When Darkness Falls

Chapter 4

His watch told him that it was just a touch after a quarter to nine. Sgt Rivers' morning report, detailing the activities of the previous night's shift, sat on his desk and a tepid cup of tea, that he'd not had the stomach to finish, kept it company.

Truth be told, he'd not slept well last night and he was glad that he'd relieved Sam of the burden of picking him up that morning. Whether it was to assuage his own guilt or to give her a little extra portion of rest, he wasn't sure but he'd asked her not to call at his house but to instead meet him at the station this morning at nine.

As it happened he was well and truly awake by five and here at his desk by half past six – plenty of time to brood and stew as he mentally went back over his actions of the previous day. He wasn't proud of himself. He'd reacted badly and let his emotions rule – not, by any means, a regular occurrence, he thought, but still….there was no excusing his behaviour. He promised himself that when Sam arrived, or more to the point if she arrived (after all, who would volunteer to turn up for a second dose of the kind of medicine he'd dealt to her yesterday), he'd apologise and perhaps even…

"Sir?" came the voice at his door. "Sgt Rivers said that you wanted to see me just as soon as I arrived."

Sam stood at his door, both of her knees bandaged, the very edge of the dressings visible under her uniform and the fine stitching evident at the hem of her skirt told him that she had repaired the tear but the most worrying aspect of her appearance wasn't either of these, it was her face. Clearly she had been crying, her eyes were red and her cheeks had that blotchy appearance that only comes after a profound release of emotions.

"Ah, yes. I did" he replied, fumbling with his chair as he stood to speak. "Listen, I, uh…." he began and walked around to the front of his own desk. He pulled over a couple of chairs, one in each hand, and gestured for her to take one. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Actually, Sir..." she replied, glancing between the chair, him and her knees, "...it's easier to stand..."

"Right" he said and pushed one of the chairs back against the wall with his foot. "There's something I'd like to say…."

A confident knock sounded at his door and an obvious clearing of the throat followed. Both Foyle and Sam looked over.

"Sir," said Rivers, an apologetic look on his face, "Sorry to disturb you but there's a Mr Ian Hawton here.."

"Oh, the, uh, chap that has the hardware in St Leonards..."

"That's the one, Sir" Rivers confirmed. "Anyway he says he wants to speak to you, Sir. It's about an order that's not quite….well, not quite sitting right."

Foyle nodded, and reached for the handle of his door. His intention was to excuse himself for a few minutes, ask Rivers to make the chap a cup of tea, and continue his conversation with his driver but to his great disappointment he noticed that Sam had slipped away. Damn!

Foyle sighed and pushed in the small wooded doorstop with the toe of his shoe, keeping his office door open

"Send him in, Sgt" Foyle said and walked back over to his desk.

"Right you are, Sir" Rivers responded and a moment later Hawton was sitting in the chair in his office.

"Sorry for the disturbance, Mr Foyle" Hawton said, lowering himself slowly into the chair. "I wouldn't have bothered you but..."

"Not at all...how can I help?"

"Well," he said, placing his hands in his lap, "we're told to report anything that's...suspicious, you know, out of the ordinary, just in case it's something to do with German spies or what-not."

"And you've seen something that...might be suspicious?"

"Well, you see, a little while ago, I got an order from the local Home Guard regiment. Quite hush-hush. They were doing some training….or an exercise….I'm not quite sure but they wanted some pylons."

"Uh, pylons?" Foyle questioned, his eyes squinting. This chap was quickly losing him.

"Yes, Mr Foyle." Hawton stood, his feet shoulder width apart, and he made his arms into a hoop shape to illustrate his point. "These were about eighteen inches in diameter and about six feet tall." He re-took his seat and continued. "They were going to use them to make the framework for a bridge but just the day after I placed the order with the government supplier – and all the kerfuffle that went with that - the Colonel said they weren't the right size….so I found myself with four pylons that I had to get rid of." Hawton threw his hands in the air.

