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“The mob. Who else? He was stealing from them too, the idiot. Apparently skimming armaments off cargos. He’d promise shipments of guns to the Irish mafia, then sell them for a higher price to the Italians instead.”
“I’ve looked up Thomas Morrow and there’s no police report on him. No mention of any investigation or suspicious death.”
“Not surprising. Again, the war had just broken out, and no one wanted a scandal that could undermine trust in shipping. I think the cops and the government probably thought the mob had done them a favor.”
Sitting on the bench, looking at the afternoon light warming the fieldstone, clapboard, and rose brick homes and shops, Armand again felt that strange disconnect. Between what he was seeing and what he was hearing. Between what he was feeling, in this deeply peaceful place, and what he was thinking.
Could this have been the murder Flossy Fuller was talking about?
He did the math. She’d have been aware of the Empress sinking, and might have known Thomas Morrow. She’d certainly have heard the rumors. She might even have known the truth.
And then there was the murder …
“Merci. Oh, one more thing. Does the name Aldous Clybourne mean anything to you?”
“Well, yes. He was the mail room steward on the Empress. A survivor. He was the other one killed with Morrow. Chief Inspector?”
The Receiver of Wrecks wondered if the line had gone dead, so long was the silence.
Finally Gamache spoke. “Thank you. If you could find his official ledger, I’ll have someone pick it up.”
A mob hit? Gamache wondered as he hung up. Could be. But was it related to whatever was buried in Lost Nation? Maybe it wasn’t documents they took from the sunken ship but munitions.
While Aldous Clybourne was in charge of the mail room, he probably had access to the cargo too and knew what was being loaded.
If there were munitions and Morrow had them brought to the surface, they’d be way outdated now, and not much use to anyone.
And yet Brian and perhaps Charles Fillmore obviously thought there was something of value probably buried by the conspirators in that grave.
Armand no longer saw the pretty village. He was imagining the sequence of events. Morrow and Clybourne bring up something from the Empress and decide to bury it in a cemetery in Lost Nation until the inquiry and interest died down.
They put the date of the sinking on the tombstone so they can find it again.
But why the image of rosemary? He didn’t yet know, but he would.
Then the mob, either Irish or Italian, catches up with them, and they’re killed before they have a chance to dig it up again.
In which case the items would still have been in that grave when Fillmore went looking.
He called the Receiver back.
“One last question. Has anyone else asked you about Thomas Morrow?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Someone from that genealogical company wanted information on him for research they were doing on the Empress.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
Fillmore, thought Gamache. “And did you help him?”
“Well, I gave him photocopies of Morrow’s accounts from the salvage of the Empress. There was no reason not to.” He sounded defensive.
“No, no. Absolutely not. All part of the public record. If you remember his name, can you let me know?”
“I will, Chief Inspector.”
Gamache was about to hang up when the Receiver of Wrecks spoke.
