Beware This Boy (14 page)

“Begging your pardon, sir, but like what?”

Tyler waved his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Anything. Did the box seem the usual weight or was it heavier than usual? Did any of the pots look damaged?”

“Like I said, sir, I’d swear on my mother’s grave the boxes were no different from the usual. And I don’t mess around with that stuff. No, sir. Them’s deadly weapons we’re dealing with. No, I would have noticed if anything was tampered with … which is what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

“Frankly, I’m treating this incident as an accident. I’m more interested if you noticed if the pots were badly packed or something like that.”

“No, sir, I didn’t see that they were.”

Tyler finished his tea. “You did say ‘tampered with,’ Mr. Smith. If such a thing had happened, God forbid, but if it had, do you yourself have an opinion as to how it might have occurred?”

Smith contemplated the question with pursed lips. “Truth to tell, sir, I don’t. It’s not that the detonators are guarded exactly but they are always somebody’s responsibility. I’m not keen to blow myself up, nor I doubt is Phil Riley nor Joe Abbott, who is the afternoon dillie man. ’E does the same job I do.”

“You’ve got a point there. Are the fuses always within your view?”

“While they’re on my trolley they are.”

“And by the same token, are you yourself always within sight of the other workers?”

Smith had gone back to his cigarette, and he blew out some more smoke. “Come to think of it, there’s two places where I’m not. When I get the casings from the loading bay, I’m on the floor with the other workers. But when I’ve got the finished ones from the conveyor belt, I exit through a fire door to Section A. You can see it from here if you look down. If you think of yourself coming into the main floor as facing
north, which strictly speaking you’re not, but anyways, let’s say you’re facing north. The exit to the passageway is northeast. The loading dock is northwest. With me so far?”

“I am indeed, Mr. Smith. Please go on.”

“So I go through that fire door with me casings by way of a short connecting passageway, more of a tunnel really – no windows. Yet another door, just to make my life more difficult, and I’m in Section A. Then they all see me and I see them. After that, with a new load, I come back through the same door into the same passage, but instead of going back to the floor, I veer off into the magazine shed for the count. Mr. Riley is of course in there, and unless he’s distracted, he sees me.”

Smith was speaking slowly and deliberately as if Tyler were a dull pupil. Either that or he wanted to make sure Cudmore was keeping up. From what Tyler had seen so far, the secretary had no difficulty.

“All right so far, sir?”

Tyler nodded.

“So I’d got myself to the magazine shed, hadn’t I.”

“Yes, you had. Do go on.”

“Me, I don’t know why we have to have a count at this stage. I mean, where are the fuses going to go to? If they’ve come in, as they have, from the floor, there should be exactly the same number of them coming from Section A. However, them’s the rules and not for me to question why. So, from the magazine shed I pick up a box that’s passed muster and is marked as such and I exits through another short tunnel, which connects into Section B.”

He glanced over at Tyler. “Now, you asked me if I was always in somebody’s sight. Well, truth is, nobody sees me in those two passageways. If I want to pick my nose or scratch my balls, I can. Begging your pardon, Mr. Cudmore.”

The secretary managed a smile.

“And how long are you in each passageway, Mr. Smith?” Tyler asked.

“Less than a minute. Seconds, really. But I get the drift of what you’re saying, Inspector. If anybody was doing some dirty work, like, where could they do it?”

“And?”

“Can’t tell you. Me, I’m not a loonie. This place, you blow up one thing, the whole lot could go. Like I said, I’ve not got any desire to do myself in. Too much living I want to do.”

“Given the routine as you’ve described it to me, I’d think that’s a lot of moving around for such dangerous material.”

“I agree with you there, sir. An awful lot of moving around. It should be looked into. Right, Mr. Cudmore?” He stubbed out his cigarette. “When do you think we can get back to work, sir? We mustn’t slow down production. We’ve got to get the weapons to our soldiers or we’re done for.”

“You’re quite right about that, Mr. Smith. But I’m confident we’ll never be defeated. Too much toughness in us Brits for that, wouldn’t you say?”

“I certainly would, sir.”

“Some areas of the factory will be in operation tomorrow,” interjected Cudmore.

“Is that it, then, sir?” Smith asked Tyler.

“Yes, it is. Thanks for your help.”

