December posting 13: Metals & Mettle, Miss Marple/HL, WIP
I finally get to use my Miss Marple icon!! WIP, Case fic, will be finished damn it! Originally started years ago for Girl Saves Boy (Or The World) because Jane Marple is just that awesome. Enjoy part one; part two will go up in two weeks!
ETA: Sorry about the accidentally uncut post, guys! Now shortened to save friends' page views!
At the AO3 here.
Metals & Mettle
The Air Raid Precautions patrol had already checked the road, as they did each night, so Tommy didn't have to worry about anything except keeping the cattle from stopping to drink from the ditch again. Normally that would have been easy enough, but Tommy's older brother had enlisted in the navy four months ago, as soon as he was old enough, and their best herd dog, Rex, was still limping a full week after stepping on the piece of shrapnel. The ARP had been right embarrassed about that, especially after the vet had words with them about not having enough medications for both puncture wounds and the military's need for beef.
What it all came down to was that Tommy had no one there to help him keep the cattle on their way to the meadow instead of heading straight into the ditch. When he saw an odd lump in the ditch water, he chased the cattle into the field as quickly as he could. He kept the black bull from turning back to get another drink (right by the form, which was in the deepest part of the water), and locked the gate firmly behind them.
The cattle headed on to the pond while Tommy darted back to the ditch. He'd seen right, even in the dawn shadows, so Tommy ran back to Much Benham as fast as he could.
It was just like in the movies. That was a body in the ditch.
# # #
"Not a local," Constable Palk reported, dressed properly enough in his tunic and hat, although Sgt. Lake suspected the bulge in his pocket was a bacon sandwich for later. "The cow boy found him this morning just after dawn -- Tommy Gilroy was out moving cattle between pasturage, right on schedule. Tommy works for Farmer Owens, thirteen years old and reliable enough, if too eager to be old enough to go off to war and get away from farming." He left unsaid that they all hoped the war didn't last that long.
Lake had been born and raised on the London outskirts and happy to get away to a quieter life in Much Benham. (He'd never admit it had been a little too quiet, because that would explain what he was doing in the police.) He could see it working the other way around, too. He finished writing his own notes and then asked, "So the boy might have been a little overeager about finding a body?"
Palk's mouth twisted a little and he lowered his voice to admit, "No, I believed him about the body, Sergeant. It was the foreign uniform I didn't believe. Sorry, sir. I came out fast as I could anyway -- I mean, a body's a body and it is wartime -- but I didn't report it up the line immediately."
Lake gave him a mildly disapproving look, but not too hard, since Palk had both admitted it and explained why. He was the local man; they had to trust him to know the locals, after all, and which reports were really fallen bombs and which were hysterical spinsters. "Right. Well, now that we know that, how long after you got here did you get word to us?"
"Oh, maybe fifteen minutes," Palk said promptly. "As soon as I saw the uniform, I flagged down Miss Farrier. She was out on her morning constitutional. She spent the last war dispensing medicine in a Manchester hospital; she doesn't spook for much, and she's completely reliable. She went straight home and called it in while I stayed here."
Inspector Slack called over impatiently, "Did you touch his pockets, Constable?"
Sgt. Lake nodded a 'good work' to Palk as they both went over to the body. Palk started to say, "No, sir, not once I-- Good God."
He and Lake both froze, as did Dr. Roberts and the two ambulance women. Lake managed to ask, shocked, "Is that real, sir?"
Slack gave him a dark glance from under lowered brows and contemplated the two ambulance women skeptically. The Much Benham coroner said quietly, "We'll just step away, Inspector, and make sure we agree on what we haven't seen."
"It's probably a fake," Slack grudgingly admitted. "But it's damn well evidence in a murder investigation, so you'll all keep quiet about it."
The older ambulance driver snorted. "We know that, Inspector. We also know who else can keep their mouths shut. Do you want me to ask around?"
"No," Slack snapped. "We'll manage that."
She shrugged. "The police are as shorthanded as everyone else. Don't say we didn't offer."
"We'll manage." Slack repeated. He turned and looked at the ditch again, at the road that had lost any useful tracks to a herd of cattle, and rubbed his forehead before saying, "Right. You can have the body, Doctor. Report anything useful to me as soon as you have it."
