The interview was brief, though her first task had been to inform them of the presence of Robert Miller upstairs, adding that he was able to descend the stairs with help, as there was another wheelchair kept in a spacious hall cupboard. Before her interview, Maisie had returned to Miller and asked further questions. She had been curious to know why his sister had not accommodated him in a bedroom on the lower floor, given that he could just about get himself in and out of a wheelchair and was able to take care of his own basic needs—it seemed so much more work for the two women to have to help him upstairs every night.
“It was Rosie,” he said. “She wanted me to sleep in a room close to hers, so that if I needed help, she could attend to me, and if necessary Mrs. Bolton could help. And she said it was important to be normal, to come up to bed each night, and come downstairs during the day. Some days, though, I just don’t feel like it, stuck out here in the country with nothing to do, nothing to show for myself, and completely unable to hold myself to account in any way at all. It’s not as if I have friends to visit anymore—most of them were killed in the war, though one took his own life a few years ago. He’d told me it wasn’t worth living, and I sometimes ask myself if he wasn’t right.”
Maisie wondered if the man’s sister had not encouraged him to remain a patient, rather than helping him to become part of society once more. Other men with similar disabilities had found work—to be sure, it wasn’t always the work they wanted to do, but they had company and could feel they had done something with their days. Had Hartley-Davies indulged her own need to be of service to her brother, to care for a man wounded by war?
Of course she had to alert the police to the presence of Emma. As they entered she asked them not to go into the kitchen, explaining that a very upset Alsatian was in situ. When at last she was given leave to depart the house, she asked what might happen to the dog.
“Let’s have a look at the thing,” said Detective Inspector Wood.
“She’s a bit older, can’t see very well—though her owner thought otherwise—and her hearing appears to be fair for her age. I’ll warn you, she’s a big girl, and still has all her teeth.”
“That’s all I need, a big dog with big teeth.”
Maisie instructed the man to hold out his hand, and as they entered the kitchen she spoke with a firm but soft voice, taking care to touch the dog first to let her know she was there.
“Blimey, that one’s got a few years on her. Well, what with her owner being murdered, I might as well take her to be put down. She wouldn’t be the first dog to go to her maker since Sunday—after all, there’s air-raid precautions for animals, you know, and the government has said that it’s best to let your dog be put to sleep. We’ve had a lot of inquiries about it at the station, and the local dispensary for sick animals have had people lined up all day, bringing their dogs in to be destroyed.” He paused, looking down at Emma, who now lay at Maisie’s feet. “And what with that being a German breed, it should be put down, or someone might take a potshot at the thing. I remember in 1914, just before I enlisted—I was just a young copper then—this woman came into the station in a terrible state, blood all over her, carrying her dachshund. A mob had thrown stones at it in the street and pulled it away from her. Little scrap was all but dead, and we called the vet to take it the rest of the way. But that’s how it goes, when people have a temper on them and see a way of taking it out on something—or someone.” He gave a deep sigh. “I was shocked then, still being wet behind the ears, but after a while nothing takes your feet from under you anymore.”
“Detective Inspector,” said Maisie. “I can tell you that she’s not going to any veterinary to be put down, so I’d better take her with me.”
Now, at last home, gathering her bag and opening the door of the motor car, Maisie wondered if she had done the right thing regarding Emma. The dog stepped from the Alvis, raised her head, and sniffed the air.
“Emma, you are not the first dog I’ve brought home, so there might be a bit of trouble. Whatever you do, just try to get on with Jook—she is the number one around here.”