The Armada Boy (10 page)

But I only saw him on Sunday ... was
it an accident?" Her voice trailed off to nothing.

'No. he was murdered ... I'm sorry.'

Marion sank back on to the sofa
cushions, her face shocked.

'Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs
Potter?' Rachel nodded to Wesley, who went out to put the kettle on. Pam had
trained him well domestically, and Rachel was very good with elderly ladies. Marion
would be telling her life story before the tea was in the cups.

'He came on Sunday ... he rang me
first. I didn't recognise him, do you know that?" She smiled, trying hard
to fight back tears. This woman showed more grief for Norman Openheim than his
wife had, Rachel thought. 'I don't know what he must have
thought of me. I was pretty back then.'

She went to the oak sideboard and
took out a battered photo album. She opened it at an early page and passed it
to Rachel.

'Is that you?'

'Yes. That's me with Norman ...
there.'

Rachel looked carefully. The two
youthful faces, fresh and apparently untroubled, looked back at her shyly.
Marion had been a rosy-cheeked, healthy-looking girl. Norman, with his shock of
dark hair and open smile, had been very good-looking - and very young, little
more than a boy: a boy with the prospect of death hanging over him. Rachel
almost fell like crying herself.

'What happened to him?' She looked
at Rachel in realisation. I heard it on the radio ... an American tourist found
stabbed in Bereton chapel. It was him. wasn't it?'

Rachel nodded.

'You're not safe anywhere these
days. We used to meet there... do our courting.' She turned away, tears in her
eyes. 'It's spoiled all those memories now. To think that some young thug...'

'I know.' Rachel put a comforting
arm round Marion's shoulder. 'You think it was a young thug who killed him? Any
particular reason?'

Marion looked at her. surprised.
'Who else would it be? Those young tearaways are everywhere nowadays ...
nowhere's safe. You see it on
Crimefile
all the time. I always keep my windows and doors locked ... my son-in-law put
some good locks on for
me. Nobody locked their doors round here once. We never had to, not round
here....'

'When Norman came to see you. how
did he seem? Was he worried about anything?'

She shook her head. 'We hadn't seen
each other for fifty years. It was so wonderful to see him again ... talk about
the old times.'

In the chapel?"

Marion blushed. 'We were young ...
so young.' She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. 'And Norman had real
film star looks ... you can see that from the pictures, can't you?'

Rachel nodded. 'I'd have fancied him
myself." She smiled.

'Oh, you would, my luvver. you
would.' At least Marion was smiling again.

Wesley came in quietly with three
cups of tea and put them on the coffee table, taking care to find coasters for
them first: Marion would be worried about the hot cups leaving rings on the
wood.

'You said in your letter to Norman
that you had something to tell him.'

Marion looked nervously at Wesley.
'You'll find biscuits in the top cupboard on the right, my luvver.' she said.
Wesley, now so used to the familiar Devon endearment that it had ceased to cause
him the amusement it had when he had first arrived from London,
took the hint. This was woman's talk.

When he had gone, Marion leaned
towards Rachel. 'You have to understand how it was in the war. It wasn't like
today ... young girls were taught to respect themselves, if you know what I
mean. But when Norman and I used to go to the chapel -. . well, we
didn't know if we'd be dead the next day or...'

'You slept together?'

She nodded, blushing. 'After Norman
had gone ... when they'd gone to Normandy. I found I was going to have a baby. He'd
said he'd come back ... they all said that, the Yanks, but I never saw him
again. Then I read about this veterans' association in the local paper and how
they were planning to visit Bereton. So I wrote to them and asked them if a
Norman Openheim was a member ... I didn't even know if he'd got back alive from
Normandy, you see. They wrote to me and said he was and that I could contact
him through them... so I did. I wanted him to know he had a daughter.'

Marion's eyes filled with tears
again. 'My husband was a good man ... took us both on. We never had children.
 
He brought Carole up as his own.'

'How did Norman feel about having a
daughter?'

'He was so pleased ... I showed him
all the photographs. He wanted to meet her. couldn't wait. But I said I'd have a
word with her first. I expected him to ring today. He said he would. Our Carole
said she wanted to meet him. I never forgot Norman . ..not in all those years.'
She looked up. He's a long time with those biscuits."

As if on cue, Wesley pushed the door
open. He had arranged the biscuits carefully on a plate. Pam was a lucky woman.
Rachel thought; Dave would have brought the packet.

'Does this have to all be written
down?' said Marion, worried.

'Nobody round here knows that my Carole wasn't my husband's'

'Don't worry. Mrs Potter. The worst
that can happen is that we'll need a statement about when you last saw him...
probably not even that. Isn't that right. Sergeant Peterson?'

Wesley nodded with his mouth full of
custard cream.

'And he didn't mention if he was
afraid of anyone? Anything out of the ordinary?"