Rogers just nodded. "Certainly." He took one end of the stretcher and helped load the body into the ambulance.
Lake strongly suspected that very soon the doctor would make an excuse to have lunch or dinner with Colonel and Mrs. Bantry and would decant information from them easily as port from crystal. Out of charity to his inspector, Lake even thought it was a good thing this murder was a good three miles from St. Mary Mead and the inspector's least-favorite elderly spinster.
Then he turned his attention back to the palm-sized (and real, he'd bet his next round at the local) whatever it was. Some kind of wide, fancy, hinged brooch with curlicue designs, animals' heads and enamel still showing here and there. Not his thing, but beautiful anyway as gleaming gold so often was.
For that matter, if this gold wasn't tied in with the presence of a body in the ditch, he'd eat his hat.
Slack was already getting the details out of Palk again and frowning. Lake crouched by the short line of belongings, ignoring the gold to look at the rest and list them into his notebook. On the top of the pile lay a chain and ID tags. American ones, the ones their men called 'dog tags.'
Now Lake knew why Inspector Slack looked so grim, and it wasn't just the gold. A dead Yank. Lovely.
# # #
Miss Marple accepted a hand out of the car, nodded her thanks to the Bantrys' chauffeur, and smiled another thank you to the butler when he opened the door into Gossington Hall.
"Mrs. Bantry is in the rear garden," Lorrimer explained to her. "Shall I take your coat, madam, or will you keep it?"
"Oh, if we're to be in the garden I shall keep it for now, thank you." Miss Marple looked around, her eyes bright with interest, and then politely looked away from the cluster of officers visible at the end of the east hall. Lorrimer nodded to her and moved to shut that door. It closed slowly, with a soft scrape of cloth on cloth; all sound vanished when it closed. Miss Marple ignored that, too, and moved through the house and out to the back garden.
Dolly's herbaceous borders looked as splendid as ever, despite the numerous men called into the war effort. She, too, had a vegetable garden taking over part of the lawn. "My, your peas look wonderful, Dolly, dear."
"They do, don't they?" Dolly Bantry straightened up from tying beans to poles and considered her garden with the air of an artist debating which corner needed work first. "And I've hopes for the marrows, too, finally. This would be the year they didn't try to take over the entire garden."
Miss Marple knew far better than to let her friend continue on the subject. "Yes, dear, most distressing for you if they had failed, but I would have been more than glad to give you some. Young Polly has turned out to be a fine gardener. Now, why did you really send your driver for me?"
"Oh!" Dolly stood up from her kneeling pad quite abruptly and said, "I'm so glad you came to ask me that first, Jane. Before they could tell you not to ask too much, which would have been quite ridiculous when Major McCormick seems like a sensible man even if he is American. Or do I mean especially for an American?"
"I've no idea yet which you mean, Dolly." Miss Marple walked back towards the house beside her excited friend, purse clasped in front of her in both hands. "Should you really be telling me anything?"
"Of course I should, especially if he doesn't, although as I said, I think he just might. Really, officially you're here so Arthur can ask you to billet a soldier. Unofficially, he's not just a soldier, he's American--"
"Yes, Dolly, I grasped that," Miss Marple said a little dryly.
"And," Dolly added, drawing out the best part as she so liked to do, "he's Army Intelligence, Jane. They've sent him because of the American who turned up dead in Much Benham."
"Oh. Oh, dear." Miss Marple blinked a few times as she thought. "Are you sure he's in Intelligence, Dolly? Shouldn't they have sent someone from their military police?"
"Army Intelligence, although Arthur said the dead man was an airman, so you'd think it should be the Air Force. Apparently the Yanks have fliers in both their army and navy-- Jane, that's not important. What is important is that Major McCormick's been sent here, rather than to Much Benham, and Sir Henry 'suggested' he be billeted with you -- which I suppose might be why here and not Much Benham, come to think of it. He's supposed to work with Inspector Slack, poor man. The Major being the poor man, I mean."
