“Quite all right, Gosling. The dear little chap triggers the same reaction in me. When he squeaked the line, To die will be an awfully big adventure, he very nearly found his assertion tested out on the spot! I restrained myself from leaping onto the stage and obliging him.”
The smile faded from the young man’s face as he looked again with concern at the photographs. “I have a bad feeling about all this. A feeling best expressed in gloomy German, I think. Totenkindergeschichte.”
“Tales of dead children. I hope you’re wrong. Let’s find out, shall we? If anyone’s been setting himself up as some sort of a psychopompos, a guide of souls to the Land of the Dead-a Hermes, or even a playful Peter Pan-we’ll have him.”
“That would please me a lot, sir.” Then, hesitantly: “I say, shall I tell you how I got here?”
“I’d be delighted!”
“It was Alicia Greatorix who made the fuss originally and now, after twelve years, she’s making it again. Alicia Peterkin, as she was in her first marriage. She tied the knot with a naval officer at a bad time-early in 1914. She lost her husband at sea that very year. He never set eyes on his son who was born towards the end of it. Little John Peterkin.”
Gosling touched the photograph briefly. “His mother was a rich woman, and she brought the child up in a London household by herself. I say by herself, but she had countless maids, nannies and later, tutors, of course. But she was always there, in his presence, devoted to him and ensuring he had the best of everything. A good mother.”
“Sounds like an idyllic existence,” Joe commented. And, noting the softening of expression on the hard features of his companion, he added, “She would seem to be an impressive lady.”
“The existence ended in 1921 when he was old enough to be sent off to school. This school. Mrs. Peterkin had by that time remarried. It’s said that her new husband, Greatorix.…”
“Hang on a minute. Is this the playboy character I’m thinking of?”
“That very one. A charmer. But a wrong ’un. Everybody could see it but the woman herself. He married her for the money she was expecting to inherit from her very generous father, who was well known to be breaking up fast on the rocks-heart problems. He had made no secret of the fact that his wealth was to go half to his son, Jonas, and half to his daughter, Alicia. He opposed her second marriage, but she went ahead anyway. She presented Greatorix with two sons and her time was so occupied until the moment came when her father truly was at death’s door. The old man, just before he breathed his last, changed his will and left the daughter’s half of the goodies directly to his grandson, little John Peterkin. To be held in trust for him by his Uncle Jonas until his twenty-first birthday in the usual way.”
“Ouch! Greatorix wasn’t best pleased to be passed over?”
“No. Turned somersaults to get the will changed and all that. Nothing would work for him. But what with his ravings and the unkind things he had to say about the old man and his stepson who would be rich if these plans came to fruition, while his own two boys had nothing, you can imagine-the penny began to drop with Alicia. He was so angry with his poor little stepson, he sent him off to school out of his sight the moment he was of age.”
“A school from which the child promptly went missing.”
“Yes. I’ve been granted sight of the contemporary correspondence relating to the disappearance. The school revealed that the older boys had been bullying John. He was a clever lad, well taught. He turned up here knowing his Latin and Greek already but not prepared to put much effort into sports. You know how well that goes down with some boys! He just disappeared one night, having told the others he’d had enough and had arranged with his mama to be taken away. I’ve seen the boys’ statements gathered by the Sussex men. They’re clear and convincing. He went missing in the middle of an autumn night just before half term. Never seen again.”
“And had his mother intervened?”
“No. She knew the child was unhappy but presumed he’d soon settle in. The school had an excellent reputation, and the headmaster of the day was much respected. Family man. Ex-clergyman. Her last letter to John-she wrote frequently-was full of love and encouragement and a promise to come down and see him at half-term.
“She pointed out that he wouldn’t have run off two days before he was expecting to see her. Reasonably enough. All the searches were made. Not a trace of the boy was ever found. Here or in London.
“Things cooled between the married pair. To such an extent that she began at last to listen to the stories her friends were all too ready to tell her concerning her husband’s peccadilloes. The upshot was that she arranged for the fiend to be caught in a hotel room by a squad of private detectives and a photographer and, using the evidence of infidelity, she divorced him. That’s when the trouble really started! She was then free legally to accuse the ex-husband openly of organising the lad’s disappearance. Even said he’d killed him and buried the body. She bombarded the school and the authorities with letters and demands to reopen the case.”
“Successfully?”
“People went through the motions, but nothing new was ever turned up.”
“But she didn’t give in?”
“No. Twelve years on, and she’s still at it. A determined and loyal woman, sir. I have the greatest regard for her. Last year, a cousin of her first husband, Peterkin, was appointed to a senior rank in MI5. She approached him. Not our thing at all-lost children-but this was his cousin’s boy. Masterson felt obliged. Well, more than that. He’s actually jolly concerned on Alicia’s behalf and wants to do what he can. But I’m the best he could spare, sir. I don’t, um.…” Gosling’s head drooped. “I don’t think his expectations are high.”
“Then he’s wrong.” Joe spoke quietly but firmly. “This boy would be nineteen by now. A whisker younger than you are. He should be up at Oxford, fresh and keen and translating Homer for the umpteenth time. We’ll find him, Gosling. We’ll find out what happened to John Peterkin, and I’ll listen in when you pick up the phone and tell your boss you’ve saved his bacon.
“Now let me tell you how I came by this selection of nine boys.”
“May I see it, sir? The black book?”
Joe noted the young officer’s eagerness and decided to follow his instinct. He passed the moleskine book across the desk and went to squeeze a last cup of coffee out of the vacuum jug, leaving Gosling to leaf through and come to his own conclusions.
“It’s going to take time, isn’t it?” Joe said finally. He wasn’t sure Gosling had heard him, so deep had he sunk into the contents. “Rapson was making notes-reminders-for himself.”
“Yes. What you’ve got here seems to be a list of dates and initials. The dates are written in Latin. Showing off his prowess with the calends, nones and ides?”
“Or assuming everyone else hasn’t a clue and won’t understand?
“Tell you something, though. Wonder if you’d noticed, sir-the photographs and the dates don’t fit. I mean, they may correspond to some of the Latin squiggles, but there’s far more dates than there are faces. Nine faces, more than twenty dates. Are we looking at the tip of an iceberg?”
“Frightening thought, Gosling! I can’t comment. I haven’t had a moment to study the coded bits yet.”
“If each of these dates represents, let’s say, an outgoing boy … a boy leaving before the appointed time-”
“That’s a lot of outgoings over the years,” Joe murmured, looking over his shoulder. “But then, you said it yourself when we met on the doorstep, Gosling: ‘Lots of comings and goings in a place like this.’ ”
“Exactly. Comings are easily tracked and documented. Goings, well, not so much. Transferred to another school? Which one? Does anyone check that they’ve arrived? Gone abroad? Any proof? Who would dream of asking for it? Where are the parents in all this? Can Alicia Peterkin-Greatorix be the only one who’s noticed her son has gone missing?”