Smith got to his feet. “Just call on me if you need to.” He turned smartly on his heel and left.

Tyler gave himself a stretch while he was waiting for Cudmore to fetch the caretaker, who’d been relegated to the kitchen. He thought about the two interviews so far. Riley had seemed nervous and edgy. He was covering up something. Tyler sighed. He guessed it was because Riley was having a bit on the side with Mrs. Castleford. Unfaithfulness in marriage tends to sully the conscience, as he knew only too well. Smith,
on the other hand, seemed straightforward enough. He’d made a good point about the excessive moving around of the detonators. That should be looked into. But there was something niggling at the back of Tyler’s mind about his Brummie friend. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

Cudmore returned. “He’ll be here directly, sir.” He got his notebook at the ready.

“His name is Dmitri Wolfsiewicz but we all call him Wolf. Easier all round. He’s a refugee from Poland. He’s been here for three months. Good hard-working fellow. Doesn’t speak much English. But then we can hardly blame him. English is such a peculiar language, isn’t it.”

Tyler blinked at him. “Not anything I’ve given much thought to, Mr. Cudmore, but you’re probably right.”

The caretaker appeared. He’d removed his overalls and was wearing a brown tweed suit that was too large for him and practically shouted “donation from the
WVS
.” He was young, probably still in his twenties, but his face was thin to the point of emaciation. He moved like somebody much older.

What had happened to him? Tyler wondered.

“I won’t keep you long, Mr. Wolfsiewicz,” he said. “Just a few questions.” The man looked at him in surprise.

Tyler realized he’d made the common faux pas of speaking more loudly than usual, as if Wolf were hard of hearing rather than short of English. He lowered his voice to a normal volume. “I wonder if you could tell me about Sunday.”

“What you like to know?”

“Frankly, anything you can tell me. I’m just trying to figure out what happened. I understand you are the caretaker here. Were you in the vicinity when the explosion happened?”

Wolf was watching Tyler’s lips as if he were indeed deaf. “Yes, I do caretaking. I was in – on the floor.” He spoke slowly, enunciating carefully.

“Do you have any idea what might have set off the explosion?”

Wolf shrugged. “All materials very dangerous.”

“Were you in Section B at all yesterday?”

“Yes. I do the clean in between shifts. Wipe floor. I wipe the floor to make sure no powder is there.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” Tyler could hear himself raising his voice again. He didn’t think Wolfsiewicz was deaf, but he spoke so carefully and listened so intently Tyler began to wonder if this was a possibility.

“Two men working at that bench. Not usual. Is that what you mean?”

“Anything else?”

This time the cleaner raised his eyes and looked into Tyler’s. His eyes were grey-blue and again Tyler had the impression of age. Not necessarily wisdom, but too much life experience for such a young man.

“I cannot help, I regret. I did my work.”

“Did you speak to the men?”

Wolfsiewicz paused. “I exchanged only happinesses.”

Tyler thought he meant pleasantries, but he rather liked Wolf’s version. He tried a different tack. “I understand you are from Poland.”

Wolf nodded but Tyler felt the tension that immediately came over him.

“I hear Warsaw is a beautiful city,” he continued.

For the first time there was a flash of animation on Wolfsiewicz’s thin face. “Not now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Loss of freedom make all things ugly, Inspector.”

Tyler was startled by the response, which was unexpectedly poetic. Ironically, a few years into their marriage he’d tried to persuade Vera to go there for a visit, but she refused. Too far,
too foreign, strange language, strange food. They ended up going to Torquay. He often wondered if Vera suspected that Tyler’s curiosity about Warsaw had to do with Clare Somerville. She was right, of course. Clare had spent time there as a young woman and spoke of it fondly.

He realized the caretaker was watching him warily. Tyler held out his hand. “Thank you, sir. If anything comes to you, anything at all, please let me know.”

The Pole’s grip was tentative, his fingers cold.

Cudmore watched him leave. “That poor chap always puts me in mind of Father Edmund Campion.”

“Campion? Oh, you’re right. The Jesuit priest who was executed by one of Queen Bess’s lackeys.”

“That’s the one. He suffered a hideous death. He was one of those hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“God, I remember finding a book about martyrs. Illustrated. Ghastly thing.”

