The Wages of Desire (24 page)

“Do you think the skull belongs to one of the O'Hare twins?”

“I would hope not, certainly. At the time, everyone pretty much concluded that Sean O'Hare had taken them to Ireland. Unless I'm mistaken, no one in Winstead has seen Sean or the twins since.” Lawrence moved a bit forward in his chair. “Are you saying, Chief Inspector, that you've identified the skeleton as belonging to one of the O'Hares?”

“No,” Lamb said. “We haven't identified the remains yet and might not for some time. I'm merely interested in your thoughts on the matter. As I told your brother this morning, I'm of a mind that the body was not placed there in the past ten or so years, during the time when the farm was abandoned, but was put there during the time that you and your brother and mother lived in the house and Albert Clemmons was your farmhand. Which, of course, very much puts you and your family in the picture, Mr. Tigue.”

Lamb wanted Lawrence to know that he'd spoken to Algernon. He'd sensed by the manner in which Algernon had spoken of Lawrence's failed marriage that the brothers held each other in low regard—it was clear that Algernon, at any rate, possessed little respect for Lawrence.

“You spoke to Algernon, then?”

“Yes.”

“And what was his opinion on the matter?”

“I'm here to get your opinion, sir,” Lamb said.

Lamb's mention of Algernon brought back to Lawrence memories of the humiliations he had suffered at his brother's hands. But he reminded himself anew that he had righted those wrongs—that Algernon had underestimated him, and that he had nothing more to fear from Algernon. He had fixed matters so that Algernon could not gain the upper hand. He wondered if Lamb had inadvertently revealed this fact to Algernon through his questioning. If so, it was too late for Algernon to counter the move. He was certain of that.

“Well, I don't know what to say, really, Chief Inspector,” Lawrence said. “I suppose you're right that Algernon and myself are very much in the picture, as you put it—that is if your theory about when the body was placed there is correct, which I doubt it is. I can only give you my word that, however that body came to be buried in the basement of the farmhouse, we had nothing to do with it.”

“Did you see the O'Hare boys on the farm on the day they disappeared?”

“No. I was off hunting rabbits in an entirely different part of the farm. I bagged three that morning, as a matter of fact.”

“And your mother and brother, sir? Where were they?”

“Well, Algernon was off somewhere playing with his mates, as I recall. Wasn't even on the farm. And my mother was busy around the house. She didn't see the boys that morning.”

“Did your mother know when she hired Albert Clemmons that he had a conviction for pedophilia?”

“No. The news shocked us.”

Lamb glanced around the room. “You seem to have done quite well for yourself, sir,” he said.

Tigue smiled. “Yes. I try, at any rate.”

“How long have you lived in the village?”

“Eight years. I lived on the farm with my mother until 1932, the year she died. I then went to London—to seek my fortune, I suppose you'd say. That's where I learned the printing trade and met the woman who became my wife.”

“What brought you back to Winstead?”

“Well, I didn't like London—hated it, actually.”

“And you now operate a freelance printing business out of your garage?”

“Yes.”

“What sorts of things do you print?”

“Well, I print the village newsletter for one, though I don't charge for that. I also do a lot of government work, informational fliers and the like. There's a lot of that these days, as you know. ‘What to do if the Germans invade.' That sort of thing.” He smiled again. “You seem to know quite a lot about me, Chief Inspector. Not that I mind, of course. It's your job to know these things; I realize that.”

“Yes, it is my job.”

“Well, just in case you don't know, I also raise chickens and make a bit of money from selling eggs to the people who are developing the farm—though my eggs have gone missing recently. I'd say that's a case for you, but I'd be wasting your time, given that I already know the culprit.”

“Who is it, sir?”

“Flora Wheatley, of course. The woman hates me, Chief Inspector, as I'm sure she must have told you by now. She is obsessed with the local songbird population and is convinced that I've been stealing eggs from their nests and selling them with my chicken eggs. It's preposterous, of course, but there it is. I daresay she's already told you the whole sordid story of my supposed guilt.”

“Have you seen Miss Wheatley steal your eggs, sir?”

“No, but I'm sure it's her. It couldn't be anyone else. And her cottage is just across the meadow behind us here.”

“To whom do you deliver the eggs at the camp?”

“A man named Taney seems to be in charge over there. At times I've dealt with him, though, really, it's whoever happens to be handy about the mess tent when I arrive.”

“Did you ever deliver the eggs to Ruth Aisquith, then? She worked in the mess tent.”

“No. As I told you before, I didn't know her.”

“I understand that your wife has left Winstead to live with her sister in Chesterfield for the duration of the war,” Lamb said.

“Yes, well, I'm afraid that last summer did her in a bit. She began talking about it then, but we held off on doing anything since it seemed like such a large step. Then, with the coming of this summer, she became anxious again. I tried to convince her that the Germans were finished with us down here, though I hardly believe it myself, of course.” He looked at Lamb. “So, yes, she's gone, Chief Inspector. She left just a couple of days ago.”

“I see,” Lamb said. “And what is your sister-in-law's name?”

“Mary Hart. My wife's maiden name is Hart, you see. Alba Hart.”

“And does Mary Hart have a telephone in Chesterfield?”

“Well, yes, she does.”

“May I have her number?”

“Her telephone number?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don't know it from memory. I can go and fetch it if you really think it's necessary.”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

“Yes, well, if you'll just wait here, then.” He rose and left the room. A minute later, he returned and handed Lamb a slip of paper with Mary Hart's name and telephone number on it.

“There you are, Chief Inspector.”

“Thank you,” Lamb said. He now asked the question he'd asked Algernon: “Did your mother have an affair with Sean O'Hare, sir?”

