The Darkest Hour (32 page)

Jacob lay like an exhausted rag doll in Kate’s lap. “Are you better now?” she said tenderly, and Jacob nodded. “There will be some clothes at the flat that might fit you, and then you can have a bath and sleep, okay?”

Jacob nodded again.

Kate stroked his hair again and looked up to Rossett.

“I do,” said Rossett.

“You do what?”

“I feel sometimes that I just can’t take anymore.”

Chapter 52

I
T WAS CHAOS
at the cemetery. Koehler stood by the lodge and looked at the police, the ambulance, and the soldiers milling around. Several cars sat with engines running, their headlamps illuminating the graveyard.

On the ground, still lying a few feet from the light switch, was the caretaker. Next to him crouched a Metropolitan Police inspector and two German Kriminalpolizei officers. Behind them, at a discreet distance, stood Schmitt, hands behind his back, no doubt glad that the plan had ensured that he was as far away from the fuck-up as possible.

Koehler lit another cigarette, his fourth in quick succession. He looked down at the ground and saw that the third was still smoking, so he snuffed it out with his foot and looked back to the lodge.

Schmitt nodded to him and gave him a discreet thumbs-up.

Idiot, thought Koehler, and he briefly considered just leaving the scene and driving back to Charing Cross, aware that the whole night had become a farce. It was then the older of the two German policemen wandered over.

“Heil Hitler.” The policeman saluted Koehler with one hand while holding up a police badge that identified him as holding the rank of generalmajor. Koehler rolled his eyes. All he needed was a jumped-up policeman, especially one who held a higher rank than him. The policeman nodded sadly. He knew what Koehler was thinking, and Koehler hated him for it. The generalmajor stuffed his hands and his ID into his overcoat pockets, then took up a position next to Koehler, both men facing the lodge.

“Could I trouble the major for a cigarette?” said the policeman with a smile.

Koehler produced the packet, and the policeman took one and then cupped his hands around the flickering match Koehler struck for him.

“Your colleague has told me you were tracking an escaped prisoner,” the policeman said once the cigarette was lit.

“That is correct,” Koehler replied.

“I would have thought it would be best to flood the area to prevent escape.”

“I didn’t want to scare him off with three hundred jackboots flattening the grass.”

“So you scared him off with twelve?” The policeman looked at Koehler and picked some tobacco off his tongue before looking back toward the cemetery.

“The shooting was unfortunate.”

“It was for the caretaker, seeing as he is fucking dead.”

Koehler flicked his cigarette away impatiently, and it sailed, high and a fair distance through the night, like a tracer shell.

“That was a mistake by a junior soldier who thought he was under attack. I really cannot see what all this fuss is about.”

“It is about the dead man lying over there, Herr Major, the unarmed civilian.”

Koehler wafted a hand in the direction of the corpse and fumbled for his cigarettes again before thinking better of it and leaving them in his pocket.

“This was an official operation. As I said, it was unfortunate a civilian got killed, but I was doing my job.”

“Forgive me, Major, but if you had been doing your job, the prisoner might not have been on the run in the first place, and, if I may add, he would most certainly not be on the run now.”

“This is ridiculous.” Koehler waved a hand in the direction of Werner, who sprang to attention and marched over. “Get me a driver, I’m leaving.”

Werner saluted, then turned, heading off to the original squad, who had been quarantined from the others pending questioning.

“I’ll need a statement from you,” the generalmajor said wearily, like a man accustomed to asking futile questions.

Koehler leaned in close to the policeman and tilted his face forward so that he was looking up under the brim of the hat.

“What is your name?”

“Neumann.”

“Well, Generalmajor Neumann, you’ll get a fucking statement, and you will get it when I am ready. Don’t fuck with me, flatfoot, or I’ll have you arresting pickpockets in fucking Kiev on Monday. Do you understand?”

The old policeman nodded but didn’t look scared; he merely took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it on the ground.

“Thank you for the cigarette, Herr Major, and, er, Heil Hitler.”

Koehler stomped off to his Mercedes as a young driver jogged past him to open the rear door, then stood briskly to attention.

The door had no sooner been closed for him than it opened again and Schmitt appeared. Koehler sighed and held a hand to his eyes when he saw his colleague.

“What?” he barked.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home. I’ve had enough.”

“You can’t! What about Rossett?”

“Fuck him.”

“What about”—Schmitt leaned in close to ensure that the driver couldn’t hear them—“the diamonds?”

Koehler let his head fall back on the seat.

