Part 2

Jean had become accustomed to him shouting out in the night, seized by the grip of nightmares. It would always upset her that his dreams were so troubled, but it had happened so often that she had fallen into a routine of knocking on his bedroom door loud enough that he would usually wake and apologize for disturbing them all.

But this was nothing like what she had come to expect. These were screams of anguish. The agonized cries had her reaching for her dressing gown and racing downstairs. Charlie and Mattie were peering out their doors, but she waved them back.

She reached Lucien's bedroom and pounded on the door. No response except the escalating cries. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and switched on the light, hoping that might wake him, but Lucien continued to thrash wildly, face contorted in pain.

There was nothing for it but to rouse him herself. She approached the bed with trepidation, trying to dodge flailing limbs. She reached him and held his shoulder to shake him, but in the grip of his nightmare he must have thought it an attack. A powerful backhand caught her alongside the jaw, sending her stumbling backwards with a cry.

That sound finally reached him. Lucien's eyes flew open and he looked around wildly. In another moment he was beside her, a fresh agony on his face.

"Jean, did I… Bloody hell!" He turned away, ashamed, even as he helped her up and into a chair. His words came in a rush. "I'm so sorry. I never would have. I can't tell you. I'm…"

She reached up to turn his face back to her, seeing the anguish in his eyes. "Lucien, I know. You did nothing wrong. I should have ducked better."

He forced a chuckle, but the pain in his eyes did not diminish. "Let me get some ice. We can try to reduce any swelling or bruising." He helped her to stand, then kept a supporting hand under her elbow as they walked into the kitchen.

"Really, Lucien, It's just a bruise," she insisted, although she couldn't deny it was quite nice being the focus of his considerable attentions.

He chipped off some ice and wrapped it in a tea towel, then helped her press it against the mark that was rapidly forming along her jaw. His voice was grim as he said, "If there was gossip about us before, imagine what they'll be saying now."

Jean had to laugh at that, and a moment later he joined her. She was relieved to see that he was slowly regaining his composure.

They heard footsteps on the stairs, and Mattie and Charlie appeared in the doorway.

"Is everything all right?" asked Mattie, until she spotted the bruise. "Oh, my goodness, Jean, what happened?" She glanced at Lucien, who again turned away in shame.

"I'm afraid it's my fault," he managed.

Jean's voice cut him off. "It's no one's fault," she insisted firmly. "He was asleep at the time. I should have been more careful. Now, all of you, back to bed. Do you know what time it is?"

"A moment, please," said Lucien. "While you are all here. I'm sorry that I woke you, but please do not come into my bedroom again. I won't have a repeat of this." He waved a hand toward Jean.

She was indignant at the very idea. "Do you think we're going to let you suffer in agony and not do anything? No, Lucien, that won't happen."

Both Charlie and Mattie nodded their agreement with Jean.

"Pound on the door, if you must."

"I tried that first," Jean pointed out. "It didn't work."

Lucien ran his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated.

"How about this?" said Charlie. "If knocking on your door doesn't help, I'll go in."

Lucien looked at the younger man. "It's a good thought, Charlie, thank you, but what makes you think I can't hurt you as well?"

Charlie remembered how easily Lucien had dealt with the large bully who had attacked the two ladies when Jean's son was visiting, but he squared his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I'm willing to take my chances, Doc."

"That's very gallant of you, but I'm not willing," said Lucien. "I would ask you all please to respect my wishes. I'm sure the problem will take care of itself once this case is over, but until then I will not put any of you at risk."

Jean considered the options. Knowing Lucien's stubbornness and his determination not to hurt them, he would probably do something noble like take to sleeping outside or drinking himself into oblivion each night. Or refusing to sleep at all. "Very well," she said at last, nodding to the others to concede as well. "Just know that it's being done under protest."

"Duly noted," said Lucien. "Thank you. And again, I am sorry to be such a nuisance."

"Don't be silly," said Mattie. "We're just concerned about you. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"I don't think so, but thank you. Now, shall we all try to make something of the rest of this night?"

"Good night," muttered Charlie and Mattie, as they made their way back upstairs.

