We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [60]
“In fact, she was rather common?” Judith concluded with a slight lift of her voice to make it a question. Then she remembered hearing that Erica’s younger brother was an RFC squadron leader who had been burned to death when his plane crashed over Vimy Ridge, and wished she had been gentler. Matthew and Joseph were still alive, at least for now.
“If that’s your conclusion, don’t attribute it to me,” Erica said sharply. “And don’t say I said that she deserved what she got, because I didn’t.”
“I’m not trying to make trouble!” Judith exclaimed. “I’ve got more than enough already. I’m trying to find out who killed her!”
“You’re trying to save your brother from being hanged,” Erica corrected her, turning to face her squarely, eyes hot and full of pain.
Judith felt as if she had been slapped. It was perfectly true. Before Matthew had been accused she had cared very little who had killed Sarah Price. Her mind had been on Mason returning and stirring up feelings in her she had been determined to leave buried, as well as the amazement of finding someone who would identify the Peacemaker at last, and the passion to get him home to England in time. Sarah’s death was horrible, but not personally wounding.
“At least you don’t lie about that,” Erica said with a bleak smile. “Good luck. You’ll need it. Everyone has their own ideas about who did it, and whether they really want to know for certain, or not. Some of us don’t.”
Judith finished with the blankets, then went to find out who had been on duty guarding the German prisoners the night Sarah had been killed.
It had stopped raining outside, but the air was cold and it flapped her wet skirts around her ankles, making her legs and feet almost numb. The boards creaked when she stood on them. Wind rattled in the canvas and whined through cracks where it could not be tied down.
It took Judith some time and argument before she learned the names of both men who had been on guard duty. One was Lance Corporal Benbow, the other Private Eames. Both had recently been wounded themselves, and they were still insufficiently healed to be back on front-line duty. She found Eames first. He was in a dugout brewing up a cup of tea in a Dixie can over a flame, waiting patiently for it to come anywhere near boiling. He had fair hair and long, bony wrists that poked out of his uniform shirt. He moved stiffly, the wound in his shoulder clearly still causing him pain.
“We were there all night, miss,” he said in answer to her question. “I’d an ’ole lot rather think it was one o’ them Jerries ’oo done that to ’er, ’specially seein’ as ’ow she were over that way toward the shed where they’re kept. But Benbow were with me all the time, and no one came out o’ the ’ut that I saw till about three in the morning, an’ that were just ter stick ’is ’ead out and straight back in again.”
“But you saw Sarah Price?” Judith said quickly. “Where? Who with? What was she doing?”
He shook his head, still watching and nursing the flame under his Dixie can. “She were alone, miss. Just walking along the boards wi’ something in ’er ’and. Couldn’t see what.”
“What time?” She refused to let the faint glimmer of hope slip out of her grasp. “You were on guard duty, you must have an idea.”
“About ’alf past two, near as I can remember. Or maybe three.”
“Was there anyone else near her? Think! It could matter a lot.”
It was clear that Eames was thinking. His brow furrowed, and he was deeply withdrawn into himself.
Judith waited.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I was thinking about the Germans.”
“What about before that?” she asked. “Earlier in the evening?”
“She went to the Germans’ shed,” he replied. “But she came out and she were fine. I told ’er—” He stopped.
“What?” Judith demanded. “What did you tell her?”
He chewed his lip, eyes still concentrating on the candle flame. “I told ’er to give the poor sods a chance,” he mumbled.