“Fuck them. Honestly, fuck them. I’m sick of chasing. We’ve got a prisonful of English prisoners escaped and no sign of them. Rossett and his fucking Jew can disappear. I’ve had enough, Schmitt. So far today, I’ve been fucking shot at twice, soaked twice, and interrogated by a fucking flatfoot policeman who thinks I’m dead in the water. I want to go to bed, and then tomorrow morning, bright and early, I want to sit down and spend the entire day writing the report that will attempt to save my career.”

“But the diamonds?”

“How do we even know if there are diamonds?”

“I thought—”

“You thought what? You thought that because the resistance think there are diamonds, there are? They are bigger idiots than we are. Why should we think they are right?”

Schmitt leaned back from the door.

“Well, what should I do?”

“Write a letter to your wife, because if I am to be shot, I swear to God, you will be standing next to me!” Koehler turned to the driver and ordered, “Drive!”

S
CHMITT STEPPED BACK
and watched the Mercedes pull out of the cemetery with a spray of gravel.

He looked back to the lodge and the body and then across to Werner, who was standing apart from the rest of his men.

The old soldier slowly walked across to Schmitt and politely stood to one side. “What?” Schmitt asked.

“I had the men search the graveyard as best they could, sir,” Werner said.

“And?”

“No sign of Rossett or the Jew.”

“Of course there isn’t. They’ll be miles away by now.”

Werner nodded and then bowed his head slightly, so that he could speak to Schmitt without being overheard.

“One of the men found some disturbed earth, sir, near one of the graves.”

“We are in a cemetery. What do you think he would find?”

“He also found an empty tin box that had been removed from the soil. It was resting on top of the gravestone.” Werner looked around. “It appears the box was removed from the grave. The lid was on the ground.”

“And?”

“Maybe the box was the sort of thing you might put diamonds in?”

Schmitt looked at the old soldier and then out to the darkness of the graveyard.

“Show me where,” he said quietly.

Chapter 53

R
OSSETT FOLLOWED KA
TE’S
directions from the backseat and soon found himself coasting in a narrow side street off a main road he didn’t recognize in Pimlico. It was just after eleven and the streets of central London had fallen quiet. Rossett eyed the houses and parked cars as they crept along, aware that if he looked out of place anywhere, with his mud-spattered, blood-spattered head, it was here, in a solidly upscale area of the capital. They parked between two old Rovers, and Rossett noticed that the Volkswagen was the only foreign car in the street.

“Maybe we shouldn’t park here,” he said.

“Why?” Kate replied quietly, not wanting to wake the now sleeping Jacob.

“The car, it will attract attention.”

“It doesn’t when I park it here every night. Why should it now? For God’s sake, Rossett, just relax. Here, help me with Jacob.”

Rossett looked up and down the road and rested his hand on the door handle.

“Don’t you ever switch off?” she said.

“No.”

“You should. It’s not good for you living at the edge of your nerves all the time.”

“In my current predicament it’s switching off that isn’t good for me. Which one of these is your place?” he replied, looking around at the houses now, checking them for flicking curtains.

Kate pointed at a door that was no more than twelve feet away across the pavement.

“Flat 4B, fourth floor. Wipe your feet before you go in.”

Rossett looked up at the Georgian building through the windshield. He counted off the floors and studied the fourth floor. It was one floor from the top, with big windows and small wrought-iron balconies.

“How many ways out?”

“There’s a fire escape at the rear; you climb onto it through the bedroom window. It leads onto the alleyway that runs behind the houses and comes out at the end of the street. Or you could just jump out the window, but if you do, could you try to avoid my car on the way down? I haven’t finished paying for it.”

“You’re sure there is no one else in the flat?”

“For God’s sake, just get out and take Jacob, will you?”

Rossett looked at the building once more and then opened the door. He stepped out onto the road, bent back into the car, and pulled Jacob out. The boy whined at being moved and tried to hold on to Kate, who shushed him as she pushed him toward Rossett.

Rossett hoisted Jacob up onto his shoulder with one arm, putting his free hand into his pocket to take hold of the Webley as he did so. The boy smelled of sick, and Rossett half turned his face away before Jacob reached around his neck and pulled him closer for comfort.

Rossett paused.

“It’s okay, son, you’ll be in bed soon.”

Jacob whined again, more softly this time, squeezing Rossett with his stick-thin arms, then releasing him slightly.

Comfort for them both.

Kate passed them and fumbled with some keys before hopping up the four granite steps and opening the big blue door. Rossett followed her quickly, looking left and right once more as he went.

All was quiet.