"Inspector Slack is very… industrious," Miss Marple said, frowning a little as she thought. "Really, though, why send anyone? And an officer at that? Surely American intelligence is as overworked as everyone else."
"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" Dolly agreed. "But if you don't think the major's told you everything after tonight, why then you can remember a cutting I promised you and come back, of course. We'll just have tea while you're here."
Miss Marple smiled at her friend. "Quite."
# # #
Arthur Bantry had been quite relieved to come out from the latest crisis meeting and find Dolly sitting at the table discussing the unsuitability of peppermint tea for early morning crises with Jane Marple. "Miss Marple, has Dolly told you…?"
"Of course, Colonel, I shall be most happy to house the major." She flushed a little and added, "Although if you could perhaps give me half an hour to ready the room, Major…?"
"Oh, yes. Of course." Arthur motioned between them. "Miss Marple, Major Matthew McCormick, of the US Army. He's here about that troubling matter in Much Benham. Sir Henry thought you might be willing to take him in for the duration of his investigation. Major, this is Miss Jane Marple. Friend of ours and one of the best gardeners in the county."
McCormick took her hand as he nodded to her, a motion more courteous than the efficient nods he'd given during Arthur's briefing to him on the local law enforcement, which known troublemakers were out of jail and in the area, and numbers to call for backup, should he need it. "Miss Marple. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"I'm most pleased to meet you, Major. Of course, I shall be happy to do all I can to assist," she fluttered. "With the war effort, of course."
"I greatly appreciate it, ma'am, and I assure you, half an hour is no trouble. If anything, I may be a few hours more than that, I'm afraid. Inspector Slack is coming," he checked his watch, "inside a quarter hour to show me a few things and answer some questions."
Arthur said dryly, "He'll have questions for you, Major, never mind that you weren't the man's CO."
"From what you've said, Colonel, I don't doubt he will." McCormick did look unflappable. Good. A man who could make major, even with a war this size on, ought to be able to cope with a police inspector without getting out of sorts. He had the steady air about him that Arthur had always looked for in his XOs, come to that. Might be why Sir Henry had acquired him for this.
"Inspector Slack does tend to think everyone should be able to answer him, but only on the questions he wants to ask, I'm afraid," Miss Marple said. Her cheeks pinked a little as she asked, "If it would help, Major, I could have teacakes or crumpets ready by this afternoon? Sergeant Lake is quite fond of my mother's cherry brandy."
McCormick's smile widened when she said that, although his voice was almost pious. "Is he indeed, Miss Marple? It would be a shame to deprive a man who's surely been working extra hours since the war broke out. What time should I try to have us there?"
"Whenever you are ready, Major. Fresh cakes will be ready by two o'clock, but tea is quickly made and I have some gingerbread that would be easily sliced if you should have to arrive sooner. Youngsters do like their sweets, and I've four in the house." She smiled back and Arthur Bantry frowned, wondering where he'd gotten the idea that they were holding a second discussion he couldn't hear. Dolly's eyes were laughing at something, but that could just mean she'd sorted out some problem with her garden.
McCormick nodded to Miss Marple again, not quite a bow, and said, "Thank you for that as well, then, ma'am." He reached inside his uniform and pulled out his ration books. "I believe you'll need these if you're being kind enough to feed me. If I've time, do you need anything from Much Benham?"
"Oh, no, thank you, Major. Such a stop would only infuriate the inspector. He finds me troublesome enough as it is." She busied herself tucking the ration coupons safely away in her purse.
Arthur harrumphed. "Alf will take your kitbag along when he takes Miss Marple home, Major, if that's all right. If you need to go to Much Benham, Miss Marple, well, we can spare the petrol, surely, what with you taking in an officer and all."
Miss Marple smiled at him, eyes twinkling. "Such a kind offer, Arthur, but I really think I should supervise dear Margaret and Agnes today. They mean well but they are still very new to service. I did the shopping yesterday, after all, and the bus to Much Benham does still run three times a week." She fluttered to a stop.
McCormick only smiled, remarkably patient with her meanderings, Arthur thought. "As you say, then, Miss Marple. I'll try to bring the inspector and his sergeant in for tea when they drop me off."
# # #
"Well?" Slack snapped.
