October Men by Anthony Price Page A

now they faced the added and appallingly tricky dimension of national security, the cloak under which crimes were not only committed but sometimes allowed to go unpunished. So now these guardians of the peace could feel the solid ground of the law shifting under their feet; at the best they might be required to turn a blind eye, which they hated doing, and at the worst they might be forced to connive at felony—that was what they feared most now.
    “Ah—Superintendent!” The clipped tone of Stacker’s voice left nobody in doubt as to who was the senior officer present. “This is the —ah—officer from the Ministry I briefed you about—Captain Richardson.”
    The Superintendent appraised Richardson briefly, then nodded.
    “You think you can make Mrs. Clark tell her husband to talk to us, Captain?”
    Richardson could not help grinning. The difference between them was that the police only wanted old Charlie to admit he’d pulled the trigger, whereas Stocker wanted to know how Audley had taken it into his head to disappear. But obviously both of them were surprised and galled to come up against a pair of old countryfolk who were not overawed by the combined sight of the police and the Ministry of Defence.
    David would have enjoyed that!
    He shrugged. “It’s possible, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Just how much have you got so far?”
    “Not much.” The Superintendent admitted, turning towards his subordinate. “You tell him, John.”
    “Not much indeed.” Trenchcoat grinned back wryly at Richardson, as one journeyman to another. “And most of it comes from the constable here, Yates.”
    He paused. “Mrs. Clark woke him up about half-past one this morning. Said someone had broken in here, they’d seen a torch flashing, and Charlie had gone up—that’s Mr. Clark—to stop ‘em getting away. Yates came on straight up here with Mrs. Clark—she wouldn’t stay behind. They found Clark sitting at the bottom of the stairs, and this other fella up on the landing. Charlie had stopped him right enough.”
    “But Charlie said something?”
    “Aye. Not that it makes much sense. He said—at least Yates thinks he said—‘Bloody Germans—shot at me.’ And then his wife said ‘Hold your tongue, Charlie.’ And not a word we’ve had out of him since.”
    “Germans?”
    “That’s what Yates thought he said, but the old man was in quite a state so he may have misheard.”
    “On the contrary,” Richardson shook his head. “I’d guess that was exactly what Charlie said.”
    “Indeed?” Trenchcoat looked interested. “He was in the war then?”
    “He was in the army for about a year—he was invalided out after Dunkirk. From what David’s told me I think he had a bad time during the retreat, but it wasn’t a subject you could get him to talk about— not that you could ever get him to talk about anything really. Only he certainly had it in for the Germans… And is that all you got out of them?”
    “The woman gave us Dr. Audley’s address without us asking for it —she had it written on a piece of paper. She just said she wanted to talk to this solicitor of hers and she wouldn’t talk to us.”
    A look of irritation passed across the Superintendent’s face. Glancing sidelong at Stacker, Richardson was rewarded with a similar expression. So that was the size of it: the shrewd old body had not just simply closed up on them—she had claimed her rights with the speed of an old lag! Small wonder the big shots were vexed as well as suspicious.
    It occurred to him suddenly that some of that annoyance had been directed at Trenchcoat as well. That Stocker had not been wholly open with him was no surprise, of course; the detail about the solicitor merely confirmed what could be taken for granted. But obviously no one had thought to warn Trenchcoat. So—
    “I was going to tell you about that, Peter,” Stocker said. “You can see what it means.”
    “Yes, I can see how important it is to stop her blabbing