'He said his wife was a bit - how
did he put it? - cold. That's all... nothing that would help you.'

'Could we have your daughter's
address? We might want a word with her.' Marion looked wary.

'When did you tell her who her real
father was? Was it just in the past few days?'

'No ... it was a couple of years
back.'

'How did she react?'

'How could she react? She's got kids
by two different men herself... she's on to her second husband.' She rolled her
eyes in disgust. Carole's morals, it seemed, were a bone of contention between
mother and daughter. 'We were talking about the war and
it just came out... I never meant to tell her. I was saying what it was like to
think that every day might be your last... the things you do that you wouldn't
normally do .. .' She suddenly looked Rachel in the eye. 'Did Norman suffer ...
when he died, did he
suffer?"

'He didn't suffer ... died
instantly. He was stabbed from behind and his hearing aid was broken. He
wouldn't have known a thing about it.'

Marion nodded, a faint smile on her
lips. When Norman had been standing there alone in the chapel, his last
thoughts would have been of their meetings ... of their gentle lovemaking on a borrowed
blanket on the hard chapel floor under the stars. Marion
hoped - knew - that Norman Openheim had died happy.

The address Marion had given them
for her daughter. Carole, was on the council estate which straddled the steep
road into Tradmouth. Wesley decided that as it was five o'clock - and they still
had to interview the two beggars currently enjoying the custody sergeant's
hospitality back at the station - their visit to Norman Openheim's daughter should
wait until the following day.

They drove back to Bereton to pick
up the inspector, who had been talking lo Openheim's old comrades and their
wives. What effect Gerry Heffernan would have on Anglo-American relations Wesley
did not care to contemplate.

He was waiting for them in the hotel
bar. Mrs Slater scurried through and nodded to them in her usual businesslike
way.

'Anything to report?' Heffernan
asked.

They told him about Marion.

'What was it they used to say about
the Yanks? Overpaid, over-sexed and over here."

'Oh. I don't know, sir ... I think
it's quite romantic' said Rachel.

'Like one of those weepy films, eh?
Reunited after all those years, then he goes and dies.'

'I didn't know you were familiar
with weepy films, sir." Rachel said, half teasing.

'You can't be married for twenty-two
years and avoid the things altogether.'

Rachel immediately regretted her
remark. She knew that, even three years after her death, the inspector still
missed his wife. Kathy, deeply. She knew he still kept her picture in his
office drawer.

'Anything new, sir?' She changed the
subject.

'Most of them seem to have watertight
alibis ... they all back each other up. And there are more reports of Dorinda
Openheim carrying on with Todd Weringer.'

'At their age?' Wesley said with
disbelief.

'Let's hope we've all got their
energy when the time comes.' Heffernan grinned, Rachel's remark forgotten. 'And
it seems to be the unanimous opinion that Norman Openheim was what is known in
the colonies as a "regular guy". I gather that's good. They all said
they liked him and that he didn't seem to have any enemies.'

'So it's still the beggar we're
after. Any sightings yet?'

'Nothing yet. But I reckon he'll come back here. He wants to see his old gran,
doesn't he? Some of the nastiest villains I've known have been fond of their
grans.' he added philosophically.

'Motive?'

Heffernan shrugged. 'Perhaps
Openheim had caught him up to some mischief, or he intended to rob him and was
disturbed, or just for the sheer hell of it... who knows? We'll get him. In the
meantime let's have a little chat with his mates, shall we?'

When they arrived at the station
Wesley rang Pam to say he'd be late. She had a parents' evening: at the mention
of this he remembered that she'd given him dispensation to have a drink with
Neil in her absence. He told her not to bother leaving any dinner in the
microwave for him. He'd get something at the
Bereton Arms. He wished her luck with the parents' evening, not doubting that
she possessed the tact and acting ability to carry it off successfully and send
the parents of the little darlings away happy.

Heffernan and Rachel elected to
interview the young man who went by the name of Snot, while Wesley and Steve
interviewed his young friend, Dog. Dog's actual dog. Fang, was being given a bowl
of meaty chunks by Constable Carver, who had just come on
duty and was an incorrigible lover of man's best friend.

'Any idea where your mate might head
for?' Heffernan asked casually.

'Which mate?"

'Rat. That's his name, isn't it?'

'Yeah... so?'

'He's come here to see his gran, so
I've heard. Very nice ... a lad wanting to see his gran.'

'Piss off. Scouse.'

'Treating you all right down in the
cells, are they? Food all right? Bed comfy enough for you?'

Snot sniffed and shrugged.

'You've come a long way. haven't
you. Snot? London, was it? How old are you?'

'Old enough.'

'So what's the story, then? Let me
guess. All your life you've been in care... nobody wanted you so you thought
you'd try the streets. At least you had mates on the streets ... comrades in adversity.
You stick together, is that right?'