Lucien removed the cold compress to take a look at Jean's jaw. "Not as bad as I'd feared. Do you want something for the pain?"

"You really don't need to fuss," she assured him. "Nothing a little makeup won't take care of. If I don't sleep on that side, I'm sure I will be fine."

He nodded, his look still apologetic. "How about some Bex, at least?"

Jean knew he needed to do something to make her feel better, so she nodded. "Yes, I think that might help. Thank you."

He gave her the remedy and a glass of water, and after she'd taken it, he rested a hand at her lower back as he guided her to the foot of the stairs.

"You'll be all right now?"

"Yes, I'll be fine, Lucien. Really. I have a very competent doctor taking care of me." She smiled at him. "Try to get some sleep, please?"

He nodded. "You, too."

Jean went back to her room and crawled under the bedclothes. It took her a while but she managed to fall asleep despite her concern that Lucien would refuse to let himself sleep again this night.

The next day, Lucien saw patients, updated files and took inventory of his medication stores, all in an attempt to immerse himself in routine. It worked, to a degree, and he was feeling more emotionally stable when he walked into the police station in the late afternoon.

He greeted Matthew and the others, noting how they all seemed to be studying him. He decided to ignore it.

"Any luck in the park last night?" he asked.

"Afraid not. Several people had been there at the same time the night before, but no one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary."

"Do we know if Mr. Crenshaw was a regular there?"

"Doesn't seem like it. No one recognized him from the photo we showed around."

"I see," said Lucien. "So it's possible he was lured there for the express purpose of killing him."

"Or he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Lucien shook his head. "I find it hard to believe that someone would go to all the trouble to make it look like a Japanese ritual death if he didn't know Mr. Crenshaw had been a prior 'guest' of the Japanese army. No, Matthew, he was the killer's target. Nothing else makes sense."

"Why?" asked Matthew. "I mean why kill him after so many years?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it was something that happened at the camp, and the killer just located Crenshaw at last to take his revenge."

Matthew thought about that. "Maybe we need to find out who else from around here might have also been a prisoner in that camp, since there seems to be a connection to the place."

"Not a bad idea," said Lucien. "I'm convinced, convinced, that it has something to do with the war, given the method the killer used. Do you need my help?"

"No. Go home. I'll contact the army for their records. If I need anything further, I'll call you."

"I could…"

"You could go home," Matthew insisted. He could see the toll this case was taking on his friend.

Lucien held up his hands. "I'm going."

Lucien stopped off at the Colonists' Club first. He figured that if anyone might know about local men who had been POWs, it would be Cec Drury.

"Good afternoon, sir," the barman greeted him, frowning slightly, but making no comment on his appearance. "Your usual?"

"Thank you, Cec." He settled into his favorite armchair and waited for his drink.

Cec brought it promptly. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Yes, if you have a few minutes. Some information."

"Of course, sir. How can I help?"

"I wonder if you happen to know of anyone in the area who may have been a prisoner of the Japanese during the war." He raised an eyebrow.

"Aside from sir and the poor gentleman who died in the park?"

"Yes."

Cec thought it over. "I believe there were a couple of others, sir. Mr. Harris is a farmer, out near Bendigo."

"Not Nigel Harris?"

"Yes, sir. You know him?"

"I knew him," said Lucien. "I had absolutely no idea he was living here. And the other one?"

"Donald Hammond. He's been working a mine just north of town."

"Bloody hell!"

"You knew him as well?"

Lucien remembered the man had been all too eager to expose wrongdoing by his fellow prisoners to the guards in return for food. He had been required to stitch up Hammond's wounds on a couple of occasions when his compatriots had exacted revenge.

Quickly he downed the rest of his drink and stood up. "Thank you, Cec. A pleasure, as always."

"Yes sir. Please be careful."

"I'm always careful," said Lucien, not even believing his own glib assurances.

Deciding it was too late in the day, that by the time he managed to locate the correct mine Hammond would surely have gone home, Lucien decided to wait until morning. He went home instead, to face worried looks from Jean and Mattie. He was getting weary of everyone being so concerned about him.