Matthew ignored him for the moment, busy doing a methodical survey of the scene. The body had been found far enough around the curve of the road that Matthew couldn't see the train station at Much Benham, no houses in line of sight, a well-kept field that extended past the hills.... He paused, eyes narrowing, wondering what the rolling line of those hills reminded him of.
When the niggling refused to surface as anything useful, Matthew sighed and turned back to Inspector Slack. "My apologies, Inspector. I was trying to figure out what an airman from one of the worse neighborhoods in Chicago -- as thorough a city boy as someone from the center of London, in other words -- might be doing here in the country where the blackout conditions and every night sound should have spooked him, army training or no. He'd been assigned to an engineering unit; he was never alone in woods that his dossier shows."
Slack bit off whatever he'd been going to say and sounded faintly surprised when he asked, "Do you mean they sent me someone with police experience?"
Matthew managed not to laugh; he did smile. "Before the war, I was a detective for the Richmond police. I take it my superiors didn't mention any such thing to you?"
Now Slack relaxed a little. "No. They didn't. Said they were sending me an Army Intelligence man and hung up before I could ask for a sane, sensible MP if I had to have a Yank working with me."
Matthew just shook his head. "I rather think I know what happened, then," he said wryly. "I don't suppose you called the gentleman that term?"
"Not until the third time he wouldn't let me finish a sentence," Slack said briskly.
Behind him, out of his line of sight, his sergeant started laughing soundlessly. Matthew could well imagine that was the pot calling the kettle black. What he said, however, was, "Yes, well, my CO is from deep Georgia, sir. That probably doesn't tell you enough, so let me try it this way: effectively, you called a Scot an Englishman."
The sergeant winced and even Slack blinked. "Really. Thought you were all one big happy country?"
"No, sir. Few countries are, but we had a civil war of our own seventy-five years back. Some stories are still handed down in families. His part of Georgia had to completely rebuild after the Yankee army came through." Matthew shrugged. "Some Americans don't mind the term. Some do."
"Good. Now I won't insult by accident." On purpose might be another matter from the sound of it. Slack nodded and went back to business. "We were hoping you might have some idea what your man was doing out here, Major. There's no reason we know of. Much Benham's not a big town. We get some trouble, but nothing like London."
Matthew looked at him more carefully, then tilted his head up to look at the sky and petition for help -- with his patience if nothing else. He brought his head back down and rolled it side to side, wincing at the pops. A long walk tomorrow dawn, definitely. A slow exhalation helped regain his temper as did the water-tinged breeze starting to gust around them. He looked up and evaluated the clouds. Yes, rain coming and damned soon.
Mathew finally said, "Inspector, might I suggest we pool our knowledge? By which I mean I don't think my people have told you nearly enough, and since I don't doubt you've noticed it, I imagine you've not felt inclined to share your hard-earned information any earlier than necessary yourself."
Slack blinked once or twice, then. "Well. Seems I didn't have to ask for a sensible MP. Right, Major. Tell me about it from your side, all of it. Lake, notes. And don't interrupt. I said they hadn't told us a quarter of it."
The sergeant pulled out his notebook then blinked and looked back when another buffet of wind rifled the pages. "Going to pour soon, sir."
Matthew checked his watch and said, "The lady who's agreed to billet me said she'd be glad to make tea whenever I, or we, got in."
"It's not top secret, God knows, although it's nothing for--" Slack froze, face and body braced against some blow, and said grimly, "St. Mary Mead."
Matthew raised an eyebrow but agreed, "That's where I'm billeted, sir. Sir Henry Clithering and Colonel Bantry recommended--"
"Miss Marple." Slack made it sound like profanity. His sergeant, on the other hand, was grinning and not trying to hide it.
The first rain splashed down, huge drops that forced Lake to pocket his notebook. Matthew shrugged, "Tea and fresh cakes, Inspector. Shall we go accept the lady's offering?"
Slack wheeled and turned for the car, growling, "She'll only hear anyway…."
Matthew ran back to the car beside Lake; even Slack had abandoned his dignity in the downpour and was running ahead of them. The sergeant just chuckled and spoke his first words around Matthew other than 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir.' "He'll be fine, Major. Miss Marple drives him crazy is all."
