Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [90]
Joseph saw an entire landscape of fear he had not even imagined before. No wonder Corcoran was exhausted. Undeniably, there were things he could share with no one. The pressure to succeed was almost unbearable, knowing what lay in the balance, even the difference between victory and defeat. And closer and more urgent than that was the knowledge that one of his own men must inevitably be guilty.
But there was another fear that invaded Joseph’s mind. “You can finish the work? You are sure?” he asked, hating his own doubt.
“Yes!” Corcoran looked startled, as if the question angered him. “It will take longer, that’s all.”
“Do the others in the Establishment know that? Surely they will deduce it from the fact that you are still working on the prototype?”
“Yes . . .” Then Corcoran saw what it was that had struck Joseph like a physical blow. A softness filled his face and his eyes were bright. “I shall take great care, I assure you.”
“Will you?” Joseph demanded. “How? What will you do to protect yourself? Look over your shoulder all the time? I know you better than that. Have you even the faintest idea who the murderer is?”
Corcoran raised his eyebrows. “Faintest?” He sighed. “If I rely on the honesty and the ability of Inspector Perth, then I know at least that it was not Dacy Lucas.”
“Do you? How?”
“Because Perth established where he was, and he could not have been anywhere near Blaine’s house.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
Corcoran half turned away. “No. I don’t know for myself. Actually I was at the Cutlers’ Arms just outside Madingley, talking to your brother-in-law about possible sea trials for the prototype.” His voice was heavy with irony. “That’s how sure I was then that we were on the brink of completing it. It seems now like another world.”
The shadows were so long that the trees in the distance seemed to stretch across half the field. The black scatter of starlings drifted up against the gold of the sky, turned and were swept sideways, curving around and settling again.
The unhappiness in Corcoran’s face was clear. Joseph knew him far too well to misread it. And there was fear as well, but subtle as a half-forgotten scent.
Joseph did not even know what the prototype was, or what it was designed to do. He could deduce its importance from Corcoran’s manner, from Matthew’s repeated visits to him, and above all from the fact that Corcoran himself believed one of his own men could be driven to commit murder to prevent its creation. That had to mean that the Germans had placed a man in the Establishment, secretly waiting his time, perhaps since the beginning of the war, an Englishman prepared to betray his own people.
Would Corcoran condone murder to preserve the invention? If it saved as many lives as he implied, if it even turned the tide of the war at sea, then yes, of course he might!
“Shanley . . .” He turned toward him again. “For God’s sake, be careful! If you know who it is, protect yourself! If he killed Blaine to sabotage the project, he’ll certainly kill you to protect himself! He’s ruthless, and you have no idea who he is!” The thought of Corcoran as a murder victim was unbearable. He was laughter and bright memories, reason, courage, and hunger for life. He was the bond with all that was good in the past now slipping away like the light fading on the horizon as the wind rose rustling in the elms. Joseph needed to cling to him and protect him, as if in some way he could even reach John Reavley through him.