Lou gave him a notepad and a pencil.
“I have only five minutes to prepare.” Hugh found a blank page. “Five for the equipment, and five for you to review my notes, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Not necessary.” His editor waved his hand.
He had ten minutes, then. He puffed out a hard breath, which hurt only a little.
After he conferred with DI Clyde about what he should and should not broadcast, he scribbled an outline.
Tom Young entered the ward, spooling out cord.
Hugh shoved his feet out of bed, stood, and caught the gaze of the nursing sister. “I do apologize, but I need to stand. Ten minutes, and I shall return to bed, docile as a kitten.”
“Very well, sir.” She gave him a stern look. “Ten minutes.”
After the nursing sister turned away, Aleida lifted a playful smile. “Docile as Lennox?”
“Shh.” Hugh put a finger to his lips. “She need never know.”
The sparkle in Aleida’s eyes lit an idea in his mind. A foolish idea, most certainly. Yet it took hold.
After he put on his headphones, Hugh gestured to his dressing gown. “I’m afraid I’m not properly attired.”
“Here.” Gil slapped his fedora on Hugh’s head, but it slipped off his headphones and tumbled to the floor.
Everyone laughed, and a sense of awed contentment flooded his soul. His hard work was being recognized. But his contentment ran deeper, because such recognition was no longer what made his heart beat.
“One o’clock.” Young clasped one hand to his headphones.
Hugh would go live at five minutes past, after the news reader at Broadcasting House announced the major stories.
Fletcher and Gil circled the ward, urging quiet from patients and visitors. Excited whispers rose, then a hush fell.
Hugh showed Clyde and Aleida where to stand, and he read his notes one last time.
Young held up his hand and ticked off the final five seconds as Hugh heard the announcer read his introduction back at Broadcasting House.
Hugh raised his microphone. “This is Hugh Collingwood reporting live from a hospital somewhere in London, where I am a patient. Last night a murder mystery unfolded, even as bombs fell on our fair city. Standing here with me is Detective Inspector Richard Clyde of the West End Central Police Station. Inspector, please tell us about this rather surprising arrest.”
DI Clyde nodded as if the listeners could see him. “Last night we arrested Miss Beatrice Granville on suspicion of four murders—of Mr. Elliott Hastings, Mr. François Jouveau, Miss Nilima Sharma, and Mr. Filip Zielinski.”
“Truly shocking,” Hugh said. “I must say, for many months I’ve taken a personal interest in this case, as Mr. Hastings wasmy uncle and Mr. Jouveau was my friend and colleague, formerly of the BBC French Service. I’m afraid I rather made a pest of myself with the good detective inspector with my amateur sleuthing. Am I correct, Inspector Clyde?”
He cracked a smile. “You are correct. Until yesterday, when your sleuthing helped solve the case. Your presentation of a new clue connected Mr. Zielinski’s murder—and then Miss Sharma’s—to the previous cases.”
“In the process, Miss Granville’s name arose and it all came together.” Hugh turned toward Aleida. “As I was giving my statement to the inspector, Miss Granville was attending a charity banquet. Also attending that banquet was a young lady whose name will be familiar to my faithful listeners, our intrepid air raid warden, Aleida Martens. Mrs. Martens, how did you come to suspect Miss Granville of these sordid crimes?”
“Miss Sharma and I worked with Miss Granville at the Ministry of Health. At the banquet, I learned Miss Sharma had embarrassed Miss Granville, crossed her, in fact. Soon I realized she must have been the murderer. But Miss Granville—she—she realized I suspected her.” Her voice trembled, and her gaze flickered.
Hugh drew back the microphone. “I will not ask you to recount your ordeal. I am afraid Miss Granville used the cover of the air raid to attempt to murder Mrs. Martens as well.”
His voice caught, and he swallowed hard, staring into Aleida’s sea-blue eyes. “This fair damsel was in distress. I intended to be the gallant knight galloping to her rescue. But this knight has asthma, and between the exertion and the smoke from the fires, I collapsed from an asthmatic attack and became half-buried when a building collapsed.”
“Oh, Hugh,” Aleida mouthed, her eyes liquid, full of pride in him for confessing his affliction on the air.
Hugh sank in that liquid gaze, wanting never to surfaceagain. “Fear not, dear listeners, for our fair damsel rescued herself and proceeded to rescue this tarnished knight as well.”
Aleida’s mouth bent so softly.
