Blood on the Tongue (Ben Cooper & Diane Fry) (51 page)

'But then, when the money went missing …?'

'He was the obvious one to blame. When they found out he was on guard, everyone was convinced it was him that took the money. Nobody thought too much about how he did it – they just knew it was
him
.'

Cooper frowned. 'But, Mr Rowland, if it wasn't the Home Guard men who took the money, then who was it?'

'I don't know the answers to these questions,' said Rowland. 'Why are you asking me?'

Cooper knew he should stop now. But he was sure that Walter Rowland knew more. He felt he almost had the one fact that would be the key to everything.

'Somebody local? Can you tell me who?'

'I've no idea,' said Rowland. 'It doesn't matter.'

There was a fatalism in the old man's voice that hadn't been there before. Though he was trying to answer the questions, it was difficult for him to rouse the interest. He was several inches nearer to the brink of despair. Cooper knew there was something wrong, and it was more, even, than the pain in the old man's joints.

'Just a minute,' he said. 'Sit there and don't move.'

He went back into the kitchen and looked at the back door. The lock was missing completely – there was only a round hole where the barrel should have passed through, and there was bare wood that had been recently exposed. He eased open the door by its outer edge and found he was looking into a small lean-to extension built on to the back of the house. There was a work bench, surrounded by wood shavings on the floor. But there were no tools – the racks above the bench were empty. There were marks on the bench where a lathe might have been clamped, but there was no lathe. The door that led outside had been forced, and fresh splinters of wood stuck out of it at dangerous angles.

'You've had a break-in,' said Cooper. 'They've ransacked your workshop.'

'Yes,' said Rowland.

'Have you reported it?'

'To the police? There didn't seem much point.'

'Why not?'

'Your lot would do sod-all. There's other folk that get more done about things around here. So I told them.'

Cooper stared at the old man. 'Who are you talking about, Mr Rowland?'

'Local folk, that don't like burglars and drug dealers. Folk that are prepared to do something about it.'

'You mean vigilantes?'

Rowland said nothing, avoiding his eye, and Cooper knew he would get nothing more out of the old man. But he was thinking of two youths who had ended up in hospital, and of a piece of CCTV film that would identify Eddie Kemp.

'I'll get somebody to come out to take the details of the incident and get some fingerprints,' he said. 'If you can make a list of what's been taken, we'll get people to look out for your property.'

Rowland lowered his head. He hardly seemed interested. He was still looking at his mug of tea, his twisted hands held in front of him as he watched the steam rise and vanish. With a shock, Cooper realized that the old man was probably unable to pick up the mug. He remembered that Rowland hadn't actually asked for the tea, just told him to get one for himself.

Cooper flushed with embarrassment. Now he didn't know what to do. There was no way he could help Walter Rowland, no way that he could offer to lift the mug to his lips to help him drink. The old man would never accept that sort of help from a stranger. Not from anyone, maybe. The only option was to leave him to it, to save Rowland the humiliation of having to sit there while the tea went cold, and to pretend that he didn't want it.

Helplessly, Cooper looked out of the window at the net curtains in the porch of the house next door. If he went to knock on the neighbours' door when he left, Rowland would see him. On the other side was the Gospel Hall, where the singing had stopped now. Cooper recalled hearing the sound of cars starting, and doors slamming. He could even imagine he'd heard the noise of a key turning firmly in the lock of the big oak door before the hall fell into silence. He didn't know where else to look for help. His training had never prepared him for this.

*    *    *    *

Of course, where large amounts of money were involved, anything could happen. It could bring out the worst in everybody, whether it was wartime or not. Sitting in his car in Underbank, Cooper considered the people he'd talked to. Had any of them suddenly become rich in the past? Walter Rowland or George Malkin? It didn't seem likely. And if Danny McTeague himself had walked off with the money from Lancaster SU-V, there was no way of finding out. That left only one man alive who'd been there at the time.

He looked at his watch. He might just be in time. The Lukaszes should be at West Street to make their statements right now.

*    *    *    *

Fry watched Grace Lukasz rub the palms of her hands on the arms of her wheelchair, leaving noticeable sweat stains. On her own, the woman was nervous.

'Mrs Lukasz,' said Fry, 'where did your son Andrew get the cigarette case that upset your father-in-law so much?'

'I don't know. Andrew wouldn't tell us. In fact, he was very secretive about it. You know, I'm not sure now what he wanted when he came. I thought he wanted to be reconciled, but something went wrong, and I don't know why he argued with Zygmunt. Since he's lived in London, Andrew has become like a stranger to us.'

'Did you have any idea who Nick Easton was, the man who came to your home on Monday?'

'Not really,' said Mrs Lukasz.

'Not really? What does that mean?'

'It means I only suspected. Nobody had told me anything, but I can put two and two together when it comes to my family. I thought he must either be a policeman – or something worse.'

'Worse?' Fry looked at Murfin and almost smiled. 'Is there something worse?'

'Yes,' said Mrs Lukasz. 'I think there are people who would want to do Andrew harm.'

'Why?'

'I've been worried about Andrew for a long time. You know we didn't see him for nearly five years after he left to go to London?'

'There was some question of discord over his wedding.'

'Yes, but it was more than that. He was always evasive about the details of his life and what he did. Nobody else would have noticed, perhaps. Peter didn't notice it. But I'm Andrew's mother – I didn't need to work it out logically. I started to feel sure that he'd become involved in something dangerous. Peter said I was talking nonsense.' Grace Lukasz toyed with the spokes of her wheels, while her eyes followed Fry's pen as she made notes. 'Then Andrew turned up in Edendale a few days after New Year, and he was still evasive – evasive about why he'd come. He said he had business in the area, and I believed him. But I was worried what sort of business it might be.'