“Are you a Catholic, sir?”

“Not me. Church of England to the core.”

“I read that same book you mention. Foxe’s
Book of Martyrs
was the title. I was fascinated by it. I was raised in the old faith, so my morbidity passed for piety,” said Cudmore ruefully.

Another surprising statement.

“It all seems such nonsense from our perspective, doesn’t it, sir,” he went on. “Who has the
true
faith and all that. But I suppose our loyalty is now called upon in a different way. And we punish the disloyal just as severely.”

Tyler nodded. He felt at something of a loss. Cudmore was revealing hidden depths.

“Speaking of which, why was Wolf imprisoned by the Germans?”

“I don’t really know, sir. He told me he had disagreed with some edict of the Nazis and he was termed anti-social. He
might have been a communist, although he hasn’t admitted to that. He was lucky he was released, from what I’ve heard.” Cudmore closed his notebook and snapped the elastic band around it. “I’ll start transcribing my notes so far. I’ll have them ready for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cudmore. You have been invaluable.” Tyler got to his feet. “I’m going to stop by the hospital to see if I can speak to Peter Pavely. We’ll resume in the morning.”

The matron on the men’s ward at St. Elizabeth’s was even more formidable than Nurse Ruebotham.

“Mr. Aston is still in a coma, Inspector,” she said to Tyler with a frown. “He cannot have any visitors. Mr. Pavely has been seriously injured and must not be disturbed unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Believe me, Matron, I would not disturb him unless, in my humble opinion as an officer of the law, it was absolutely necessary to ask him a few questions.”

She hardly yielded. “Very well. But I can only allow ten minutes. These patients are my responsibility.”

She led him down the ward. Like Sylvia and Audrey, the two injured men had been put at the far end of the ward and their beds were both screened off.

The matron, whose name tag said she was B. Poltin, pulled back the screen so that Tyler could get close to the bed. Pavely turned his head. One eye was bandaged, the other so swollen it was a mere slit.

“This is Inspector Tyler,” said the matron. “He wishes to ask you some questions about the accident. Are you able to do so?”

“Yes, I am.” He held out his hand to Tyler. “Glad to see you, in a manner of speaking, that is. Ask away.”

“Can you tell me what happened yesterday? From your point of view, that is.”

“Wish to hell I knew,” said Pavely. “Last thing I remember I was fitting a piece of lino onto the bench. It had come loose and me and Doug Aston were fixing it. That’s it. Next thing I know, I’m in this hospital with a bloody bandage on my head.” He managed to glance over at the matron, who had stationed herself at the foot of the bed. “I’m not swearing, Matron. That’s what it is, a bloody bandage.”

Pavely shifted his head so he could fix his good eye on Tyler. “They’re keeping very mum about what happened, Inspector, but I gather it was serious.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Fatalities?”

Before Tyler could reply the matron interrupted him. He was starting to think of it as a nurse’s reflex.

“All in good time, Mr. Pavely. For now it’s better that the inspector ask the questions.”

“I gather that’s a yes,” said Pavely. “Was it my mate? Did Doug get it?”

Tyler patted the man’s hand. “Listen, old chap, the matron will fill you in later. I can tell you, though, your mate wasn’t killed.”

“Thank God for that,” muttered Pavely. “He’s a good bloke.”

“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what caused the explosion,” continued Tyler. “Do you have any idea why the fuses blew up?”

He thought Pavely had closed his eye but it was hard to tell. “Not the foggiest.”

“Do you remember the women doing anything unusual?”

“No. They hadn’t come in yet.”

Tyler didn’t want to distress him any more by revealing the truth. He’d encountered this kind of amnesia before. It was the mind’s way of protecting itself. Pavely would hear in good time what had happened.

The bloodshot eye focused on him. “I’m not going to wake up and find out it was my fault, am I?”

Tyler patted his arm. “Not a chance. Now get some rest.”

He looked in on Sylvia on his way out but she was asleep. “Resting comfortably,” said Nurse Ruebotham. Audrey Sandilands was still on the critical list and the nurse shook her head when Tyler enquired about her. “No change,” she said. He thought that was nurse-speak for
We don’t hold out much hope
.

If he had been a religious man, he would have said a prayer for the two young women.