Matthew dove for the backseat and left it at that for the moment.
# # #
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.
ETA: Sorry about the accidentally uncut post, guys! Now shortened to save friends' page views!
At the AO3 here.
Metals & Mettle
The Air Raid Precautions patrol had already checked the road, as they did each night, so Tommy didn't have to worry about anything except keeping the cattle from stopping to drink from the ditch again. Normally that would have been easy enough, but Tommy's older brother had enlisted in the navy four months ago, as soon as he was old enough, and their best herd dog, Rex, was still limping a full week after stepping on the piece of shrapnel. The ARP had been right embarrassed about that, especially after the vet had words with them about not having enough medications for both puncture wounds and the military's need for beef.
What it all came down to was that Tommy had no one there to help him keep the cattle on their way to the meadow instead of heading straight into the ditch. When he saw an odd lump in the ditch water, he chased the cattle into the field as quickly as he could. He kept the black bull from turning back to get another drink (right by the form, which was in the deepest part of the water), and locked the gate firmly behind them.
The cattle headed on to the pond while Tommy darted back to the ditch. He'd seen right, even in the dawn shadows, so Tommy ran back to Much Benham as fast as he could.
It was just like in the movies. That was a body in the ditch.
# # #
"Not a local," Constable Palk reported, dressed properly enough in his tunic and hat, although Sgt. Lake suspected the bulge in his pocket was a bacon sandwich for later. "The cow boy found him this morning just after dawn -- Tommy Gilroy was out moving cattle between pasturage, right on schedule. Tommy works for Farmer Owens, thirteen years old and reliable enough, if too eager to be old enough to go off to war and get away from farming." He left unsaid that they all hoped the war didn't last that long.
Lake had been born and raised on the London outskirts and happy to get away to a quieter life in Much Benham. (He'd never admit it had been a little too quiet, because that would explain what he was doing in the police.) He could see it working the other way around, too. He finished writing his own notes and then asked, "So the boy might have been a little overeager about finding a body?"
Palk's mouth twisted a little and he lowered his voice to admit, "No, I believed him about the body, Sergeant. It was the foreign uniform I didn't believe. Sorry, sir. I came out fast as I could anyway -- I mean, a body's a body and it is wartime -- but I didn't report it up the line immediately."
Lake gave him a mildly disapproving look, but not too hard, since Palk had both admitted it and explained why. He was the local man; they had to trust him to know the locals, after all, and which reports were really fallen bombs and which were hysterical spinsters. "Right. Well, now that we know that, how long after you got here did you get word to us?"
"Oh, maybe fifteen minutes," Palk said promptly. "As soon as I saw the uniform, I flagged down Miss Farrier. She was out on her morning constitutional. She spent the last war dispensing medicine in a Manchester hospital; she doesn't spook for much, and she's completely reliable. She went straight home and called it in while I stayed here."
Inspector Slack called over impatiently, "Did you touch his pockets, Constable?"
Sgt. Lake nodded a 'good work' to Palk as they both went over to the body. Palk started to say, "No, sir, not once I-- Good God."
He and Lake both froze, as did Dr. Roberts and the two ambulance women. Lake managed to ask, shocked, "Is that real, sir?"
Slack gave him a dark glance from under lowered brows and contemplated the two ambulance women skeptically. The Much Benham coroner said quietly, "We'll just step away, Inspector, and make sure we agree on what we haven't seen."
"It's probably a fake," Slack grudgingly admitted. "But it's damn well evidence in a murder investigation, so you'll all keep quiet about it."
The older ambulance driver snorted. "We know that, Inspector. We also know who else can keep their mouths shut. Do you want me to ask around?"
"No," Slack snapped. "We'll manage that."
She shrugged. "The police are as shorthanded as everyone else. Don't say we didn't offer."
"We'll manage." Slack repeated. He turned and looked at the ditch again, at the road that had lost any useful tracks to a herd of cattle, and rubbed his forehead before saying, "Right. You can have the body, Doctor. Report anything useful to me as soon as you have it."
