The Year of the Gun Read online

  ‘No. I’ll come back tomorrow.’ McMillan was almost at the door when he stopped and turned. ‘Tell me – do you know an officer with a mole on his cheek?’

  The corporal smiled. ‘Sure, sir. Everybody knows him. That’s Colonel del Vecchio.’

  ‘Del Vecchio?’ He looked at the American with curiosity. ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He takes care of transportation and welfare. You know, billeting when it’s needed, entertainment, dances, things like that.’ The man leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘His first name’s Charles so we call him Good Time Charlie.’

  Lottie grinned and the corporal winked at her.

  ‘How long has he been stationed here?’

  ‘No idea, sir. He was here when I arrived back in September. He already seemed to know his way around pretty well.’

  ‘And where can I find him now?’

  ‘Out and about.’ He picked up a coffee cup and drank. ‘The colonel doesn’t spend too much time here. Pretty much comes in to collect his messages and that’s it.’ Another grin. ‘He’s kind of a maverick, but he sees the guys are looked after, so no one cares.’

  The Chief Superintendent took a card from his wallet. It gave his rank, where he was stationed, and the telephone number at Millgarth.

  ‘Would you ask the colonel to give me a ring? I’d like to talk to him.’

  ‘Sure thing, sir.’ He gave a salute as they left.

  ‘Well?’ He waited until they were back on the road before speaking.

  ‘Don’t ask me.’

  ‘Ellison knew all along.’ His voice was bitter. ‘He’s been covering for this del Vecchio. So much for co-operation.’

  Lottie didn’t know what to say; he was right. She’d hoped Cliff would do what he said. He’d promised. And it turned out he’d been lying all the time. Lottie felt an emptiness inside for trusting him, for liking him. Maybe it was a sign. A lesson that she ought to know better at her age.

  ‘Do you think this colonel will ring?’

  ‘No. But leaving the card might keep him on his toes.’

  ‘How does that help us, though?’

  ‘It probably doesn’t.’ In the mirror she saw the smile in his eyes. ‘But I couldn’t resist.’

  They were on Woodhouse Lane, close to the Headrow. She started to change down into second but it wouldn’t engage. Coolly, she pulled to the side of the road.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ McMillan asked.

  ‘Clutch. It’s been having problems. Now it’s given up the ghost. It was already booked in for a new one. Sorry – foot traffic only back to Millgarth.’

  With the gas mask container bumping against her hip she felt laden and awkward. Next to her, McMillan seemed to waddle as he walked.

  ‘I’ll have the garage come and tow it,’ she promised. ‘And I’ll whistle up some transport for us.’

  A Morris 8 was all the motor pool had to offer.

  ‘It’s nine years old, but it’s in good nick,’ the mechanic said as he handed her the keys. ‘Not as fast as that Humber, but it’ll get you there.’ He smiled, showing the black gaps in his teeth.

  ‘How long before our car’s mended?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll take a look and order the parts. Depends.’

  ‘Any chance of new tyres, too? The old ones are worn to nothing.’

  The mechanic didn’t even bother to look up. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’

  ‘Is that what it is? I thought perhaps we were having a big fancy dress party.’

  She and Geoff had owned a Morris 8 before the war. She knew them, liked them. But they’d kept theirs with more pride than this vehicle: the coachwork was dull brick red, the roof black, all the shine gone. Four doors, the running board bent. Inside, the leather on the seats was cracked and worn. Still, what could she expect? At least they had a vehicle. The engine turned over well, it went into gear easily, and the brakes were sharp as she stopped before turning on to the road.

  By the time she reached Millgarth the Morris felt familiar. Not much power, he’d been right about that. But it would be fine for a few days, as long as they didn’t have to chase any criminals.

  McMillan was on the phone when she peered into his office. He beckoned her in.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know you told me you’d ring today.’

  She raised an eyebrow and he nodded. Ellison.