"Right. You couldn't um, cancel the order?"

"Nah. Too late"

"I see."

"The problem was," Hawton explained, sitting forward in his chair, "that they had quite a specific function...the only reason you'd need such long pylons was if you intended to build a span...or a bridge. You can't really do anything else with them….except chop them up for firewood, but that would make for a rather expensive fire, Mr Foyle."

"Mmmm. Indeed, it would."

"And apart from that," Hawton pondered, looking out of Foyle's window, "where would someone get the other materials they'd need to build a bridge? The war Office has such a tight grip on materials these days. The amount of timber you'd need to build a bridge…..well," he said, pausing for thought. He splayed his fingers, one at a time, as if he was counting out figures in his head. "You'd need a lot...that's for sure."

Before Hawton could continue his story Sam approached Foyle's office door, a tea tray in her hands. He gave her what he hoped was a soft smile before quickly clearing a space on his desk. She entered and slid the tray onto the corner, next to Rivers' report.

"Thank you, Sam" he whispered.

As if the interruption hadn't even happened, Hawton took off again where he'd left off.

"Next thing I know, I've got Trevor Flaxton in my shop asking how much I'd sell them for." Hawton smiled and nodded as Sam offered tea. With the cup resting on his knee, he leaned forward. "Now, Mr Foyle, what I'd like to know is how did Flaxton know what the Home Guard was up to -I certainly didn't tell anyone, they made me sign two different government forms….and what in the world would Flaxton want with pylons? As far as I know his land doesn't even have water on it – he's been fighting old Clarkson for access to his river for years."

Foyle pouted his lips and rocked his head back and forth.

"You don't think it's suspicious, Mr Foyle?" Hawton questioned, sliding his now empty cup back onto the tray

"Well, ..."

Sam suddenly put down her cup, the saucer making quite a clang as she placed it next to the tray. Both men turned to look at her.

"I'll be right back, Sir" she declared and hobbled out of his office, her stiff knees making the going slow. Foyle grimaced.

Within a few minutes she had returned, her hands holding some of Sgt Rivers' local maps. They were many years old and stamped on every corner with 'property of Hastings Constabulary' in faded grey-black ink.

Foyle quickly cleared his desk, making space for Sam to lay out the maps.

"Mr Hawton" Sam prompted, spreading the thin paper and using the pencil holder as a paper weight to stop the whole thing from springing back into a tight curl. "Do you know where Mr Flaxton's farm begins and ends?"

"Well, that's easy" he told her, standing to see the faint map. My Uncle's farm used to butt onto his." He ran a finger along a prominent ridge. "Here's where it starts" Hawton said and leaned closer. He continued tracing out his path until the map showed a secondary road. "The boundary follows Carter Road then doubles back around these mountains." Hawton sat back down in his chair. "That's how I know he doesn't have any water."

"Well" Foyle said, leaning over his desk and shaking the man's hand. "Thank you for coming to see me….. and for your help." The gesture brought their conversation to an end and Hawton left.

Leaning heavily on her boss's desk, her palms flat against the map, Sam studied the information below her. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. Suddenly her eyes opened wide and she reached across the desk for a pencil.

"Listen, Sam" Foyle began, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his tie. "I, uh,….I should….."

Before he could continue Sam looked up, her eyes wide, her mouth open. "I think I've figured it out, Sir!"

"What have you figured out?"

"Look at this, Sir" she said, her words coming quickly and her breathing becoming rapid. She traced a pencil along the road that joined up with Flaxton's farm (the one they had looked at a couple of days ago). Her pencil left a faint grey line until the road ended, rather unexpectedly, at a wide river. She lifted the pencil off the map and hummed to herself as she scanned the rest of the scene. "Ah, there it is!" she cooed a moment later, her pencil rejoining the paper. "Sir, the road that we found behind the rail yards, yesterday…."