'Do you think it was something to do with the cigarette case?' asked Fry.

'Yes. It was what he argued with Zygmunt about that Sunday. I've never heard either of them so angry. I was glad that Peter wasn't there. Andrew said something about loyalty, and that was when Zygmunt really got angry. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He shouted in Polish, and it was after that Andrew walked out.'

'Do you know why your father-in-law was so angry?'

Grace Lukasz nodded. 'You have to understand, this is
oplatek
time, the time for forgiveness and reconciliation. It means a lot to Zygmunt. We all know it will be his last
oplatek
, and he needs to leave everything straight.'

'I see.'

'I don't think you do,' said Grace. She wiped her hands on a tissue and crumpled it into a tight ball. 'In spite of
oplatek
, I think Zygmunt found he couldn't forgive. I think he realized it wasn't in his heart to forgive Andrew – and that was what made him so angry. I was frightened what Andrew meant to do when he left. He's in trouble, isn't he? I just know he's mixed up with the wrong people.'

*    *    *    *

Cooper found Peter Lukasz waiting for his wife to come out from making her statement. He looked grey and worried, but there was an air of resignation about him, too. He looked as if he knew what Grace would be saying in his statement, and there was nothing he could do about it.

'Mr Lukasz, could you answer a question for me?' said Cooper.

'What is it?'

'I wonder if you could tell me when the Dom Kombatanta was built?'

Lukasz's mouth fell open a little. It wasn't what he'd expected. 'Well, the original building was put up a few years after the war, when a Polish community first began to develop in Edendale.'

'So where did the money come from to build it?'

'The money?'

'It must have cost quite a few thousand pounds. Where did it come from?'

'Donations,' said Lukasz. 'Donations from the Polish community. Everybody put in a share, I suppose.'

'Some more than others, perhaps.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'I'm wondering whether there was a particular benefactor, someone who was able to put a large amount of money in. It could make all the difference.'

'You'd have to ask Stefan Janicki. He's the treasurer. He might still have the records.'

'I will.'

'What does it matter, anyway? There have been lots of Poles who have made a success in business. Why shouldn't they put money into something that benefits their community?'

'No reason at all, I expect.'

'My cousin Tadeusz Kulczyck has contributed quite a lot for the recent improvements,' said Lukasz. 'He paid for the new stage and the toilet block.'

'Is he here in Edendale?'

'He doesn't live locally, but he visits us when he can. Tadeusz is an architect,' said Lukasz. 'He designed the Dom Kombatanta in Ottawa.'

'As in Ottawa, Canada?'

'Of course.'

'Your cousin Tadeusz is Canadian?'

'And why not? There are plenty of Poles in Canada.'

Cooper thought he was telling the truth. There were probably Polish communities everywhere, with long and indestructible roots, like bindweed. He remembered the old men with their closed faces, still oozing loyalty and determination. Hitler had mocked these people, calling them Sikorski's Tourists. But Walter Rowland said he preferred to have them on his side. Cooper wondered how he could get the Poles on
his
side, too. But, of course, Hitler had taught him that lesson already – what they needed was a common enemy.

'I have one more thing to ask of you,' said Cooper. 'This is more in the way of a favour.'

'Really?'

'Did your father ever mention a man called Walter Rowland? He was a member of the RAF rescue team who attended the Lancaster crash.'

'I think I know who you mean.'

'As it happens, he lives near to your church.'

'Yes? And what's this favour?'

'I wondered if you would visit him,' said Cooper. 'I just … well, I wondered if you would visit him.'

Lukasz kept a puzzled silence. Cooper thought he must have put the request badly. In fact, he hadn't really explained anything about Walter Rowland at all.

'He has no family,' said Cooper. 'But his history has links to your father's. Why not think of him as part of your community?'

Finally, Fry held open the door for Mrs Lukasz to leave. She and her husband didn't look at each other as he fell in behind her and steered her wheelchair down the ramp and out of the police station.

*    *    *    *

The Old School Nursing Home looked to Cooper like a little haven of calm and security tonight. Its paths and drives had all been swept clear of snow, and sand had been sprinkled to avoid anyone slipping on the block paving. Nobody had bothered to do that at West Street yet. Also, there were lights on everywhere, and when he went inside, the rooms were warm and welcoming.

Cooper sat in the waiting room, aware that the staff always liked to have a few minutes to make sure his mother was ready to see him. Or rather, that she was ready for him to see. It made him smile a little to think that they were trying to protect him from the ugly realities of her condition, when he'd already spent over a year dealing with its consequences at Bridge End Farm.

One of the care supervisors saw Cooper waiting and came to speak to him. The name on her badge was Rachel, and Cooper had met her several times.

'Isabel has had a good day again today,' she said.

'Thank you. I think she's settled here.'

'Oh, yes, it's much better for her. She has complete care, and her medication is monitored constantly. There's no need to feel guilty.'

Cooper raised his eyebrows. 'What makes you think I do?'

'It's normal for family members to feel like that. It takes a while to be reassured that you've done the right thing. But you'll see that Isabel is quite content. She's starting to make some friends now.'

'I'd still like to keep coming every day, if that's all right.'

Rachel smiled. She wasn't very old, twenty-five or twenty-six. He couldn't understand what made a woman like this want to look after other people's elderly relatives.