St. Albans Rest Home sat on a hill east of the village bearing the same name. It was hidden from view, nothing but a small white sign, the paint blistered and peeling, to point the way down a narrow country lane. We were stopped at a gatehouse manned by two fellows from the Home Guard. One of them looked about sixteen, and I wondered why he wasn’t in school. The other had wisps of gray hair sticking out from under his helmet and a bulbous red nose that meant his other duty station was in the local pub. Still, they were armed and all business, checking our identification papers and asking whom we were visiting. The boy went inside the gatehouse while the old fellow watched us for signs of trouble. Through the open door I could see the kid showing our papers to a guy in a gray suit, who glanced at us. He was no local Home Guard; even in the dim interior of the gatehouse, I could make out the steely glint in his eyes as he assessed us. He nodded to the kid, and picked up the telephone.
We drove on a wood-lined gravel driveway, passing two Home Guard soldiers patrolling the grounds. One of them gave us a cheery wave. As we neared the house, a civilian cradling a shotgun in one arm, and holding two dogs on a short leash by the other hand, crossed in front of us.
“Are they trying to keep people in or out of this place?” Big Mike said.
“Both. Probably a lot of secrets locked up in the heads of patients here. Wouldn’t do to have any of them wander off and start yakking with the locals.” Around a corner the woods thinned out and a great, green lawn opened up, with a four-story, ivy-encrusted granite building set on the far side. Patients wrapped in blankets sat in chairs on the lawn, facing the sun. Nurses pushed some in wheelchairs, or held onto the elbows of others as they took slow, hesitant steps. Some were dull eyed, their vacant stares focused on some distant vision. Others moved in abrupt spurts of energy, their eyes searching us for signs of recognition, salvation, or threat.
“Who are these people?” Big Mike said as he parked the car, the scrunch of gravel beneath the tires harsh and sudden.
“People who fight in darkness,” I said. Commandos, secret agents, assassins, and the innocent who had seen the unthinkable. Would Diana know any of them? Perhaps an SOE agent she’d trained with, who had escaped the Continent in body but not in spirit. I caught the eye of a young woman as she walked past the jeep, her nurse’s arm wrapped around her waist. She stared straight through me. “Let’s go,” I said. I had a vision of Diana shuffling along, dead eyes wide open, as a shiver passed through me
We checked in with a nurse at a desk strategically placed opposite the main entrance. An orderly, dressed in white, unlocked the door behind her and pointed up the main staircase. “Third floor, first door on your left.” This being England, that meant a climb up four floors, since the Brits start with the ground floor, and then begin counting.
At the top of the stairs we stopped and huffed and puffed for a second, catching our breath. Muffled voices came from the room to the left. I put my finger to my lips and we moved closer. I saw Big Mike put his hand in his pocket, where he kept his revolver, and I found my hand resting on the butt of my pistol in its shoulder holster, as we each took one side of the door. Leave it to a couple of cops to assume gunfire to come through a door in a quiet hospital in England.
“No.” That was Kaz’s voice, for certain.
“ On potrzebuje tego,” the other voice said.
“ Prosze, pozwalal mnie,” someone else said, in a small, weak voice.
“He’s asking for something,” Big Mike whispered as he put his hand on the doorknob. I took my hand off my revolver and nodded. He opened the door and I went in, stepping to the side to make room for Big Mike. We were both breathing heavily, from the rapid stair climbing and the expectation of something wrong, something that needed cunning and cold steel. What we found was unexpectedly calm.
Tadeusz sat in an armchair, dressed in the same white pajamas and bathrobe as all the other patients. His face looked hollow and paler than the last time I’d seen him, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with tears. Seated next to him was Valerian Radecki, in the midst of a discussion with Kaz, who leaned against the empty bed. The room was well furnished, with drapes pulled back from tall windows on one wall, and framed paintings adorning another. The rug was thick, and only the faintest trace of disinfectant lingered in the air. Otherwise, it could have been a guest room at a country estate. A very well guarded estate.
“What are you doing here?” Kaz said, his eyebrows arching in surprise.
“Looking for both of you,” I said, giving Radecki the once-over, checking for a bulge in his jacket. He didn’t reach for a weapon, didn’t protest his innocence. “A few steps ahead of MI5 and Scotland Yard.”
“Please wait outside,” Radecki said, oblivious to the implications of what I’d said. “We are discussing a matter internal to the Polish government.”
“That’s the point,” Kaz said, ignoring us and jumping back into the argument. “Tadeusz has information that is vital to the Polish government, and to the Polish nation. To our future.”
“But can’t you see that means nothing if he completely falls apart? He needs this simply to keep from going mad,” Radecki said.
