Enigma

Wigram sat motionless, a statesman, while his men in the front seats scrambled out. One of them opened his door. Torches flashed in the darkness. Shadows appeared. A welcoming committee.
    'Got those lights up yet, inspector?' asked Wigram.
    'Yes, sir.' A deep male voice; a Midlands accent. 'A lot of complaints from the air raid people, though.'
    'Well, they can frig off for a start. Jerry wants to bomb this place, he's welcome. Got the plans?'
    'Yes, sir.'
    'Good-oh.' Wigram grabbed the roof and hoisted himself out on the running board. He waited a second or two and when Hester didn't move he ducked back inside and flexed his fingers irritably. 'Come on, come on. D'you expect me to carry you?'
    She slid across the seat.
    Two other cars—no, three other cars with their headlights on, showing the cut-out patterns of men moving, plus a small Army truck and an ambulance. It was the ambulance that shook her. Its doors were open and, as Wigram guided her past it, his hand lightly on her elbow, she caught the smell of disinfectant, saw the dun-coloured oxygen cylinders, the stretchers with their coarse brown blankets, their leather straps, their innocent white sheets. Two men sat on the rear bumper, legs outstretched, smoking. They stared at her without interest.
    'Been here before?' said Wigram.
    'Where are we?'
    'Lovers' lane. Not your scene, I fancy.'
    He was holding a flashlight and as he stood aside to usher her through a gate she saw a sign: DANGER: FLOODED CLAY PIT—VERY DEEP WATER. She could hear a guttural engine somewhere ahead, and the cry of sea-birds. She started to shake.
    'The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones.'
    'D'you say something?' asked Wigram.
    'I don't believe so.'
    Oh, Claire, Claire, Claire...
    The engine noise was louder now, and seemed to be coming from inside a brick building to her left. A faint white light shone up through the gaps in its roof to reveal a tall, square chimney, its lower part engulfed by ivy. She was vaguely aware that they were at the head of a procession. Behind them came the driver, Leveret, and then the second man from the car wearing a belted gaberdine, and then the police inspector.
    'Mind yourself here,' warned Wigram, and he tried to take her arm again but she shook him off. She picked her own way between the clumps of brick and the towering weeds, heard voices, turned a corner, and was confronted by a dazzling line of arc lights illuminating a broad path. Six policemen were working their way ' along it, in parallel, on their hands and knees among a glitter of broken glass and rubble. Behind them, one soldier tended a shuddering generator; another unreeled a drum of cable; a third was rigging more lights.
    Wigram grinned and winked at her, as if to say: See what I can command. He was pulling on a pair of light brown, calfskin gloves. 'Got something to show you.' In a corner of the building, a police sergeant stood beside a rumpled heap of sacks. Hester had to will her legs to move forwards. Please, Lord, don't let it be her,
    'Get your notebook out,' said Wigram to the sergeant. He hoisted the tails of his overcoat and squatted on his haunches. 'I am showing the witness, first, one lady's coat, ankle-length by the look of it, colour grey, trimmed with black velvet.' He drew it completely out of the sack and turned it over. 'Grey satin lining. Quite badly stained. Probably blood. Need to check it. Collar label: “Hunters, Burlington Arcade”. And the witness responded?' He held it up, without looking round.
    Remember, I said, 'That's too beautiful to put on every day,' and you said, 'Silly old Hester, that's the only reason there is to wear it'?
    'And the witness responded?.'
    'It's hers.'
    '“It's hers.”' Got that? Good. OK. Next. One lady's shoe. Left foot. Black. High heel. Heel snapped off. Hers, d'you think?'
    'How can I tell? One shoe -'
    'Largish. Say, size seven. Eight. What size did she take?' A pause, then Hester, quietly: 'Seven.'
    'We've found the other one outside, sir,' said the inspector. 'Near the water's edge.'
    'And a pair of knickers. White. Silk. Badly bloodstained.' He held them out at arm's length between finger and thumb. 'Recognise these, Miss Wallace?' He let them drop and rummaged in the bottom of the sack. 'Final item. One brick.' He shone his flashlight onto it; something glinted. 'Also bloodstained. Blonde hairs