We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [126]
“Maybe. Maybe not.” The man moved toward Joseph cautiously and, with one hand, picked up his uniform shirt off the back of the chair where Joseph had left it. He shook it hard. Papers fell out of one of the pockets. He dropped the jacket and picked up the trousers, shaking them also.
“I’m not armed,” Joseph said patiently, controlling himself with difficulty. “If you look at the collar, and the insignia, you’ll see that I’m a chaplain. I don’t carry weapons.”
“How do I know the uniform’s yours?” the man demanded. “Anyone could wear it.”
There was no reasonable argument to that. It was true. Going through the lines last year Joseph had worn a Swiss chaplain’s uniform to which he had had no right. “They could,” he conceded. “But why bother? What is it you think I am? An army deserter, with a war correspondent, two army officers, a nurse, and an ambulance driver?” He tried to convey the absurdity of it in his voice.
“No, I think you’re a collaborator trying to get a German occupying commander out of Belgium before we can catch him and hang him, like he deserves,” the man replied quite calmly. “We’ll give you over to the families of those he murdered.”
Joseph looked at his face and saw the years of suffering burned into his heart, the deaths he was helpless to prevent, and, more bitter than that, the corruption of fear and loneliness and greed that had destroyed what had once been clean. He had found weakness and disappointment that peace would never have revealed. He did not want to forgive.
Joseph felt real fear, hot and sick inside him. Lizzie would be hurt, and Judith. They did not spare women. He and Matthew would be killed. They would never catch the Peacemaker now. Bitter, terrible irony—the Reavleys would never exact their own vengeance.
Would John Reavley have wanted vengeance? Probably not. When Joseph thought about it, after four years of mutilation and death, he felt that his father would definitely not have. It ended nothing. The Peacemaker must be stopped because of the damage he could still do; no more than that.
“There may be such people, I don’t know,” he said quietly. How much of the truth should he tell? One lie, if caught, could kill them all. But they must all tell the same story, true or false.
“Let me get dressed, and we can all answer your questions. I presume you do not wish to imprison British army officers on military duty. Or perhaps you do? Maybe it’s you who are helping the occupiers to escape, and you think we will discover that, and—”
The policeman lifted the gun and swung his arm around. Joseph only just managed to fend off the blow, but he did it hard, with his weight behind it, and the gun clattered to the floor. He thought for an instant of diving to get it first, and realized he would be just too late. He forced himself to stand still.
The policeman watched him, eyes hard and angry, then bent and retrieved the gun, pointing its muzzle at Joseph’s stomach. “Wise,” he said between his teeth. “Very wise. I’d have shot you.”
“I can see that,” Joseph answered. “You would have had a lot of explaining to do to the British army as to why you’d shot an unarmed priest in his bed, but it would have been a bit late to help me.”
“You say you’re a priest. I say you’re a collaborator.”
“By then it would be obvious that you didn’t care. You just wanted to shoot someone, and you didn’t have the guts to pick anyone who could fight back,” Joseph said with contempt. He was frightened, especially for Lizzie and Judith, but he was beginning to be angry as well. “For heaven’s sake, think about it! We’re in British army uniforms. The ambulance is pretty obviously a real one; you can see the state of it. There’s years of blood on its boards, it’s splintered with shot, and any fool can see it’s at least four years old.”
“Oh, it’s real enough,”