HONOR MISPLACED

Arthur Browne

Chapter Twelve

   They couldn’t very well have all the cabbies in central London rounded up and questioned. There would be too many chances for the murderer to get wind of it and slip off. They decided that it would be faster to have Uncle Jack talk to his oldest friends, the cabbies they knew and trusted, and have them quietly start eliminating suspects. They could find out who was working at the times of the murders, and who had an airtight alibi, all without tipping their hand. That would narrow down the field, and then they would have a smaller pool of suspects. It was just like this case, considered Charlie, to go from have no suspects to having dozens of them. They planned to meet Uncle Jack at the Black Mare the following day for lunch to see what he had been able to learn.

When they got back to headquarters, Charlie detailed a couple of constables to go and stand watch outside Harrison Crowley’s hospital room, and then organized a rotation so that there would always be two officers there. No sense taking any chances.

When he went into his office there were two reports from the crime lab laying on his desk. Two reports each bearing the same family name. There was nothing at all useful in either one. The cause of death for Flight Lieutenant Thomas Crowley had indeed been the gunshot wound to his back that had severed his spine. The bullet, though deformed, was from a Webley revolver as was originally reported. Charlie wondered how they had known what type of bullet it was that had killed him before an autopsy had been performed. The answer was bizarre but not magical. The bullet had passed through the Flight Lieutenant’s body and been stopped by his clothing when exiting, having lost all of its momentum. The bullet fell out when the body was being stripped. An astute forensics man with prior military service had recognized the bullet, and its make had been confirmed by subsequent examination. Death had been instantaneous. The time of death was placed around midnight. That was an hour or so after Mademoiselle Korlette said he had left her after the argument, Charlie recalled, but time of death was never an exact science.

There were no fingerprints on any of the items inside the purse of Katherine Crowley that did not belong to the victim. There did appear to be some flesh under the fingernails of her right hand. It was suspected that she scratched her attacker, but after hours of submersion in the river there was nothing useful that could be ascertained from the samples. There just wasn’t enough material to run any tests. Time of death was placed some time around six o’clock. That put it an hour after Section Officer Leo called her and asked her to come in to the hospital.

Billy poked his head in after giving his customary knock. “They found the bullet lodged in the doorframe, Sir. It’s quite flattened, but it looks to be from a Webley. Both bullets are so malformed that it will be impossible to determine for sure if they were fired from the same gun, or so they told me.”

“We might as well call it a night, Billy,” Charlie told him. He was about to suggest they grab a bite to eat before heading home, but at that moment, the Germans decided it was time to disrupt their lives, along with the lives of everyone else in London. The sirens began going off all around the city. Even though the raids were smaller than they had been back in the early days, there was no way to tell where the focus of a raid would be. And there was no point at all in taking chances, Charlie thought to himself once again. Charlie and Billy joined the stream of people descending below ground.

The all clear didn’t sound for two hours. No bombs dropped close enough to be heard in the basement. Charlie thought sourly that all the Germans had to do to slow down the British war effort was to keep sending single planes over all the British cities one after another. That would leave the entire population of the island underground for the duration.

Charlie and Billy spent their time going over the case, trying to determine if there was anything at all they were missing. By the time they were allowed to leave they hadn’t come up with a single useful thought, and they decided to call it a night. Charlie began to walk towards his small flat, and sure enough, a cab swung to the curb before he had walked two blocks. The strange thing was that it wasn’t one of the cabbies he knew. He wondered if perhaps he should avoid getting in. But the old gentleman driving the cab seemed harmless enough, so climb in he did. The old fellow turned around and introduced himself. “I’m Bill, Bill Tully. You probably don’t remember me. I used to drive a cab when you were but a young lad. Jack told all of new drivers to give you a lift when we could. Showed us your picture and everything.”

Charlie could suddenly picture the man twenty years before. He had a vague recollection of seeing him whenever the cabbies got together for a pint. He had spent many a night listening to them telling their stories and comparing their fares for the day when he was young. “I do remember you, Mr. Tully. Good to see you again. How have things been with you?”

“Happily retired and living with my daughter in the East End, is how,” said the cabbie with a laugh. “Never thought I would be back in the saddle, as the Americans say. And it isn’t easy, earning enough to put petrol in the old girl. I can’t ever decide if I should just stay put somewhere and hope for a fare, or if the driving around is worth it in the long run.”

