,' said Charles. 'Beastly business. God knows what it did to Emmett. Mind you, what was he thinking? Once Hart was wounded he should have just finished him off. It makes it al much worse for the men who misfired. Everyone has the jitters in these sorts of situations but he was the officer. And as for Tucker, he should have been sorted out way back, it seems to me. Insolence, abuse of power, bulying, contravention of King's Regs. Weak leadership there, letting a rogue NCO cal the tune.'
'And now I'm going to have to go and confront the man himself,' said Laurence.
'What?'
'Wel, something set John and Tucker against each other and that something apparently culminated in the fiasco at the execution. They obviously loathed each other. And Byers hinted that Tucker's ministrations to his own friend after the trench accident were murderous rather than medical. Though his actions were vague and Byers hated the man, so it may be wishful thinking.'
'So you think you can track down Tucker, wherever he might have got to?' Charles spoke slowly. And might I add that Tucker is hardly in the same league as Tresham Brabourne when it comes to distinctive names? Then you're going to tel him that the man he persecuted, by the sound of it, was your chum, whom he drove to his death, and then he's obligingly going to tel you exactly what it was al about, man to man, and you can bear the news to the fair Mary Emmett and set her mind at rest and ensure her everlasting gratitude. Is that how you see it?'
'Wel, no, obviously not. But I don't have to show Tucker how partisan I am. I can think of some legitimate reason for seeing him. If he's falen on hard times he might even talk in exchange for money. And actualy I do know how to find him. He's in Birmingham.'
'Ah, that rural hamlet. Should be easy, then. And I expect he has war heroes, brimming with derring-do, traveling up from London to ask his opinion on this and that every day of the week?'
'I know exactly where he is. At least I know how to find him. In a public house.'
Charles gave him a long look. 'Of course. Simple. Apart from anything else, Tucker could be dangerous. He doesn't sound like a man to cross. My cousin says the final wartime death tol is going to be a loss of about one in four or five officers and rather less than that for other ranks, one in eight, say. Mind you, that doesn't include poor buggers with half-lives like John and Bolitho. Maybe a third of us were casualties of some sort. Some outfits were hit badly, obviously some got off lightly, but what we're talking about here is a complete reversal of that ratio: almost everybody connected with Tucker is dead. Some died wel after the hostilities.'
'Wel, the soldiers died in action. Byers' cousin can hardly be counted and policemen do, occasionaly, die on duty. John made his own decision. Probably.'
Charles looked thoughtful. 'What do we know about the death of the police officer, late APM, then? Mulins, was it? When was it for a start? Have the police got anybody for it?'
'I don't know. No idea,' said Laurence. 'I vaguely remember seeing a headline. I suppose I can find out but it must have been weeks, maybe even months ago.'
'My point exactly. If it's a question of kiling their own, the police won't rest until he's caught and hanged. Not a casual crook, I'd say, if he's managed to elude them. Anyway, when did you last hear of the death of any senior policeman?'
Laurence shook his head.
'I'm not being overly dramatic,' said Charles, 'but think about it. Even Byers' cousin's death could have been someone wanting to get back at Leonard Byers, someone with a nasty line in vindictiveness, and from everything you've told me about Tucker, he seems to fit the bil.'
'Charles...' Laurence began.
'You think it's improbable? I think it's improbable but it stil makes me cautious about you tootling off to track Tucker down. Think, man, what was realy shocking about Tucker's behaviour over Hart's death? He shot him in the face. Unnecessary. Maximum damage. Maximum impact for onlookers plus public contempt for John.'
'I know what you're getting at,' Laurence interrupted, 'that whoever it was deliberately shot Byers' cousin in the face. Whom do we know who has a taste for that kind of thing? Who might want to send a message to Leonard Byers? Tucker. That's why I'm going. Al roads lead to Tucker.'
'But I don't think yours should. He strikes me as one of those men who hated al officers on principle.'
'John wasn't shot in the face,' Laurence said. 'He didn't even shoot himself in the head like most suicides.'
'No,' said Charles, 'but you've already started to wonder whether it realy was suicide. Could you stil put your hand on your heart and tel Miss Emmett her brother kiled himself?'
Laurence's optimism was flagging, yet it had al seemed to be coming together less than a week ago. Not perfect, but approaching coherence.
'It simply makes it more important that I try to see Tucker,' he said. 'Why would anyone disguise John's death to look like suicide? If there is a single kiler he certainly didn't bother to do so with Byers and Mulins.' He felt foolish even articulating it. 'And I keep asking myself, why would anyone be doing this?'
'Any chance you've stil got your gun?' Charles asked, and then, seeing the look on Laurence's face, went on, 'No, of course you haven't.'
'I'm not getting on a train at St Pancras armed to the teeth anyway, if that's what you've got in mind. I'm not a gangster. This isn't America,' Laurence retorted.
After a moment's hesitation he added, 'But I'l tel you what. I won't go rushing up there just yet. Before I do, I'l check the archives for the story of that policeman's death. No danger there and it's easily done.'
And I'l try to track down Brabourne,' said Charles. 'Then if, and only if, we feel it's necessary to head north, we'l both go. No, don't protest,' he interrupted as Laurence started to speak. 'Safety in numbers. Tucker's a maniac. Don't want to find myself buying back your tenderest parts pickled in a bottle, do I?'