"I'm fine," he assured them before they could ask.

Jean was less than convinced, but she brought him a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

When they were all seated around the table, she said, "Do you want to talk about the case? Charlie told us a little bit. Are there any suspects?"

He sighed. Might as well as well fill them in, since he knew Jean wasn't likely to let it drop.

"A man was found dead in the park behind the electric plant. Brian Crenshaw. He left his family a few months ago and apparently had become a vagrant. He was stabbed in such a method that it was made to look like it was self-inflicted. Hara-kiri."

"My word!" said Jean. "But you don't think it was self-inflicted?"

"The angle was all wrong. No, someone else killed him."

"Any idea who? Or why?"

"No idea who, but from the method used, I'm absolutely certain it has something to with Mr. Crenshaw's war service. He was a prisoner of the Japanese."

"Surely not the same camp?"

"Yes, Changi Prison," Lucien admitted.

"Did you know him there?" asked Jean.

Lucien shook his head. "I don't recall him, but there were a lot of men moved in and out of that place. We… They were often sent on to labor camps in the area."

"And you think that something happened in the camp that caused Mr. Crenshaw to be a target. Why now?" asked Mattie.

"I don't know. Opportunity, perhaps? Sheer coincidence that someone recognized him after all this time? Hard to say just yet."

"I assume you're checking to see if there's anyone else in Ballarat who may have been there," said Jean.

"Yes. Matthew has requested records from the army. I don't suppose you know of anyone?"

"Sorry. The only other men that I knew were prisoners either died in the war or have passed away since then."

"You're sure?"

"What does that mean?" asked Jean.

"Probably nothing," he admitted. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

He shook his head, but Jean wouldn't let it go. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, it's just that the war, that camp, well, it did strange things to so many men. I was just wondering if someone might have faked their own death to avoid all the…" He gestured wildly.

"All the questions? All the pitying glances?"

"Yes. And the way people sometimes look at you like… like you might be crazy. Or dangerous."

"Oh, Lucien," she said softly, resting a hand upon his as it rested beside his saucer.

"It doesn't happen much any more," Lucien assured her. "I've given the people of Ballarat plenty of other reasons to think I might be crazy."

She smiled. "Yes, you have. And those men I mentioned were all buried after an open coffin wake, so I'm quite sure they are really dead. Now, is there anything else or should I see to dinner now?"

"That would be lovely," said Lucien. "Thank you, Jean, Mattie."

He retrieved the afternoon newspaper and retired to his study.

That night Jean, Charlie and Mattie all waited for signs that the nightmares had returned, but there were no sounds from Lucien's bedroom. All three wondered if it indicated no horrible dreams or no sleep, but since he had become accustomed to nights with little or no rest the only indication in the morning of anything amiss was a slightly pale cast to his face.

Over breakfast they talked of everything except the case, trying to make it into a routine day. After thanking Jean for the meal, he announced that since he had no patients scheduled until the afternoon, he would see her later.

His first stop was the police station, to see if there was any word from the army on others who may have been at the camp.

"We have a list of three names," Matthew advised him. "Donald Hammond, Nigel Harris, Arthur Stuart. Do you recall any of them?"

"Yes, all three actually."

"We're bringing them in for questioning," said Matthew.

"I'd like to sit in."

"Are you sure?" Matthew was concerned. It was obvious that Lucien didn't need any more reminders of what had happened to him in that hellhole.

"Yes. I think it might be better for them."

"Someone who knows what they went through."

Lucien nodded.

"All right, if you're sure it won't be… too uncomfortable for you. Feel free to stop me if you think I'm going too far. None of them are suspects as yet. No reason to put them through hell."

"Agreed."

The first two, Harris and Stuart, arrived shortly. However, Charlie announced that Mr. Hammond was nowhere to be found. His mine looked to be abandoned and the cabin where he lived appeared as though no one had been there for several days.

"Makes a good case for his own guilt," Matthew observed.

"Possibly," said Lucien. "Or else…"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You'll start a search?"

"We will. Hobart, Davis, take whoever you need to help out. I want Mr. Hammond brought in."