  ‘Is that right? You haven’t been able to identify anyone like that at all?’ He waited. ‘I see. No, I appreciate you trying, it’s very helpful. Just one question, if you don’t mind.’ He paused. ‘You’ve really never seen Colonel del Vecchio? You’re based in the same building, after all.’ A moment later he held the receiver away from his ear. ‘He seems to have disconnected.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We can hope this mysterious colonel rings me. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. And I suspect we’re personae non grata up at Castle Grove now.’ McMillan hesitated a moment. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Well, you’re friends with Ellison.’

  ‘I think that’s probably over now, too. It doesn’t matter, anyway. It wasn’t anything special.’

  That was what she told herself again as she settled behind her desk. She barely knew him and that was just as well. She didn’t need a liar in her life.

  Damn the man, anyway.

  LOTTIE had been in the office for three hours when she heard him slam down the phone. Even through the closed doors the noise seemed to echo. She stiffened. There’d been a sense of anticipation in the air all morning. Now she waited, ready.

  McMillan was already shrugging into his coat when he appeared.

  ‘We’ve got a tip. Cruickshank.’

  She dashed down the stairs, out into the cold air. The day was bright, a weak sun in a clear sky. But it was bitter, her breath steaming. Lottie pulled out the choke in the Morris. Start, she thought as she turned the ignition key. The engine caught at the first attempt

  ‘Where?’ Lottie asked as she put the car into gear. Smooth, easy. Thank God.

  ‘Chapel Allerton. We’re meeting some uniforms at the station there.’

  She knew the area; it was little more than ten minutes’ walk from home. She did most of her shopping there; she was registered with the butcher on Harrogate Road and bought her bread from Perkins, when they had any for sale.

  The police station stood on a corner, the sandstone pitted and darkened over the years. Next door was the library she seemed to visit every week now.

  Lottie pulled in to the old cobbled yard. Two men were waiting, a sergeant and a Special.

  ‘Got a report that he’s in a house on Town Street, sir.’

  ‘How reliable?’

  The sergeant extended his hand, holding it flat and moved it from side to side. So-so.

  ‘Still worth investigating, sir.’

  McMillan nodded his agreement. ‘This is your patch, what’s the best way to approach it?’

  ‘Nothing fancy, sir. You and me at the front door and Richards here on the back.’ He nodded towards the special constable; the man was older, running to fat, but still built like a prop forward.

  ‘Is he there now?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been told, sir.’ It was a cautious answer, she thought, as if he wasn’t completely certain. But she kept her mouth shut. No one would appreciate her saying anything, and she certainly wouldn’t be involved in any arrest.

  ‘Then let’s bring him in.’

  Lottie had walked along Town Street often enough. It was a grimy terrace across from the graveyard, run-down houses, a sweet shop standing in the middle. Not that there was much to sell with everything on the ration. She leaned against the car, hands deep in the pockets of her coat as the men marched off. One way or another they’d be back soon enough.

  As she waited, her mind strayed to Ellison. Just the way it had when she was sitting at home the night before. She didn’t understand him, didn’t see how he c
ould have deceived them like that. Why? But when she said it didn’t matter now, she was lying to herself; if it didn’t, the whole thing wouldn’t still be preying on her mind. Thank God it had never developed from the start of a friendship. At least there was that saving grace.

  They returned empty-handed and silent. McMillan thanked the officers and waited until they’d disappeared into the station.

  ‘Waste of time,’ he said. ‘Cruickshank was never there.’

  ‘Who gave the tip?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. The sergeant looked too embarrassed at dragging me out here. Wild goose chase.’

  ‘Not even that,’ she said. ‘At least you can eat a goose.’

  It made him smile: food, clothing, petrol, anything in short supply, had become material for jokes.

  Saturday. After she dropped him at Millgarth, Lottie was done for the week. Leeds was packed with shoppers searching for something, anything, to buy. She wandered around the market, coupon books in her purse, then on to Matthias Robinson, Marks & Spencer, and Schofield’s. The only thing she needed was stockings, and they were like gold dust. The best way to get a pair was to know an American; they had nylons to spare. But she didn’t fancy her chances of being given any now.