Rogers just nodded. "Certainly." He took one end of the stretcher and helped load the body into the ambulance.
Lake strongly suspected that very soon the doctor would make an excuse to have lunch or dinner with Colonel and Mrs. Bantry and would decant information from them easily as port from crystal. Out of charity to his inspector, Lake even thought it was a good thing this murder was a good three miles from St. Mary Mead and the inspector's least-favorite elderly spinster.
Then he turned his attention back to the palm-sized (and real, he'd bet his next round at the local) whatever it was. Some kind of wide, fancy, hinged brooch with curlicue designs, animals' heads and enamel still showing here and there. Not his thing, but beautiful anyway as gleaming gold so often was.
For that matter, if this gold wasn't tied in with the presence of a body in the ditch, he'd eat his hat.
Slack was already getting the details out of Palk again and frowning. Lake crouched by the short line of belongings, ignoring the gold to look at the rest and list them into his notebook. On the top of the pile lay a chain and ID tags. American ones, the ones their men called 'dog tags.'
Now Lake knew why Inspector Slack looked so grim, and it wasn't just the gold. A dead Yank. Lovely.
# # #
Miss Marple accepted a hand out of the car, nodded her thanks to the Bantrys' chauffeur, and smiled another thank you to the butler when he opened the door into Gossington Hall.
"Mrs. Bantry is in the rear garden," Lorrimer explained to her. "Shall I take your coat, madam, or will you keep it?"
"Oh, if we're to be in the garden I shall keep it for now, thank you." Miss Marple looked around, her eyes bright with interest, and then politely looked away from the cluster of officers visible at the end of the east hall. Lorrimer nodded to her and moved to shut that door. It closed slowly, with a soft scrape of cloth on cloth; all sound vanished when it closed. Miss Marple ignored that, too, and moved through the house and out to the back garden.
Dolly's herbaceous borders looked as splendid as ever, despite the numerous men called into the war effort. She, too, had a vegetable garden taking over part of the lawn. "My, your peas look wonderful, Dolly, dear."
"They do, don't they?" Dolly Bantry straightened up from tying beans to poles and considered her garden with the air of an artist debating which corner needed work first. "And I've hopes for the marrows, too, finally. This would be the year they didn't try to take over the entire garden."
Miss Marple knew far better than to let her friend continue on the subject. "Yes, dear, most distressing for you if they had failed, but I would have been more than glad to give you some. Young Polly has turned out to be a fine gardener. Now, why did you really send your driver for me?"
"Oh!" Dolly stood up from her kneeling pad quite abruptly and said, "I'm so glad you came to ask me that first, Jane. Before they could tell you not to ask too much, which would have been quite ridiculous when Major McCormick seems like a sensible man even if he is American. Or do I mean especially for an American?"
"I've no idea yet which you mean, Dolly." Miss Marple walked back towards the house beside her excited friend, purse clasped in front of her in both hands. "Should you really be telling me anything?"
"Of course I should, especially if he doesn't, although as I said, I think he just might. Really, officially you're here so Arthur can ask you to billet a soldier. Unofficially, he's not just a soldier, he's American--"
"Yes, Dolly, I grasped that," Miss Marple said a little dryly.
"And," Dolly added, drawing out the best part as she so liked to do, "he's Army Intelligence, Jane. They've sent him because of the American who turned up dead in Much Benham."
"Oh. Oh, dear." Miss Marple blinked a few times as she thought. "Are you sure he's in Intelligence, Dolly? Shouldn't they have sent someone from their military police?"
"Army Intelligence, although Arthur said the dead man was an airman, so you'd think it should be the Air Force. Apparently the Yanks have fliers in both their army and navy-- Jane, that's not important. What is important is that Major McCormick's been sent here, rather than to Much Benham, and Sir Henry 'suggested' he be billeted with you -- which I suppose might be why here and not Much Benham, come to think of it. He's supposed to work with Inspector Slack, poor man. The Major being the poor man, I mean."
"Inspector Slack is very… industrious," Miss Marple said, frowning a little as she thought. "Really, though, why send anyone? And an officer at that? Surely American intelligence is as overworked as everyone else."