"Yes, boss."

'Right. Now let's start with Stuart."

Arthur Stuart was a burly chap, balding now and with a noticeable paunch. Lucien had known the man only slightly, and Stuart could provide little information. He had had no contact with anyone else from the camp since shortly after repatriation. He didn't remember much about Brian Crenshaw, but he remembered Lucien clearly, since the few medical personnel in the camp were known to everyone. He recalled that Lucien had somehow managed to procure a tin of fruit for him when he was suffering from symptoms of scurvy.

"I still don't know how you did it, Captain Blake," Stuart told him, "but you probably saved my life. They sent me to a labor camp right after that, and I nearly didn't make it through to liberation."

"Just doing my duty." Lucien waved off the man's gratitude. "It's good to know that I could make a difference to someone. There were so many I couldn't help."

Stuart looked over at Matthew. "You can't begin to imagine the number of people this man saved. Without Captain Blake and a couple of others, I don't know if any of us would have survived that place. And not without cost to himself. He…"

Lucien reached out to touch the other man's hand. "We all did what we could. And it's just Doctor Blake now."

"I understand, Doctor." And he did. Each man had learned to deal with the memories in his own way. Stuart could respect that.

"Anything else you can think of that might help?" asked Matthew. "No? Well then, Mr. Stuart, thank you for coming in. If you see or hear anything related to that time, you'll let us know?"

"Yes, of course, Chief Superintendent. It was good to see you again, Doctor Blake. Good to know you survived."

"You too, Stuart."

The two shook hands, and Stuart was escorted out.

Matthew looked at his friend in a new light. Not at all surprised that Lucien would have risked himself for his fellow prisoners, nonetheless the look of gratitude in Stuart's eyes told him just how much Lucien had meant to the other people in that camp. He could hardly imagine the anguish for a doctor like Blake to lose so many patients there.

"You all right?" he asked.

Blake nodded, but the haunted look had returned to his eyes.

Nigel Harris was a different matter than Arthur Stuart. He was a small man in stature but his chest and upper arms bulged with muscles. He remembered Lucien very well and was surprised that he had not only survived the war but had returned to Ballarat. Harris had been a bit of an enforcer in the camp, trying his best to see that discipline was maintained and that rations went to those who needed them the most. He had spent countless times in punishment for stealing food for others and finding parts for the contraband radio that was their only source of news about the war. Lucien and several others had recommended him for the Victoria Cross.

He shook Lucien's hand enthusiastically. "Sir, so very good to see you again after all these years."

"It's just Doctor now. How are you, Harris?"

"Can't complain, Doc. Got a little farm not too far from here. Wife and three kids to help me out."

"Well, that's wonderful to hear."

"You're looking good, Doc. Family around here?"

"Not any more. Just good friends."

Harris nodded his understanding. "I take it this," he waved toward Matthew and the station around them, "has something to do with Crenshaw. Read in the paper that he died."

"That's right," said Matthew, taking charge. "Had you seen him recently?"

"I ran across him in a pub a few weeks back. Almost didn't recognize him."

Lucien leaned forward. "Forgive me, Harris. I don't recall much about his time in the camp. What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much. He was only there for a short time before they sent him on to one of the railroad camps. He used to try to get supplies for the civilians' camp. I think he knew a woman there. Got punished for stealing a few times before they shipped him out."

"Yes, I saw the results of that punishment," said Lucien. "He had no trouble with any of the other prisoners that you can recall?"

"Just the usual with the turncoats like Sterling and Hammond."

"Would that be Donald Hammond?" asked Matthew.

"That's the bastard. Last I heard he was working a mine near here, but I haven't seen him. Just as well. I won't forget him conspiring with the Sapper against his own mates. If I ever see him again, I'll give him what's coming to him, even after all this time."

"And did Mr. Crenshaw have something coming to him as well?" Matthew wondered.

"Yeah, but I took care of it."

"And just how did you do that?" asked Matthew.

"I stood him to six or seven rounds at the Drunken Duck."

"Right," said Lucien. "Harris, have you seen anyone else around here that you know from that time?"