  The tram home felt achingly slow. A cup of tea, change into old clothes, hair up in a turban, and out in the garden with a spade and fork for a while before dark. This cold snap was just right for turning over the earth. Soon she had a rhythm, humming as she worked, odd snippets of songs that came into her mind: Blueberry Hill, Paper Doll, Underneath the Arches, The White Cliffs of Dover, Imagination. One to another, no reason behind them.

  An hour and she stood, stretching out her back.

  ‘You’ve been hard at it.’

  She turned at the voice. Dr Smith next door, standing on the other side of the privet hedge and holding out a mug of tea. ‘I thought you might be ready for this.’

  Smith was a sweet, plump woman, a GP who lived with her mother, as well as a pair of cats that caused havoc around the neighbourhood. She kept a small vegetable patch by the far fence, next to the Anderson shelter, but never had much luck.

  ‘Might as well while I have the time.’

  They chatted for a couple of minutes, then Smith’s gaze shifted.

  ‘Looks like you have company,’ she said quietly. Her eyes twinkled. ‘A fella.’

  Lottie turned quickly. She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not a man. And certainly not Cliff Ellison. But there he was in his uniform, standing in the drive, an uncertain expression on his face. He took a short step towards her and Lottie lifted the fork.

  ‘I think you’d better go.’

  Ellison raised his hands a little. ‘I came round to try to explain.’

  ‘I’m not the one you need to talk to.’ Her voice climbed over his. She was surprised at just how cold she sounded. Betrayed.

  He looked down at the ground. ‘I know, but… I guess I need to tell you.’

  Lottie shook her head. ‘I don’t think I need to hear it. I’m sorry, you’ve had a wasted trip. If you want to talk to him, Chief Superintendent McMillan will be in his office on Monday morning.’

  ‘I could have gone down there this afternoon and found him.’ Ellison stood his ground. ‘But I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to hear it.’ She turned away to start digging again.

  ‘I didn’t have any choice, you know.’ Ellison spoke a little louder to make sure she could hear. He wasn’t about to let it drop, Lottie thought, and she wasn’t big enough to throw him out. With a sigh, she pushed the tines of the fork into the ground and walked across to him, arms folded.

  ‘Didn’t have a choice about what?’ She stared into his eyes, daring him to lie to her again.

  He glanced around the garden, looking hesitant. ‘Look, can we do this inside? I don’t want everyone knowing.’

  ‘Fine,’ Lottie agreed after moment, then led the way. She took off her muddy shoes and left them on the mat, untied the turban and shook out her hair. In the dining room, she turned to face him, stopping him a few paces away.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Tell me. And this time I hope it’s the truth, Captain.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I was under orders not to say anything about del Vecchio.’

  ‘Why?’ She wasn’t going to give him an inch.

  ‘Do you know what he does?’

  ‘Finds billets and organises entertainment. That’s what we were told.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Ellison nodded slowly. ‘He does some of that.’

  ‘Go on. What else?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to say.’ He took a breath. ‘But he’s OSS.’

  ‘What on earth is that?’

  ‘Spying.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Lottie was listening and thinking. ‘I don’t know the details. I don’t want to know. But we protect him at all costs. That’s the order.’

  ‘Your Colonel del Vecchio might be able to help us solve a murder.’

  Ellison stared at her. ‘You don’t get it. You won’t ever get to speak to him. A lot of our guys behind enemy lines depend on him. He’s their lifeline.’

  ‘You need to tell the boss this.’

  ‘Nope.’ He was adamant. ‘No one’s supposed to know what he really does.’

  ‘Then why are you telling me?’ she asked. But she already knew the answer. Because he liked her and he didn’t want to see that fall apart.

  ‘Because… because I need you to know why I did it. Not saying anything wasn’t my choice.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m trusting you, Lottie, that you won’t run to John on Monday morning and tell him.’

