Oliver explained what he had done, and that Charlie had the rest of the day off.
“You must come home with us, Charlie,” said Oliver.
“I can’t. That copper.”
“Charlie,” said Molly. “Your friend Lonzo is in the clinic. It looks like he was beaten.”
“Beaten! Can... can I see him?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid he might not recognize you.”
& Lost
Molly led Charlie to the ward where Lonzo lay on his bed.
Charlie took off his pillbox hat and sat down in a wooden chair next to his friend. He hadn’t seen Lonzo in quite a while, and his old mate looked near death.
“Lonzo, it’s me, Charlie.”
Lonzo didn’t react to him at all.
Charlie looked over at Molly and Oliver, who were standing by the doorway to the ward.
He turned back to Lonzo and pulled something from his pocket. It was the journal. He had taken to carrying it with him. He would write in it when he stopped to eat his lunch.
Charlie opened it. “‘Sorry, Eddie,’” he said, holding the book up so Lonzo could see it. “You wrote that, Lonzo, to Eddie, your best mate.”
Lonzo’s right eye twitched and then his left one seemed to shiver a bit in its socket as the pupil focused on the book.
“E-Eddie?” he said in a frail voice.
“That’s right, Lonzo. Eddie, our friend.”
“He’s d-dead.”
Charlie lowered the book. “Yeah, he is.” He looked Lonzo over. “Who did this to you? Who beat you up?”
“C-coppers done it.”
“Coppers?”
Charlie looked over at Oliver, who had clearly heard this.
Lonzo said, “That... that Will-bee bloke. He and that constable wh-what-is done it. Hit me in the head. P-put me in de cl-clink, then they th-throwed me in the s-street.”
“DI Willoughby,” Oliver grimly said to Molly. “Excuse me.” He stepped away.
Charlie gripped Lonzo’s hand. “They had no call to do that. We never wanted nothin’ to happen to Eddie or that copper. And I bet it ain’t no hangin’ job, either. He was lyin’.”
“I’m s-sorry, Charlie. I t-tol’ him ’bout you.”
“It’s okay, Lonzo. You rest easy now. I’ll be right here, mate.”
Lonzo closed his eyes and his breathing actually seemed a bit steadier.
Charlie looked over at Molly. “We never meant no harm, Molly. We just run ’cause we was scared.”
“I know, Charlie, I know. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
An hour later Molly was astonished to see Major Bryant march into the ward together with another uniformed man. Also with them was Oliver, who was whispering something to Bryant; the man was nodding in agreement.
Bryant spoke quietly with Charlie and Lonzo for a bit. Then, with Charlie’s help, Lonzo signed a piece of paper that Bryant presented to him.
“That’s a good lad,” said Bryant.
He rejoined Oliver and Molly. “After you rang, Ignatius, I checked, and this chap Willoughby has had numerous complaints against him, bad egg all around. He even beat up one of our boys after a public drunkenness charge landed him in a cell. I’ve had Lonzo sign a paper making out a formal charge. He said that a constable also hit him. That bobby will turn on Willoughby quick enough when we put the screws to him. I won’t stand for this. Lonzo was trying to join the army when they grabbed him, he said, even though the lad was not of age. Lonzo also told me what happened at the shop, and he said he forced Charlie to go along. Willoughby tried to make it out to be a hanging job, which of course it wasn’t. I think I can safely guarantee that neither Charlie nor Lonzo will have difficulties over this, unless you want to press charges for Lonzo trying to break into your shop, Ignatius, seeing as how he’s now confessed to it.”
“I have no wish to press charges,” said Oliver quietly.
“Thought as much.”
He and the other soldier left. When Molly and Oliver looked over at Charlie, tears were trickling down his face.
“Charlie!” exclaimed Molly, rushing over and then stopping abruptly.
Charlie was looking at Lonzo, whose eyes were open and unseeing.
“He’s gone,” said Charlie miserably. “Lonzo’s gone.”
The Breach Once More
The fire crackled in the fireplace of Oliver’s study. They had just returned from Lonzo’s funeral service. He had been laid next to his mother. The police had taken care of the arrangements and paid the undertaker’s bill. DI Willoughby and Constable Higgins had been arrested and charged in Lonzo’s death, and were being held for trial.
Charlie was wearing his telegram boy’s uniform, while Molly wore a faded black dress that she had borrowed from one of the other nurses. Oliver had on his only suit. They had all drawn close to the fire because the weather had grown quite cold.
Charlie had refused any dinner and sat there with a cup of tea cradled in his hands. He hadn’t yet taken a sip while Oliver and Molly watched him closely.
“It was a nice service, wasn’t it?” said Molly, glancing nervously at Oliver.
“Yes, yes it was,” said Oliver. “Wasn’t it, Charlie?”
Charlie simply nodded.
Molly suddenly remembered something. “Oh, Dr. Stephens wrote me back from the Beneficial Institute!”
“Really? What did he say?” asked Oliver.
“It’s... it’s not good, I’m afraid. My mother is not doing well at all. He fears for her life, actually.”
“Oh, Molly, I am so sorry,” said Oliver.
“Yes, well, I would like to see her before... the end. But I’m not sure I can.”
“I wish I had a way for you to get there,” said Oliver. “I did check. The trains are not taking civilians to Cornwall presently. Most passenger lines have been damaged and the railway lines still in service are strictly for military purposes.”
“Yes, of course.”
And then it happened.
The air raid sirens started to blare.
Oliver shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.
Why the hell do you have to come tonight, you bastards?
They rushed pell-mell from the room to grab their coats and gas masks. Oliver had gotten a new warden’s uniform, and he quickly donned it. “Come, quickly now,” he said. “Before the red alert sounds.”
They hurried through the chill and gloom to the nearest shelter and Oliver got them safely inside. He then met up with Lee Parker at the designated place, and they began rounding up those on their list and getting them to the correct shelters.
They had only a few more people left to find when the familiar humming commenced in the pavements. They both looked up to see the dark cigar shapes in the skies above. The ack-ack fire started and the lethal rounds soared skyward as a fresh battle began.
“Looks to be quite a few of the damn things,” Parker calmly noted over the noise of the guns and the engines roaring above them.
“Yes,” said Oliver grimly. “It does.”
They dashed off in different directions to fetch the remaining people who needed corralling.
When the first bombs struck, Oliver was knocking on the door of The Secret Garden tea shop.
“Desdemona. It’s Ignatius. It’s not safe to remain in your basement anymore. Please come with me.”
There was no answer.
He rapped harder. “Desdemona! It’s Ignatius. You must come with me to the shelter.” He tried the door but it was locked. He gave a searching look both ways down the alley just as more bombs exploded in the distance.
“Desdemona!”
Damn the woman.
The government had finally announced the truth of the V-2 rockets. More than a hundred had already been launched against London, and they hit without warning and obliterated everything in their path; no building or person aboveground was safe because they flew so fast that no real warning was possible. And while the sirens and the planes above indicated that a conventional air raid was looming, the V-2s could still strike at any time.