They chatted for the few minutes it took to arrive at Charlie’s flat, in a small building on York Street just off of Baker Street, and then Charlie bid the old man goodnight. He made himself a small meal and was just getting ready for bed when the air raid warnings went off again. Bloody hell, he couldn’t keep from thinking, this is like the old days of the first big blitz. He trooped down to the basement with the other denizens of the building and spent the next hour and a half playing with the two small children of Mrs. Cotilla. She was a sturdy woman of indeterminate age, and her husband was away in North Africa. Bella Cotilla had been a good friend to Charlie over the last few years. She had awakened in him a newfound love of Italian and Spanish cooking, without ever bothering to explain if she and her husband were actually from either or both of those two countries. Her two small children, Max, who was now four, and Juliette, who was six, never failed to cheer Charlie up no matter how depressed his job had gotten him. He sometimes went over to the Cotilla flat after a particularly hard day at work, just to drink some wine and play with the children.

Now, as bombs rumbled off in the far distance, Charlie kept the two entertained by various means. He told them stories, made funny noises, and chased them around the basement. The rest of their neighbors looked on tolerantly. They were all, truth be told, very fond of Charlie, and found having a policeman living nearby to be very reassuring. Charlie was almost sorry when the all clear sounded. It was nice to be able to forget about the case for a short while.

He slept poorly. He dreamed of Kat, and for a while it was a lovely dream, but then he saw a look of fear pass over her face, and  shadowed hands reaching for her throat. He woke in a cold sweat and tossed and turned the rest of the night. Then for the first time in quite a while, no cabbie drove by and offered him a lift. He was in a foul mood by the time he got to headquarters. Billy glanced up at him from his desk and seemed to sense that something was amiss. He gave Charlie a smile but didn’t say a word.

Charlie went into his office and settled himself in his worn, wooden chair. He felt like there was something useful he could do, more useful than wracking his brain going over the same old ground again, but nothing came to mind. It suddenly struck him that now that the General’s home was so well guarded, that perhaps the killer would go after his other son. Charlie recalled that the youngest Crowley, William, was a new lieutenant with the General’s old regiment, the regiment in which Charlie’s father and uncle had served in the first world war. Surely the killer couldn’t get to the boy surrounded by other soldiers. But he needed to find out where he was, and if he was coming home for the funerals.

Charlie felt that the quickest way to get this information would be to call Lady Emily at home. He felt that under the circumstances he could take the liberty, and he proceeded to do so. His timing was perfect. Lady Crowley informed him that William was part of the Fourth Battalion, one of the newer battalions formed since the outbreak of the war, He was serving with them in the Middle East. She went on to tell him that the bodies of her son and daughter had been released by the medical examiner, and the services were being held on Friday, just two days hence. She once again asked that he be there if his duties did not get in the way. Finally she told him that the General had called just minutes before to tell her that their youngest son would indeed be given a short leave to fly home for the services. Charlie thanked her, and assured her that he would attend if it were at all possible, and bid her good day.

Charlie went out to make sure that the constables were keeping to the schedule of guarding Captain Crowley at the hospital. Then he went around to see how the boys were doing with his old cases. He was glad to find out that two of them had been closed, and headway was being made on the rest. He was relieved that at least some murderers would be brought to justice. He stopped by Billy’s desk to see what he was up to. Billy, it turned out, was doing a little digging to see if perhaps there might not be other members of the Crowley family living in London.

The enterprising Inspector explained his reasoning. “Now that the General and his immediate family are so well protected, mightn’t the killer try his luck at some other, more removed member of the family? If this is about hurting the General, for whatever reason, that doesn’t sound too farfetched, does it?”

Charlie assured him that it didn’t sound at all farfetched. He went on to abashedly tell Billy that he was ashamed of not having thought of it himself.

“The General has a younger brother,” Billy went on to say, “Colonel Sir Thornton Crowley, once of the Grenadier Guards. Retired just before the war due to failing eyesight which might have been due to a head injury sustained in the first world war. Lives less than a mile from the house his brother owns.”

“Perhaps we should pop over and pay him a visit,” Charlie said. He checked his watch. “We just have time before we meet Uncle Jack. We can detail a few constables to keep watch on his home after we make sure he is well. I assume the General would have mentioned it if his brother had suddenly dropped out of touch.”

They once again asked the Chief Inspector for the loan of a car, and within minutes they were on their way.