The Consequences of Fear, Jacqueline Winspear [most important books to read TXT] 📗

your brain is concerned, I need you here as often as your expertise is required. In themeantime, you can leave all the other investigations to your Mr. Beale.”

“That’s what I was trying to do.”

“Ah, but that’s the rub, isn’t it—you can’t let go of the more interesting ones. You don’t want to find out who’s gone offwith the family jewels, or even someone else’s wife, but you do like it when a real puzzle comes along to pique your interest,and if you think you can save a life along the way.”

Maisie sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Robbie—I’ll collect the photograph when we meet.”

“And you’ve three assessments lined up, just so you know.”

Maisie paused for a few seconds. “I’ll be there, Robbie. Until then—” She replaced the receiver before MacFarlane had a chanceto hang up first. She was fed up with listening to the continuous tone of the disconnected call at the end of every telephoneconversation with Robbie MacFarlane. This time it was her turn.

Chapter 14

“Here you are, Maisie—you can feast your eyes on the dashing Major all you like now.” MacFarlane pulled a photograph froman envelope and pushed it across the desk as Maisie entered his office on Monday afternoon. “There’s your Major Chaput, lookingall very debonair—and with a bit of luck those natural folds in his skin won’t scare the boy.”

“Thank you, Robbie. I appreciate it.”

“Friends again, are we? Anyway, sit down, Maisie. I want to talk to you.”

Maisie smoothed her narrow navy blue skirt with kick pleats just below the knee, and took the seat opposite MacFarlane. Asalways, the air was close in the small room, so she unbuttoned the matching navy jacket to reveal a cream silk blouse underneath.“What is it—have you news of Pascale?”

“No, not yet. But I have some other news. Freddie Hackett’s father received a strong police warning on Saturday evening—I only found out this morning. It seems he discovered where his family are living and went over there. Luckily there’s that locked outer door, and though he tried to lob a brick through the glass, no damage was caused, or he would have been behind some very strong bars by now. The caretaker telephoned through to the local police station and they sent a couple of young coppers around to have a word with him. He eventually went on his way, albeit with a promise to come back with a stick of dynamite.”

Maisie rubbed her forehead. “I thought it would take a bit longer for him to find them. I wonder—”

“Don’t wonder anything. He’s probably all talk, that one. All mouth and trousers, as the saying goes. And I’ve checked thelocal constabulary to make sure they’re following Caldwell’s orders and keeping an eye on the family—another voice for goodmeasure.”

“What about keeping an eye on Hackett senior?” asked Maisie.

“That wandering waste of time? He wanders about looking for work until the pubs open, so he wanders in and that’s it for anotherday until he wanders home. He’ll soon be kicked out of his lodgings because Grace and Freddie aren’t bringing him every scrapof money they make.”

“I’d better go round to see them,” said Maisie.

“Not just yet, Maisie.” MacFarlane leaned back in his chair. He wore no jacket in the office; he had loosened his tie andslipped his trouser braces off his shoulders. “There’s never any bloody air in these small rooms.” He leaned forward again,resting his elbows on the desk before him.

“But Freddie—”

“Stop talking about Freddie blimmin’ Hackett for just a minute, would you? Now then—how did Mrs. Partridge take the news?”MacFarlane had not missed a beat between subjects.

“The whole family is devastated. They’re at their house in Holland Park—Tom managed to get a twenty-four-hour leave, and Timcame down from university. Elinor—Miss Jones—was as much a part of the family as if she had been born the boys’ big sister.”

“And you told them there had been an accident.”

“All according to your instructions.”

“Good. Good.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Robbie?”

MacFarlane shook his head. “No—not at all. I’m just thinking.” There was a second’s hiatus before he spoke again. “Now then—yourorders for the week. Here you are.” He passed a sheet of typewritten paper to Maisie. “The personnel files pertaining to themen and women you’ll be interviewing will be available for you to read through as soon as you get here tomorrow, and thenyour meetings will commence one after the other. They’ve all passed through the tests up in Scotland, and of course the radiooperators have gone through training. This is the final assessment before they go over.”

Maisie took the sheet of paper.

“You’re off to see the Hacketts?”

“Yes.”

MacFarlane nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Right you are, Robbie. See you tomorrow. Ten sharp.”

 

Maisie walked at a slow pace to the underground station. It was a fine day, a day when she might consider ambling throughRegent’s Park, if only to gather her thoughts.

Sometimes she imagined her work as akin to creating a patchwork quilt. Each square of fabric represented another piece of information, of intelligence or a consideration that had come to mind based upon previous experience—what MacFarlane would call a feeling in his gut. If different colors were assigned to that which was known fact, or conjecture, or elements of the case based upon a depth of feeling inspired by her training, she would hope to see the quilt formed of pale colors on the outer edges, and as she gathered more intelligence, the colors would become darker toward the center, as the heart of the case became clear. The colors of Freddie Hackett’s quilt were coming together in a haphazard form, adhering to no clear pattern. However, she had a folded sheet with more information in her bag, and she knew who she would go to for help in determining whether the intelligence was light or bold. But first she wanted to see Grace, Freddie and Iris Hackett.

Grace Hackett appeared to have only just arrived home from work when Maisie rang the bell—she had retained a key to the outerdoor, so did not