Christmas on the Home Front. Roland Moore

I found something.’

      Richard moved from behind his desk and stretched out a hand to gently close the door. Joyce registered it closing but didn’t seem perturbed. Why should she?

      ‘What have you found?’ He asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face.

      ‘This.’ Joyce reached into her great coat and removed a length of branch. ‘I think this is what knocked Connie off her bicycle. See, it’s got some red colouration here, like blood?’

      ‘Ah, yes, perhaps.’

      ‘I thought it might be important.’

      ‘I’m sure it might be. And maybe Connie can identify it when she wakes up?’ Channing smirked.

      Joyce bit her lip and her cheeks puffed out slightly in annoyance. ‘Are you making fun of me, Doctor Channing?’

      ‘Not at all. Sorry for making light of it. It does indeed help us piece together what happened.’ He tried to appease her with his best warm smile.

      Lying is easy as long as you do it with conviction.

      ‘There’s something else.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘At first I thought, she must have hit it hard because she broke it off the tree. But then as I walked over here, I was looking at it.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘And see the bit where it broke off from the tree? Well, that’s all dried and old and dirty. So that made me think, it wasn’t on the tree when Connie hit her head on it.’

      ‘Quite possibly,’ Channing nodded in a way that he hoped would convey that he was wrapping things up now.

      ‘Don’t you see what that means?’ Joyce’s eyes were glowing now, ‘If this is her blood, then it means that she didn’t hit her head on a branch. Someone hit her with the branch. And nearby was this old car. Like an abandoned vehicle. And I think someone has been sleeping in there.’

      Channing nodded slowly as if he was thinking about what Joyce had said. But in reality, he was thinking about what he could say to make this irritating woman, this amateur Miss Marple, go away.

      ‘I will keep this.’ Channing tapped the stick. ‘And see if I can contact PC Thorne. Is that all right?’

      ‘Well, no. He’s away. Finch told me he’s gone away,’ Joyce’s brow furrowed and she turned towards the door, seemingly bent on another course of action. ‘Maybe Lady Hoxley can do something?’

      She reached to the desk to pick up the length of wood.

      Channing put his hand over her wrist, stopping her.

      She looked at him, confused, perhaps a little scared.

      ‘I can do it.’ Channing’s smile was warm, but it didn’t extend to his eyes. ‘Now we’d better both get on with our jobs, don’t you think?’

      ‘Yes, all right.’ Joyce backed down. Channing thought her voice sounded unsure, as if this wasn’t a satisfactory solution. But he held her gaze until she moved towards the door.

      ‘Thank you for bringing all this to my attention, Mrs Fisher.’

      Fly away, Joyce. Fly away.

      When she had gone, Channing looked at the length of broken branch in his hand. It was entirely possible that the end was stained with blood. Connie’s blood. He opened the filing cabinet by his desk, pulled the bottom drawer out as far as it would go and placed the branch inside. Then he closed it as the door opened.

      This time it was Ellen with a cup of tea. And this time, Channing managed a smile that shone in his eyes as well.

      ‘Ah, just the ticket.’ Channing took the cup.

      Emory and Siegfried moved across the edge of Gorley Woods, sticking religiously to the hedgerows and avoiding the actual roads and lanes. They became aware of voices in the distance. Peering over a yew hedge, Emory could see three soldiers talking to a group of old women. The women were pointing in various directions, perhaps trying to tell the soldiers where they had seen evidence of the airmen. The soldiers themselves were old men, dressed in uniforms that didn’t quite fit and which Siegfried didn’t recognise. Emory said that they were in the Home Guard and that part of their job was to find airmen like themselves. He removed his pistol from the holster. Siegfried wasn’t sure that they could win against three armed men when they only had one pistol and a knife.

      ‘They are old.’ Emory continued to watch through the hedge. Siegfried hoped that the soldiers and the women would disperse so that violence wouldn’t be necessary. Emory seemed keen to engage the enemy, whereas Siegfried wished he was still back in Coswig and that the war could be finished and over with. One of the soldiers lit up a rolled-up cigarette and inhaled the smoke noisily as another one coughed in apparent sympathy.

      After what seemed like an age, the soldiers began to move away. Siegfried heard one of the old women laugh and shout to one of the soldiers that she’d have an apple pie ready for him. The women moved away, talking excitedly amongst themselves about their encounter. Emory watched and waited to see what direction they would go in. Eventually after a bit of discussion, and one of the soldiers moaning about his leg, they set off in the direction that Emory and Siegfried had been heading. Emory relaxed and put his gun away. He sighed in relief. Siegfried wondered if he didn’t want to fight either.

      ‘They are heading towards the farm I saw.’ Siegfried’s eyes flashed with excitement.

      ‘We’ll have to find somewhere else for now. But our priority is to find clothes.’

      He moved off along the hedgerow.

      Siegfried wished their priority was to find something to eat. He didn’t think he’d ever been this hungry. He followed his captain.

      ‘I can’t see a pig.’ Esther looked out of the kitchen window. Joyce peered out alongside her. Finch was out in the yard, closing the rear door of the van. He straightened up and winced as his back locked. They could see his mouth moving with silent curses, but there was no sign of a pig in the back of the van.

      ‘What’s he got there?’ Esther squinted.

      Finch picked up a long stick that he’d had resting against the door of the van and moved towards the house. At first Joyce thought it was a walking stick, but then she realised it was a shotgun. It had an elegant, sleek, single silver barrel. A Purdey, embossed with engravings down its length.

      By the time Joyce had seen all this, Esther was already moving quickly to the back door where she intercepted Finch.

      ‘No, no, no!’

      ‘What, what, what?’ Finch looked affronted.

      ‘I’m not having guns in the house. You keep them out there with the tools.’

      ‘Ah,’ Finch whined with annoyance and disappointment. ‘I don’t even know if it works.’

      ‘Well, you’ll not find out, testing it in here. You’ll blow a hole in the Welsh dresser.’

      ‘You worry too much.’

      ‘And you don’t worry enough.’

      ‘Didn’t you get the pig?’ Joyce asked as Finch was beating a retreat to the yard.

      ‘No, it was a bit of a runt.’ He mimed the small size of the pig with his hands, unintentionally waving the shotgun around in the process.

      ‘Stop that! Get out with it!’ Esther chivvied him to the door.

      ‘D’oh, anyone would think it was your house!’ Finch went outside. Esther rolled her eyes at Joyce. Then Joyce watched as she went to the doorway and called for Dolores, Iris and Martin to come to the table.

      Soon the five of them were sitting down to eat the rabbit stew that Esther had prepared. There was plenty of ribbing about Finch