“What you say is madness,” Kaz spat back. “Who will believe a drug addict? His word will be useless if the Russians find out. Or the press, for that matter.”
“I am not an addict,” Tadeusz said, but neither Kaz nor Radecki responded. Big Mike gave me a questioning glance, and I returned it with a quick, silent mouthed no. Neither was responding in the way I thought they would, and Radecki certainly wasn’t acting like a guilty killer.
“I am glad you came to visit, both of you, but it would be best if you left us for the moment,” Kaz said. “This is a decision we must make alone.”
“Whether or not to keep Tad drugged up?”
“Please, Lieutenant Boyle,” Radecki said. “It is none of your concern.”
“Really? Is this what you’ve been giving Tad, the same stuff you use?” I picked up a bottle of pills from a side table next to Radecki, where it sat next to a tin of biscuits. The bottle was the same as the one I’d found in his desk. How easy would it be to add poison, or simply overdose Tad?
“It’s the only thing that helps. Please,” Tadeusz said as he reached out a trembling hand. Radecki took the hand in his and patted it.
“Not yet, my friend. Lieutenant Kazimierz must first agree. It is only right.”
“I thought you two didn’t get along,” I said, trying to take in what was playing out here. Radecki wasn’t acting like a guy who’d knifed Eddie this morning and then come here with MI5-inspired murder on his mind. And Kaz damn well had no clue Scotland Yard was looking for him either.
“We didn’t,” Radecki said, giving Tadeusz’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. “But not because I disliked this brave young man. Rather, because I thought it best for him, and the government, if he would make a public declaration of what he saw at Katyn. But I was wrong. I saw how these terrible memories affected him, and I came to understand he had been wounded as terribly as a soldier struck by machine-gun fire. He needed rest, in a safe place, before he could face any scrutiny. So I withdrew, and Lieutenant Kazimierz took over.”
“I’m afraid I had little success,” Kaz said.
“You both helped me,” Tadeusz said, “as much as you could. I’m sorry I haven’t… I cannot…” Tears flowed from his eyes, but his face was calm, with no sign of anguish.
“You started giving him your laudanum,” I said.
“Yes,” said Radecki. “Our plan had been to coax Tadeusz along until he could speak for himself in front of strangers. Major Horak insisted it be done without drugs, so there would be no question of his stability, or willingness to speak the truth.”
“But you thought otherwise.”
“Yes, and I acted alone. Lieutenant Kazimierz didn’t find out until he arrived here, an hour before I did.”
“I’m sorry,” Tadeusz said. “They won’t give me anything here to let me sleep, orders from Major Horak. I can’t close my eyes, because the dreams come again and again. And I can’t leave them open, either. I stare at the wall, and I see all those men, their faces, staring back at me. Why didn’t they kill me with them? I wish I were with them; anything would be better than this.”
“Did you have an overdose,” I said, “after I met you? Kaz told me you didn’t speak at all after that.”
“No, it was nothing like that. Valerian gave me a dose every night, to help me sleep. He did that night, and it worked as usual. I could drift to sleep, and hardly remember anything, or care. But the next day, Major Horak said he wanted me to speak to your General Eisenhower, if it could be arranged. It frightened me, it still does. I found I couldn’t answer him, couldn’t speak to anybody, couldn’t communicate in any way.”
“I believe his mind found a way out,” Radecki said.
“Perhaps,” Tadeusz said. “This morning, though, I could speak.”
“I’m sorry,” Kaz said to him. “But we must talk about that again. General Eisenhower will be in London soon, and we need to influence him. There are many Poles in America, and if he reports what you tell him, they will have to demand the truth!”
“I can’t do all that. I can’t.”
“It will be just as you spoke with Billy. Not a lot of people.”
“I don’t think I’m able. Will you let Captain Radecki give me the laudanum?”
“Wait,” I said. “There is a part of this that is my business.”
“What part?” Radecki said.
“The part about Eddie Miller being murdered early this morning. With your bayonet through his heart.”
“Eddie?” Tadeusz said. “Who would kill Eddie? He was so kind to me.”
“He was an informer for the Russians.”
“Oh no,” Tadeusz said, thrusting his head back, as if to get away from the thought. “Oh no.”
“We just found out,” Kaz said, trying to calm him. “We were using him to send bad information to the Soviets. There was never any danger.”
“Not from the Soviets. But what about MI5?” I said.
“You can’t be serious,” Radecki said.
“I’m not saying they killed Eddie. But Scotland Yard thinks Kaz did. That’s one reason we’re here, to warn you.”
“What’s the other?” Kaz asked.