"Yes..." he replied, unable to resist looking over her shoulder. Her enthusiasm, it seemed, was infectious and, if he were honest, he really did want to know what her theory was.

"Well, it follows behind this small ridge here" she explained, tapping the tip of the pencil onto the faint contour lines printed onto the map. "And that goes right up to the pub we passed on the way to the yards yesterday."

"Where you spotted the tractors…?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Mmm hmm." She then moved around the desk, her breath catching as the movement jarred her knees.

"Sam, can I just..." He put a hand out to touch her arm but she moved again and he missed his opportunity.

"Um..." she mumbled, studying the map, then her hand shot out. "There! There it is!" She pencilled in another line, linking up the roads from the rail yards, the pub and a river. "It all makes sense, now, Sir!" she declared, dropping the pencil. "There is a road that links up the rail yards, the pub and Flaxton's farm...but it's blocked by a river."

"So" Foyle cut in, smiling as he understood, "if Flaxton could build a bridge, he would have direct access from his farm to the rail yards….a road that no one else would use because they'd assume that it would be blocked."

"Exactly, Sir! I'd say that the timber I found yesterday..."

"….was to be used to build the bridge. Well done, Sam!"

She beamed.

Foyle put a hand on her arm and gave it a quick squeeze.

"I, uh….I'd like to apologise, Sam" Foyle said softly, his left hand once again reaching for his tie.

Sam's head drew back in surprise and she frowned.

"For um...for losing my temper yesterday" he explained. "I treated you very badly and..."

"No, Sir.." Sam replied, interrupting him. She raised a hand to stop him. "I should apologise."

"What?" His hand stopped about two inches from his red silk knot.

"I made some very bad decisions, yesterday" she told him, shaking her head and looking quite contrite. "I could have got myself….and you, Sir, into a lot of trouble. Not to mention," she added, looking down at her knees, "ruining a perfectly good pair of stockings and putting a ruddy great whole in my uniform."

"Right but um," Foyle stuttered, desperately trying to keep up, "you were upset this morning..when you, uh, first came into my office."

"Oh," she gasped and nodded her head rapidly. "And you thought it was because..."

"It wasn't?….you're not upset with….me?"

"No, sir!" she assured him and shook her head.

"Then," he asked, feeling the ease of suddenly being let off the hook, "..what was the problem this morning, Sam?"

"Well, Sir" she answered and drew in a deep breath. "It's a rather a personal thing, actually and I'd...well, I'd rather not say." She dipped her head and studied her shoes.

"Can I help?"

"No….no, Sir. I'll be alright. I just need to think a few things through, that's all."

"You sure?" he asked quietly.

"Absolutely" she said and gave him a radiant smile.

Together they rolled the maps and chatted more about their theories.

"What I don't understand, Sir," Sam said, smoothing out the edge of the last map with the tips of her fingers, "is how Mr Flaxton knew about the delivery to the rail yards."

Foyle pouted his lips in contemplation.

"You have a theory, Sir...I can tell." She smirked, her eyes crinkling in the corners

"We'll see" he told her.

Sam loaded up her arms with the maps and made to walk out the door.

"You, um,...you right to drive, Sam?" he asked her as she turned her back.

"I'll manage, Sir" she replied, giving him a solid nod of her head.

"Right, then. We should pay a visit to that pub, don't you think?"

"Three Oaks, Sir?"

"Yes...just let me have a word with Milner, Sam and...if you could have the car ready in, um, twenty minutes. That okay?"

"All tickety Boo, Sir."

"Oh, and uh, here...you'll need this" he said, reaching towards his coat rack. He handed her a small-waisted caramel coloured coat, the metal clasp on the belt swinging back and forth as he thrust it forward. "It was my….it was Rosalind's. It's not doing anyone any good in a cupboard. It'll keep you warm...until you get yours back."

"Thank you, Sir" she whispered and accepted with a smile.