He stepped past Kate, who was holding the door open, and into a long narrow hallway that was lit by a solitary bulb in a dusty fabric shade that had remnants of silk tassels hanging down. At the end of the hall was a dark staircase. Along the hallway he saw four dark wood doors leading to flats beyond. Kate closed the front door and squeezed past them before heading up the stairs, her heels echoing far too loudly for Rossett’s liking. He grimaced and then followed her, looking up into the dim forty-watt gloom and suddenly feeling vulnerable.

He let her go on ahead. At each landing, he took the stairs slowly, leaning back to afford him the best view through the shadows. The house smelled of other people’s dinners and was silent except for the muted sound of a radio playing martial music behind a closed door on the third landing.

On the fourth-floor landing, Kate was waiting for him, her flat door open, hand on hip, impatient.

Rossett made eye contact with her as he approached.

“Put the light on.”

Kate rolled her eyes and turned, flicking on the switch behind her. Rossett looked through the doorway along the hall, about fifteen feet long with five doors leading off it, three to the left, two to the right.

“I’ll need to tidy up. The living room is on the right. Put him in there. I’ll make us some tea.”

Kate entered the first doorway on the left. Rossett stepped slowly into the flat and closed the door with his heel. He waited in the hallway a moment, listening. All he could hear was running water, the bang of a pipe, and the clang of a kettle lid. He took a step forward and looked into the kitchen where Kate had gone. It was small but functional. At one end, there was a small window where Rossett could see his own reflection.

Kate struck a long match, lit the stove, and plonked the kettle onto the burner.

“You can relax, you’re safe.”

Rossett nodded, not totally convinced, before backing out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

The first door on the right was a closet. The next room was in darkness, and he slid his hand along the smooth cold wall looking for where he guessed a light switch might be. He found it and flicked it on.

The living room was huge. Rossett realized it must run across nearly the whole front of the house. The floor-to-ceiling windows had plush gold and green drapes tied back halfway down. He counted five windows, and guessed the room to be thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide. At one end sat a grand piano and a heavy brown leather sofa.

The other end, the one nearest to him, was more homey, with soft fabric sofas and a thick cream woolen rug nestled around a dark iron fireplace that was taller than Jacob. The room was lit by two huge chandeliers, and as soon as Rossett had placed Jacob on one of the sofas he set about drawing curtains and lighting the two small table lamps near the fireplace.

He turned off the main lights and checked the curtains again for gaps.

“Can you light the fire, please?” Kate called from the kitchen, her voice accompanied by the clatter of cups and cupboards.

Rossett found a bucket of coal and some balls of newspaper next to the fireplace. He knelt down and started to build the fire, aware now of how cold and damp the flat felt. He looked up and saw some iron radiators against the wall. Their thick black paint reminded him of elephant skin covered in wet mud.

He guessed they were cold.

“Maybe you should light the boiler as well,” he called out.

“What boiler? It hasn’t worked in years!” Kate shouted back, a light chuckle in her voice.

Rossett struck his match and fired the newspaper under the coal, watching it catch and leaning forward to blow some soft encouragement. The fire let off some reluctant crackles. Rossett leaned back on his heels and watched it grow. He reached his hands out to the flames to warm them and then stood up, letting go a soft groan from his slowly relaxing but still aching body.

“You sound like you’re getting old.” Kate entered the room behind him. She was carrying a silver tray crowded with a teapot, cups, and some toast, which she set onto a small coffee table in front of the empty sofa, opposite the one where Jacob lay silently sleeping.

“I feel like I’m getting old.”

Kate crossed to Jacob, who was lying with his face toward the back of the couch in a fetal position, dead to the world and still fully dressed.

“I’ll fetch him a blanket. He must be freezing.”

“The fire will warm the room soon,” Rossett replied.

Rossett watched Kate leave the room, then turned back to the fire. He stepped back, wiping the dust off his hands onto his coat and looking at the pictures on the mantelpiece, on either side of an ornate china clock that showed the wrong time.

Broken like the boiler.

He picked up a photo in a twelve-inch gilt frame and held it toward the lamp so he could study it closer, just as Kate entered the room behind him carrying some woolen blankets, which she draped gently over Jacob.

“My father,” she said, looking up at Rossett while still kneeling next to Jacob, her hand resting on the blankets.

The picture showed a dashing young army officer in full dress uniform standing next to a large plant on a small table. It was the typical formal portrait that proud young men had had taken prior to going overseas during the Great War. Many homes had them, but not many had them in frames as expensive as this. Rossett could see that the young man in the photo had the swagger of someone who was born to lead. There was also the sly smile of someone buoyed by the certainty of youth.

Rossett did some math in his head and looked down at Kate, who had turned and was now sitting on the floor in front of Jacob’s couch, basking in the glow of the fire, staring into it, cheekbones sharpened by the lamps and the flickering flames.