“To find out if Captain Radecki did, and if he intends to harm Tad.” As I spoke, Big Mike edged toward the door, blocking any route out.
“How dare you!” Radecki said, rising from his chair and advancing on me. “You accuse me? Are you an idiot? We were using Miller, he was valuable to us.”
“Maybe he outlived his usefulness. To you.”
“What do you mean, Billy?” Kaz said as Tadeusz looked at me and back to Radecki, as if trying to figure out whom he could trust.
“You were the ones who told me about the British government preventing the truth about Katyn coming out. Think about it. What agency would carry out that mission? MI5. How would they do it? Get someone on the inside. Bribe them, or hire them, to get the job done. For Allied unity. Get rid of the evidence. Get rid of Tadeusz.”
“Absurd,” Radecki said.
“No, it isn’t. You thought you had time to kill him, with an accidental overdose, probably. But you hadn’t counted on his being transferred out here, so you had to act fast. You killed your accomplice to keep him quiet, and tried to pin it on Kaz, to get him out of the way. He’s the only other person Tad trusts, and who might have noticed anything. Two birds with one stone, pretty smart.”
“My accomplice? That pathetic waiter?”
“Sure. He knew all about the drugs. He made the pickup for you at your doctor’s office on Horseferry Road. That way no one would notice how often you went there.”
“You fool!” Radecki said, his fist raised in anger. “Miller never went to get the laudanum. Sheila Carlson did. I couldn’t take the time, and the walk only made my leg ache like the devil, so I paid her to go. I called the damn doctor to let him know, he’ll confirm it.”
“Sheila?” I felt a horrible sensation in my stomach, the dropping away of everything I had thought was true. What did it mean? “Sheila?”
“She was very nice to me,” Tadeusz said. “She always stopped by to chat. A very pretty girl. Did she do something wrong?”
“She lied,” I said. “About something she had no reason to lie about, unless she was covering something up.”
“Or laying the blame on a dead man,” Big Mike said from his post at the door.
“Why did you and Kaz have lunch together yesterday?” I said to Radecki, trying to keep the threads of my theory from unraveling. “And how did you get him to handle your bayonet? His fingerprints are probably all over it.”
“I invited him in order to find out if and when he would visit Tadeusz, so I could get here first. But my train was delayed at Radlett, and as you can see, I was late. As for the bayonet, it was Lieutenant Kazimierz who asked about it.”
“It’s true, Billy,” Kaz said. “I sensed he was interested in when I would visit, but I didn’t know why. To change the subject, I asked him about the bayonet he kept on his shelf. I picked it up out of mere curiosity.”
“No one was blackmailing you?” I asked Radecki.
“Of course not. Over what?”
“Drugging Tad, I had thought. Did Sheila know you’d been giving him your laudanum?”
“Not that I know of, no. Although I do remember her knocking on Tadeusz’s door one day, just as I was bringing him some. It’s possible she overheard.”
“Did she ask about Tadeusz recently?”
“Why, yes, she did,” Radecki said. “Yesterday. I told her I planned to visit him today, if I could get away.”
“Please,” Tadeusz said. “Why can’t I have the laudanum now?” No one answered his pleas.
“Sheila,” I said, thinking out loud, and not taking in the desperate measure in Tad’s voice. “If she lied about getting the drugs, the only reason could be to divert suspicion from her, onto Eddie.”
“And Eddie’s dead,” Big Mike said to Radecki, “by your bayonet. She made it look like there’s a connection between you two and the drugs.”
“Oh no,” Tad moaned, but we were too busy trying to add things up to comfort him.
“Maybe we were right about Eddie outliving his usefulness,” I said. “But wrong about whom he’d been useful to.”
“No, I don’t believe it,” Tadeusz said, shaking his head vigorously. “She was so nice. So was Eddie. He was funny, I liked it when he visited.”
“What did you talk about with them?”
“Nothing special. That is what was so pleasant. They’d ask me about Poland, where I went to school, but I didn’t want to talk about the past. They wanted to know where I wished to live after the war, what my plans were. Sheila told me they’d take me to the shore at Shoeburyness, where Eddie’s family lived, for a visit as soon as I was well.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “She wanted to know when that might be. When you’d be strong enough to travel, to go out and meet people.”
“Yes, she did. She told me she’d write to Eddie’s mother, to let her know when I’d be well enough. When Major Horak would be done with me.” Understanding flashed across his face, the last words coming out slowly, as the terrible truth revealed itself. “She wanted to know how long before she had to kill me. I wish she had.” Tad’s voice trailed off, what was left of his spirit broken by this last betrayal.
“Dear God,” Radecki said. “I nearly helped her do it.”
