men, any loyalties to anyone, or pity for the living, or ideas of peace and forgiveness, to make you let this man go. You've seen fighting and I haven't, but a man who would do this to a woman has to be stopped. If we say this is all right and it doesn't matter, then I don't want to live in the England we just spent four years of hell to defend."
Joseph took off his jacket and laid it over the lower half of Sarah Price's body. He was shuddering with cold without it, but he did not even hesitate. Anything was better than leaving her like that. He wondered who Jacobson had lost: brothers, perhaps even a son. Many boy soldiers were as young as fourteen or fifteen. They hungered and died just like anyone else. Perhaps that was why the trenches shocked Jacob-son so profoundly. He was thinking of someone in particular.
"What do you want me to do?" Joseph asked.
Jacobson sighed. "Dr. Cavan said you'd solved other murders out here. Didn't elaborate, he just said you had a way of finding the truth. Originally I was thinking of helping to keep control of things. Everyone's pretty upset. They've enough to deal with in ordinary war; they don't need this on top of it. But any other help would be good. We need this closed as soon as possible. Get back to some kind of sanity—as much as there's any kind of sanity out here."
"What are you going to look for?" Joseph asked. "There's a bayonet on the end of every rifle on the Western Front! And blood on all of them. And on most of us in a casualty station." He swallowed hard, as if there were something stuck in his throat. "There's nothing to say this was personal to her. It looks like hatred of all women. A madman." He thought as he said it that it was a shallow remark. Who could stay sane out here where all men's life expectancy could be counted in weeks? Life had a different meaning.
Jacobson did not reproach him for his words. Perhaps he saw the regret in Joseph's face as soon as the words were out.
"Opportunity, to begin with," he replied. "See who we can weed out with that. Eliminate any man who was accounted for all last night. Won't be so many, but perhaps more than in civilian life. For a start, I expect all the doctors were busy, and can prove it, and maybe some of the ambulance drivers, too? Orderlies? Understand you speak German pretty well?"
"Yes, well enough. Do you want me to start with the German prisoners?"
Jacobson debated with himself for a minute before replying. "Let's narrow it down a bit first. Can hardly expect them to tell us the truth anyway, can you? They'll try to blame us, and we'll try to blame them. It's natural."
"It'll be difficult," Joseph warned. "People come and go all night long in a station like this. Usually it's mostly wounded and drivers, but right now it's prisoners as well. It's not guarded, except the German prisoners, and that's only by men not wounded badly enough to go home, but not fit for the front line. Sometimes men bring in a friend or someone they found or rescued, or come to see someone too ill to be moved. Still... I'll see what I can learn."
Jacobson put his hand on Joseph's arm. "First speak to some of the nurses, Chaplain. They'll be pretty badly upset. They know you. They're used to seeing you around. Maybe they'll tell you things they won't tell me. See if you can find where people were. Find out what you can about this girl." He gestured toward Sarah Price on the table. "And take your coat, man. You'll freeze, and we need you. I'll see she's decently covered."
Joseph left the hut with his jacket back on again, cold from the dead body rather than warm from his own. The back was now stained with dark blood from where the cloth had touched her.
The wind outside was knife-edged, blowing hard and flat from the east so that it stung the skin. He walked slowly along the wooden boards, passing nurses who smiled at him nervously. One or two even stepped off into the mud to avoid being too close to him. He was a chaplain and a man
Joseph took off his jacket and laid it over the lower half of Sarah Price's body. He was shuddering with cold without it, but he did not even hesitate. Anything was better than leaving her like that. He wondered who Jacobson had lost: brothers, perhaps even a son. Many boy soldiers were as young as fourteen or fifteen. They hungered and died just like anyone else. Perhaps that was why the trenches shocked Jacob-son so profoundly. He was thinking of someone in particular.
"What do you want me to do?" Joseph asked.
Jacobson sighed. "Dr. Cavan said you'd solved other murders out here. Didn't elaborate, he just said you had a way of finding the truth. Originally I was thinking of helping to keep control of things. Everyone's pretty upset. They've enough to deal with in ordinary war; they don't need this on top of it. But any other help would be good. We need this closed as soon as possible. Get back to some kind of sanity—as much as there's any kind of sanity out here."
"What are you going to look for?" Joseph asked. "There's a bayonet on the end of every rifle on the Western Front! And blood on all of them. And on most of us in a casualty station." He swallowed hard, as if there were something stuck in his throat. "There's nothing to say this was personal to her. It looks like hatred of all women. A madman." He thought as he said it that it was a shallow remark. Who could stay sane out here where all men's life expectancy could be counted in weeks? Life had a different meaning.
Jacobson did not reproach him for his words. Perhaps he saw the regret in Joseph's face as soon as the words were out.
"Opportunity, to begin with," he replied. "See who we can weed out with that. Eliminate any man who was accounted for all last night. Won't be so many, but perhaps more than in civilian life. For a start, I expect all the doctors were busy, and can prove it, and maybe some of the ambulance drivers, too? Orderlies? Understand you speak German pretty well?"
"Yes, well enough. Do you want me to start with the German prisoners?"
Jacobson debated with himself for a minute before replying. "Let's narrow it down a bit first. Can hardly expect them to tell us the truth anyway, can you? They'll try to blame us, and we'll try to blame them. It's natural."
"It'll be difficult," Joseph warned. "People come and go all night long in a station like this. Usually it's mostly wounded and drivers, but right now it's prisoners as well. It's not guarded, except the German prisoners, and that's only by men not wounded badly enough to go home, but not fit for the front line. Sometimes men bring in a friend or someone they found or rescued, or come to see someone too ill to be moved. Still... I'll see what I can learn."
Jacobson put his hand on Joseph's arm. "First speak to some of the nurses, Chaplain. They'll be pretty badly upset. They know you. They're used to seeing you around. Maybe they'll tell you things they won't tell me. See if you can find where people were. Find out what you can about this girl." He gestured toward Sarah Price on the table. "And take your coat, man. You'll freeze, and we need you. I'll see she's decently covered."
Joseph left the hut with his jacket back on again, cold from the dead body rather than warm from his own. The back was now stained with dark blood from where the cloth had touched her.
The wind outside was knife-edged, blowing hard and flat from the east so that it stung the skin. He walked slowly along the wooden boards, passing nurses who smiled at him nervously. One or two even stepped off into the mud to avoid being too close to him. He was a chaplain and a man
Similar Books