"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" Dolly agreed. "But if you don't think the major's told you everything after tonight, why then you can remember a cutting I promised you and come back, of course. We'll just have tea while you're here."
Miss Marple smiled at her friend. "Quite."
# # #
Arthur Bantry had been quite relieved to come out from the latest crisis meeting and find Dolly sitting at the table discussing the unsuitability of peppermint tea for early morning crises with Jane Marple. "Miss Marple, has Dolly told you…?"
"Of course, Colonel, I shall be most happy to house the major." She flushed a little and added, "Although if you could perhaps give me half an hour to ready the room, Major…?"
"Oh, yes. Of course." Arthur motioned between them. "Miss Marple, Major Matthew McCormick, of the US Army. He's here about that troubling matter in Much Benham. Sir Henry thought you might be willing to take him in for the duration of his investigation. Major, this is Miss Jane Marple. Friend of ours and one of the best gardeners in the county."
McCormick took her hand as he nodded to her, a motion more courteous than the efficient nods he'd given during Arthur's briefing to him on the local law enforcement, which known troublemakers were out of jail and in the area, and numbers to call for backup, should he need it. "Miss Marple. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"I'm most pleased to meet you, Major. Of course, I shall be happy to do all I can to assist," she fluttered. "With the war effort, of course."
"I greatly appreciate it, ma'am, and I assure you, half an hour is no trouble. If anything, I may be a few hours more than that, I'm afraid. Inspector Slack is coming," he checked his watch, "inside a quarter hour to show me a few things and answer some questions."
Arthur said dryly, "He'll have questions for you, Major, never mind that you weren't the man's CO."
"From what you've said, Colonel, I don't doubt he will." McCormick did look unflappable. Good. A man who could make major, even with a war this size on, ought to be able to cope with a police inspector without getting out of sorts. He had the steady air about him that Arthur had always looked for in his XOs, come to that. Might be why Sir Henry had acquired him for this.
"Inspector Slack does tend to think everyone should be able to answer him, but only on the questions he wants to ask, I'm afraid," Miss Marple said. Her cheeks pinked a little as she asked, "If it would help, Major, I could have teacakes or crumpets ready by this afternoon? Sergeant Lake is quite fond of my mother's cherry brandy."
McCormick's smile widened when she said that, although his voice was almost pious. "Is he indeed, Miss Marple? It would be a shame to deprive a man who's surely been working extra hours since the war broke out. What time should I try to have us there?"
"Whenever you are ready, Major. Fresh cakes will be ready by two o'clock, but tea is quickly made and I have some gingerbread that would be easily sliced if you should have to arrive sooner. Youngsters do like their sweets, and I've four in the house." She smiled back and Arthur Bantry frowned, wondering where he'd gotten the idea that they were holding a second discussion he couldn't hear. Dolly's eyes were laughing at something, but that could just mean she'd sorted out some problem with her garden.
McCormick nodded to Miss Marple again, not quite a bow, and said, "Thank you for that as well, then, ma'am." He reached inside his uniform and pulled out his ration books. "I believe you'll need these if you're being kind enough to feed me. If I've time, do you need anything from Much Benham?"
"Oh, no, thank you, Major. Such a stop would only infuriate the inspector. He finds me troublesome enough as it is." She busied herself tucking the ration coupons safely away in her purse.
Arthur harrumphed. "Alf will take your kitbag along when he takes Miss Marple home, Major, if that's all right. If you need to go to Much Benham, Miss Marple, well, we can spare the petrol, surely, what with you taking in an officer and all."
Miss Marple smiled at him, eyes twinkling. "Such a kind offer, Arthur, but I really think I should supervise dear Margaret and Agnes today. They mean well but they are still very new to service. I did the shopping yesterday, after all, and the bus to Much Benham does still run three times a week." She fluttered to a stop.
McCormick only smiled, remarkably patient with her meanderings, Arthur thought. "As you say, then, Miss Marple. I'll try to bring the inspector and his sergeant in for tea when they drop me off."
# # #
"Well?" Slack snapped.