“Certainly not!” Lawrence said. “And I resent that you should ask that, Chief Inspector.”

Lamb produced the Grant figure, which Lawrence instantly recognized. Indeed, Lamb's possession of the figure cheered him; it was further evidence that his plan was working as he hoped it would.

“Do you recognize this?” Lamb asked.

“No.”

“It comes from a set of generals made by Britain's toy company that also includes a Napoleon figure. Your brother has a Napoleon figure sitting on his desk in his rooms at the Everly School. He told me that you gave him that figure. Is that true, Mr. Tigue?”

Tigue nearly was overcome with delight. Lamb not only had found the Grant, but also seen the Napoleon in Algernon's rooms. He wondered at the shock that Algernon must have felt in seeing Lamb produce the Grant figure.

“I'm afraid my brother's mistaken, Chief Inspector,” Lawrence said evenly. “I never gave him such a figure.”

“No? He claims you were an aficionado of toy soldiers, a collector.”

“Well, that's curious,” Lawrence said. He felt entirely in control of the situation. Neither Algernon, nor Lamb, nor anyone else could touch him now.

“Why is that?”

“Well, it was Algernon who was the toy soldier aficionado, not me.” Lawrence looked around the room. “After all, you don't see any figures on my shelves, do you?”

“Would you mind if I had a look in your garage, sir?” Lamb hoped to test his theory on the possible connection between Lawrence and Ruth Aisquith.

“Well, I don't see why you would want to, but go right ahead,” Tigue said. “I'll get the key.”

Tigue was confident that Lamb would find nothing—though Lamb's asking to see the garage meant that Lamb might be getting close to discovering certain truths. Once again, Tigue reminded himself that, very soon, none of that would matter.

Tigue unlocked the garage. “There you are, Chief Inspector,” he said. “If you don't mind, I'll wait out here.” He spoke this latter sentence in a tone that suggested he was not pleased by Lamb's snooping around his shed.

Lamb entered the garage. He first had to move around Tigue's 1928 Morris Minor, which, from the look of the dust that had collected on its bonnet, Tigue hadn't driven in some time. Since the war started, most people who owned motorcars had mothballed them, given the scarcity and dearness of petrol. More than any other commodity, save food, the success of England's war effort depended on petrol, the distribution of which the government strictly controlled and rationed. In some ways, petrol had become as valuable as gold.

Lamb moved to the rear of the garage, where he found, hard against the rear wall, a small Adana printing press and next to it a table containing a mimeograph machine. A second table, which sat beneath the window on the shed's north side, contained bundles and stacks of papers, many of which appeared blank. Lamb knew nothing about printing presses and so was not exactly sure what he was searching for other than some evidence that Lawrence Tigue might have used his machine to produce some manner of forged or counterfeit papers for Ruth Aisquith. Lamb had spent a fair amount of time thinking about the large sum of cash they'd found in Ruth's purse and concluded that Ruth had not brought the cash with her to Winstead merely to keep it safe from her bunkmates at the prison site. He believed she had brought the cash to Winstead to pay someone for some service rendered—but a service that did not allow the participants to be seen together without casting suspicion on themselves.

Lamb suspected that Ruth had come to the cemetery so early in the morning not to visit her grandmother's grave, as she had told Taney and others, because Ruth's grandmother wasn't buried there. Indeed, Ruth's grandmother probably wasn't even buried in Hampshire. Lamb's theory was that Ruth Aisquith had come to the cemetery—a normally deserted place on the far western edge of the village, and always very early in the morning—because she had not wanted to be seen. She had needed a quiet, out of the way spot in which to pick up the goods that someone in the village—perhaps Lawrence Tigue—was producing for her. In turn, she left payment for those goods hidden somewhere in the cemetery. However, on the morning of her death she'd been shot before she could complete her covert transaction.

Lamb took a final look around the garage, then rejoined Lawrence Tigue by the door.

“I expect that I will have more questions for you and must ask that you not leave Winstead for the next couple of days,” Lamb said to Tigue.

“I've nowhere to go in any case,” Lawrence said.

“Very good, then,” Lamb said. “Thank you for your cooperation. I can find my way back to the High Street, thank you.”

Lawrence watched Lamb disappear around the side of the house in the direction of the High Street. As he did so, he put his hand in his right pocket and felt the head of a tiny general.

TWENTY-TWO

WHILE LAMB INTERVIEWED LAWRENCE TIGUE, VERA STROLLED UP
the High Street in the direction of the church. She found the cemetery deserted and stood outside its black iron fence for a moment, staring at the graves. The grave of Miss Tutin still was mounded with fresh earth but otherwise—and despite what had happened two days earlier—the cemetery appeared as if no one had entered it for years. The place felt weighted by a kind of sad shabbiness, Vera thought.

She heard a voice behind her say, “Hello, Miss Lamb” and turned to find Julia Martin, Lilly's mother, standing behind her holding a canvas bag of groceries in each hand.

Vera had instinctively liked Julia the first time they'd met. She smiled. “Can I help you with your bags?”

Julia returned the smile. “That's very kind, thanks.” She handed Vera one of the bags, which contained, among other food, a loaf of the coarse rationed bread the government called the National Wheatmeal Loaf and a tiny tin of strawberry jam, which had become rare and which Julia had been lucky to obtain. Julia nodded toward the western end of the village and said, “I live just up here.”

They walked toward Julia's house. “I wonder if I would be prying to ask how the investigations are going,” Julia said. “It's quite terrible what's happened around here in the past few days. First these two deaths in the village and then the discovery of the child's skeleton on the old farm. I'm afraid it's left many of us reeling. It has me.”