"Just Artie Stuart, but you already questioned him, didn't you? I passed him on my way in."

"Yes. I'm afraid he wasn't much help."

"Too bad. Find the guy that killed Crenshaw, will you? So he can rest in peace."

"We'll do our best. Thank you, Harris. It was good to see you."

"You too, Doc. If you're ever out Bendigo way, look me up. I'd like to introduce you to my boys. Show them what a real hero looks like, instead of those blokes they see on the television."

Lucien smiled. "They know what a real hero looks like," he assured Harris. "They need only look at their father."

When he had been shown out, Matthew turned again to look at Lucien.

Uncomfortable with the other man's appraisal. Lucien returned attention back to the case at hand. "Not much help there."

"Not really," Matthew agreed. "Looks like Hammond might be our best bet for answers. By the way, who's this Sapper bloke Harris mentioned?"

"One of the camp guards. Not a fellow you'd ever want to meet up with, believe me."

I'll take your word for it. Let's just hope we can find Hammond, and soon. In the meantime, not much you can do here. Don't you have patients or something?"

Lucien grinned. "Or something. I'll see you later, Matthew."

By the end of the day there was still no sign of Donald Hammond, but Matthew assured Lucien that they would find him.

Dinner at home was a somber affair, with the two men ruminating about the details of the case, and the women thinking trivial small talk would be out of place.

After the washing up, they retired to the sitting room, where the heavy mood still lingered. Jean decided that this was probably ensuring Lucien's nightmares would make an appearance, so she decided to make him focus on something else. She switched on the radio, spinning the dial until she located his favorite classical music station.

"All right?" she asked him.

"Lovely. Thank you."

"You know, I've always regretted that I never learned much about this kind of music," she said. "Popular music is fine, but there's something so… so uplifting about this type of music. I'm afraid I wouldn't know Mozart from Beethoven though."

That caught Lucien's attention. "I'm told they have music appreciation courses at the community center from time to time. Or I could…" He waved a hand.

"Would you?" said Jean, smiling at him.

"It would be my pleasure. And perhaps a trip to the symphony wouldn't be amiss at some point."

"Oh, yes." She smiled again. "Who are your favorites?"

"Well, of course, Bach. You would probably appreciate him. Much of his work was written as church music."

"Really? And he's still a favorite of yours?" she teased.

"The work is so sublime that I can overlook its origins," he teased back. "And then there's Beethoven. A rebel."

"Of course."

"Yes, well, he was like a rock-and-roll star, the Bobby Lee of his day."

Jean was relieved to see the life come back into his eyes as he began to expound on a subject he clearly loved. And she found his enthusiasm infectious, especially when he moved to the piano to illustrate some of what he explained to her.

Mattie and Charlie excused themselves for the night, and after a while Lucien moved to sit next to Jean on the couch while they listened to Beethoven's Seventh Symphony on the radio. Gradually they had moved closer together until Lucien had his arm around her shoulders, and Jean had leaned against him. Despite the joyous tone of the symphony, both found themselves drifting off to sleep.

It was nearly 4 A.M. when Lucien awoke, his arm stiff but overall feeling more rested than he had in days. And since Jean was still asleep with her head against his chest, he assumed he had suffered no nightmares.

He looked down at her, thinking how much he would like to kiss her temple, but his very thought must have been enough to disturb her rest. She stirred, and opened her eyes. After a moment of obvious confusion, she sat up, away from him, and he immediately missed her warmth.

"Sorry," she murmured, straightening her hair. "I must have…"

"Yes, I'm afraid we both did," he reassured her. "No harm done."

She stood up. "You actually slept?"

"Very well," he assured her.

"And no nightmares."

"No, none that I recall. Certainly nothing violent."

"Well, I'm glad then. But I'd just as soon Mattie and Charlie not see us like this. Will you be all right?"

He smiled. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Jean. Good night."

"Good night," she said. "And thank you for the music lesson. You're a very good teacher."

"My pleasure."

He stood and watched her until she was out of sight. "My pleasure, indeed," he said softly when she had gone.