Matthew ignored him for the moment, busy doing a methodical survey of the scene. The body had been found far enough around the curve of the road that Matthew couldn't see the train station at Much Benham, no houses in line of sight, a well-kept field that extended past the hills.... He paused, eyes narrowing, wondering what the rolling line of those hills reminded him of.
When the niggling refused to surface as anything useful, Matthew sighed and turned back to Inspector Slack. "My apologies, Inspector. I was trying to figure out what an airman from one of the worse neighborhoods in Chicago -- as thorough a city boy as someone from the center of London, in other words -- might be doing here in the country where the blackout conditions and every night sound should have spooked him, army training or no. He'd been assigned to an engineering unit; he was never alone in woods that his dossier shows."
Slack bit off whatever he'd been going to say and sounded faintly surprised when he asked, "Do you mean they sent me someone with police experience?"
Matthew managed not to laugh; he did smile. "Before the war, I was a detective for the Richmond police. I take it my superiors didn't mention any such thing to you?"
Now Slack relaxed a little. "No. They didn't. Said they were sending me an Army Intelligence man and hung up before I could ask for a sane, sensible MP if I had to have a Yank working with me."
Matthew just shook his head. "I rather think I know what happened, then," he said wryly. "I don't suppose you called the gentleman that term?"
"Not until the third time he wouldn't let me finish a sentence," Slack said briskly.
Behind him, out of his line of sight, his sergeant started laughing soundlessly. Matthew could well imagine that was the pot calling the kettle black. What he said, however, was, "Yes, well, my CO is from deep Georgia, sir. That probably doesn't tell you enough, so let me try it this way: effectively, you called a Scot an Englishman."
The sergeant winced and even Slack blinked. "Really. Thought you were all one big happy country?"
"No, sir. Few countries are, but we had a civil war of our own seventy-five years back. Some stories are still handed down in families. His part of Georgia had to completely rebuild after the Yankee army came through." Matthew shrugged. "Some Americans don't mind the term. Some do."
"Good. Now I won't insult by accident." On purpose might be another matter from the sound of it. Slack nodded and went back to business. "We were hoping you might have some idea what your man was doing out here, Major. There's no reason we know of. Much Benham's not a big town. We get some trouble, but nothing like London."
Matthew looked at him more carefully, then tilted his head up to look at the sky and petition for help -- with his patience if nothing else. He brought his head back down and rolled it side to side, wincing at the pops. A long walk tomorrow dawn, definitely. A slow exhalation helped regain his temper as did the water-tinged breeze starting to gust around them. He looked up and evaluated the clouds. Yes, rain coming and damned soon.
Mathew finally said, "Inspector, might I suggest we pool our knowledge? By which I mean I don't think my people have told you nearly enough, and since I don't doubt you've noticed it, I imagine you've not felt inclined to share your hard-earned information any earlier than necessary yourself."
Slack blinked once or twice, then. "Well. Seems I didn't have to ask for a sensible MP. Right, Major. Tell me about it from your side, all of it. Lake, notes. And don't interrupt. I said they hadn't told us a quarter of it."
The sergeant pulled out his notebook then blinked and looked back when another buffet of wind rifled the pages. "Going to pour soon, sir."
Matthew checked his watch and said, "The lady who's agreed to billet me said she'd be glad to make tea whenever I, or we, got in."
"It's not top secret, God knows, although it's nothing for--" Slack froze, face and body braced against some blow, and said grimly, "St. Mary Mead."
Matthew raised an eyebrow but agreed, "That's where I'm billeted, sir. Sir Henry Clithering and Colonel Bantry recommended--"
"Miss Marple." Slack made it sound like profanity. His sergeant, on the other hand, was grinning and not trying to hide it.
The first rain splashed down, huge drops that forced Lake to pocket his notebook. Matthew shrugged, "Tea and fresh cakes, Inspector. Shall we go accept the lady's offering?"
Slack wheeled and turned for the car, growling, "She'll only hear anyway…."
Matthew ran back to the car beside Lake; even Slack had abandoned his dignity in the downpour and was running ahead of them. The sergeant just chuckled and spoke his first words around Matthew other than 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir.' "He'll be fine, Major. Miss Marple drives him crazy is all."
Matthew dove for the backseat and left it at that for the moment.
# # #
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.