  ‘Don’t you think he deserves the truth?’ She felt the colour rise in her cheeks. How dare he put this responsibility on her? ‘We’re trying to catch someone who’s killed four girls, for God’s sake. And remember, I’ve known John McMillan an awful lot longer than I’ve known you.’

  ‘True,’ Ellison agreed quickly. ‘But please.’

  ‘No,’ she told him. ‘I’m not making any promises. For all I know, this is another cock and bull story to try and get back in my good graces.’

  ‘It’s not.’ His was on the verge of shouting, stopping himself then running a hand through his hair. ‘It’s the truth.’ Calmer, he added. ‘You understand exactly why I’m telling you. I can see it in your face.’

  She did, but God, was she that obvious? She’d never been good at disguising her feelings.

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ she told him.

  ‘Look, I like you. I’ve never tried to hide it. Do you think I wanted to lie to you and John? I’m a cop, too. But I have a duty to the army.’ He pushed his lips together. ‘And right now the army’s my boss.’ He paused, stayed quiet for a few seconds. ‘I wanted to come and tell you. It’s up to you now. If you want to tell John, I can’t stop you. You don’t want to see me again, that’s your choice, too.’

  ‘I haven’t said what I’ll do yet.’ The words came out as a dry croak; she had to clear her throat. Give him another chance? Seeing him standing there, looking humble, a hangdog expression, it was impossible not to like him. Whether she could trust him again, though, was a different matter.

  ‘I didn’t want to have to lie,’ he said. ‘If it didn’t bother me, I wouldn’t be here now.’

  She wanted to believe that guilt had prodded him. That the army hadn’t taken every scrap of integrity from him.

  ‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘You can still come for your dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He took a step forward but she raised an eyebrow to stop him. ‘I’ll bring the food, like I said.’

  ‘Fine,’ Lottie told him. ‘But please don’t make more of it than it is. I’m simply giving a soldier a home-cooked meal.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ He gave that open, American smile. ‘Home-cooked will be a real treat. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘You’d better come around eleven. The meat wil
l take time to cook.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Ellison grinned.

  ‘Now I want to do some more in the garden before it’s dark.’

  He knew where he stood now, she thought as she pushed the tines deep into the soil. Tomorrow would tell its own story.

  Talk was stilted, coming in fits and starts. He turned up with the biggest piece of beef she’d seen since rationing began, the meat red and bloody as if it had come straight from the butcher’s shop. He stood, leaning against the larder door, watching her peel potatoes and carrots, trying to make small talk.

  Another clear, crisp winter’s day. She’d woken to a rime of frost inside the bedroom window. Even now it was cold enough outside to make breath bloom. But in the living room the fire was warm and inviting, and in the kitchen she sweated as she worked. The smell of roasting meat filled the air.

  He ate enough for three, only using his knife when he had to cut the food, then putting it down again. Finally, the plate empty, he pushed it away.

  ‘That was great. Thank you.’

  ‘You supplied the food.’

  ‘But the skill’s in the preparation. I’m not much of a cook. And I’ve never had Yorkshire pudding before.’ He grinned. ‘Not made properly, I mean.’

  ‘What do you eat back home?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Mostly I grab something when I’m out. There are plenty of diners around. Hamburger, spaghetti, brisket if I want something to fill me. Hot dog if I’m not too hungry. By the time I get home I’m usually too tired to fix anything. Just grab a beer from the icebox and sit out on the back porch.’

  Lottie felt as if she’d only understood half of that. It was probably easier not to ask for an explanation.

  ‘How long do you think you’ll be stationed in Leeds?’ She gathered the crockery and cutlery, took them into the kitchen, then lit the gas under the kettle.

  ‘What made you ask that?’ he asked when she returned.

  ‘Just wondering.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He stared at her. ‘Honestly. We don’t have any orders, nothing like that. We talk about it on base. But I guess we’ll be on our way sometime soon. It wouldn’t make much sense just to come to England then stop, would it?’