“What?” I watched Radecki reach for the round tin of Ashbourne biscuits. He opened it, and instead of biscuits, it contained an apple cake, the top liberally sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. It was about the right size for the large cake pan that was in the sink at Sheila’s place.
“She gave me this, early this morning. After I’d told her the day before about visiting, she said she’d bake a cake to cheer Tadeusz up, and could she come by and give it to me. Perhaps it’s been tampered with.”
“Early this morning?”
“Yes, about seven o’clock.”
“An hour before Eddie was knifed,” Big Mike said. “And Sheila told us she hadn’t seen anyone else at the hotel.”
“Are you suggesting Sheila killed Miller with my bayonet?” Radecki demanded. “How could a slightly built girl take a man by surprise, and drive a large knife into his heart?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Whoever did it got it right. There was very little blood; he died instantly.”
“Is the cake poisoned?” Tadeusz said. He got up, pushing himself off the chair with both arms and shuffling slowly across the floor in his slippers. I took the tin from Radecki and sniffed.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Can’t smell anything. Must be sweet, though, this is a lot of sugar, and the stuff ’s hard to come by.” I broke a piece of cake off and sniffed, but got nothing. I resisted the temptation to lick my fingers and wiped the crumbs off on my sleeve.
“Around every corner, there is death,” Tadeusz said. “Everywhere I go, death follows. Eddie is nice to me, and he is dead. Sheila is nice, and wants to kill me. Valerian, Piotr, you both try to help me, and what happens? You are framed for murder. I am a vessel for death.” He paced the length of the room, passing Big Mike, then heading back, muttering to himself.
“Why don’t you give him the laudanum?” I asked.
“No,” Kaz said. “I am very sorry, but no. Tadeusz is a Polish soldier. He must do what is right, even at a cost to himself. We cannot take a chance with any more drugs.”
I didn’t care about other Polish soldiers; I just couldn’t bear to see this kid suffer. I looked away from Kaz, knowing he was right, unwilling to meet his eyes. I stared at the floor, flushed with a sense of shame at what we were putting him through.
Crumbs. There were crumbs at my feet. Just as there had been on the ground where Eddie lay. I thought back to the kitchen at Penford Street in Camberwell. Why were there gardener’s gloves on the counter? Why would anyone use more than a month’s ration of sugar for a single cake?
“What does an oleander flower look like?” I said, bending down to feel the crumbs. They vanished into tiny pieces as I rubbed them between my fingers.
“They can be white or red,” Kaz said. “They look a bit like propeller blades, I always thought. Five petals, I believe.”
“With long, narrow, shiny green leaves?”
“Yes, why?”
“The plant at Sheila’s place,” Big Mike said.
“Yeah. I’m not much on flowers, but my dad once arrested a florist for murder. He used the sap from an oleander plant as poison. He found out that his wife was having an affair, and that the guy would come over while he was out making deliveries. He began to notice that his single malt Scotch was down about an inch or so every Wednesday, so he put two and two together and figured the guy was enjoying his liquor and his wife. So one Tuesday night, he takes the sap he’d harvested from his hothouse oleanders and adds it to the Scotch. Wednesday afternoon, he comes home expecting to find a dead body and a hysterical wife. Instead, he finds both of them dead. Gave himself up right away. Said his wife never drank a drop that he’d known of, but that she must’ve kept more than one secret from him.”
“Oleander?” Tadeusz said. He’d come to a halt at one of the windows, leaning on the casement, his face resting on the wood frame.
“A flower,” Radecki said. “Apparently very poisonous.”
“It is,” I said. “Fast acting, and very bitter. Which is why the florist added it to the whiskey, to disguise the taste. And why Sheila used so much sugar. She must’ve baked up something for Eddie, and he keeled over in the alleyway. Then all she had to do was kneel and drive the bayonet between his ribs.”
“Is it a beautiful flower?” Tadeusz said, as he opened the handle on the window and took a deep breath of the fresh air.
“Beautiful and deadly,” I said, thinking of Sheila and her earnest tears, her ingenuous and believable abandonment. My man’s dead, I’m alone, and a killer may be after me. Just the right words to get a couple of flat-footed GIs to feel sorry for her, give her a few pounds and a ride to the train station. The air flowing into the room felt good, as if it were washing away the shock of how duplicitous even an innocent-looking young girl could be.
“How long would I have until you take me to see the general?” Tadeusz said to Kaz, without looking away from the open window.
“It will be in a week.”
“I think not,” Tadeusz said, hoisting himself onto the narrow sill, holding each open window with one hand. The hinges creaked, the breeze blew his white robe back, and for a second it looked as if he’d grown wings. Then he was gone.