“He made it back then?” Rossett asked.

“He did. Well, most of him did.”

“He was injured?”

“Not as such. Nothing you could see, anyway, but Mother said he was different when he came back.”

Rossett looked at the picture again and wondered if there was anyone who went to war who didn’t become a casualty of some kind.

“Where is he now?”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was killed in the first days of the invasion. He was in Kent somewhere, with the Home Guard, when the Germans broke out of Folkestone. Apparently, they were trying to hold a crossroads, six of them standing up to six hundred.”

“He was brave.”

“He was a bloody idiot. Do you have a cigarette?”

Rossett put the picture back on the mantelpiece and looked in his pockets for his cigarettes. He crouched down in front of Kate, who had the sort of faraway look that coal fires in dark rooms often cause. Kate smiled at him as she took the cigarette he offered, lightly resting her hand on his as he lit it. He allowed himself to enjoy the soft touch of her smooth fingers for a moment longer than it took to light the cigarette, then lowered the match and extinguished it with a flick of his wrist.

Kate pulled her head away and blew a long plume of smoke up to the high ceiling as Rossett stood again and took his place next to the fire. Kate rested her hand with the cigarette on her knee.

“I read about what you did in France and during the invasion.” Kate looked up at Rossett. “Are all those stories true?”

She drew on the cigarette again, watching him.

“Most of them.”

“Why did you do it?”

Rossett frowned. Nobody had ever asked him before why he’d done the things he had done. They had only ever been interested in telling him he was a hero or trying to get stories out of him. He looked at the picture again.

“I don’t know.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I . . . um . . . I don’t know. I suppose . . . I suppose I wasn’t really thinking anything.”

“A bit like you and Jacob?”

“What?”

“You didn’t think then either, did you?”

Kate studied Rossett for a moment. Rossett felt his legs growing uncomfortably hot through his trousers, and he stepped away from the fire and sat down on the other settee. The silence filled the room and he felt uneasy.

“Will this tea be brewed?” he asked, staring at the pot.

“You be mother.”

Rossett busied himself with pouring two cups as she watched him from the floor, cigarette hand resting against her chin. He stood and passed her a cup before retreating to the couch again, suddenly awkward in his movements and not sure why.

“Mummy was very angry with Daddy. She wanted him to stay in London, away from the fighting. She said it was all a waste of time charging off. She knew the Germans were here to stay. He didn’t even have a gun. Can you imagine? Not even having a gun?”

Rossett didn’t reply, as he tried to slip a finger into the dainty handle of the teacup he was holding.

“Such a waste, taking on the Germans when you haven’t even got a gun,” Kate said to the fire, tucking her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them, making herself small.

They sat in silence for a while until Rossett spoke again.

“What is your mother doing now?”

“Not much.”

“Retired?”

“Mummy died three years ago.”

“You said she was in Yorkshire?”

“She is, buried.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Rossett, aware that he hadn’t seen any pictures of a woman in the flat.

“She couldn’t take it.”

“Your father’s death?”

“Hmm, that, and all this.” Kate raised her eyes to the ceiling and waved a hand around the room. “All this damp, despair, grayness. She was sick for a long time and then . . . well, she couldn’t take anymore.”

“Did she . . . ?”

“Yes, she killed herself.”

Kate sucked on the cigarette and stared at the fire; she swallowed down the smoke and then let it leak from her nose, slowly and less dramatically than before.

Rossett watched her and then followed her gaze to the fire. “It was a picture that started all this.”

“All what?” she asked.

“Jacob and me. It was a picture, in another house, different from this one but with the same kind of picture. Someone else who died fighting the Germans. Made me realize.”

“Realize what?”

“That I was wrong, that what I was doing was wrong. I’m trying to make it right.”

“By helping Jacob?”

Rossett nodded.

“What about the diamonds?”

Rossett looked up.

“How do you know about the diamonds?”

“I’m Koehler’s secretary. What he knows, I know.” Kate shrugged, smoking again.

“Koehler knows about the diamonds?”

Kate nodded.

“How? Chivers?”

“They captured a resistance soldier. He cracked, told them the lot, plus whatever your friend Chivers told them.”

“Fucking Chivers.” Rossett shook his head sadly.

“The diamonds, did you get them?”

“That’s why you came for us, isn’t it?” Rossett looked at her.

“No, I told you, I came because of the boy.” Rossett shook his head as Kate continued. “You’re taking the moral high ground here, but
you
were looking for diamonds, weren’t you?” Kate lifted her chin, a flash of hurt crossing her face.