The Hidden Soldier: Gripping World War 2 Historical Fiction by Eoin Dempsey

Author:Eoin Dempsey [Dempsey, Eoin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ulverton Press
Published: 2021-02-22T16:00:00+00:00

11

Tom flipped through the pages of the police report and threw it down on the desk. The urge to call his parents to tell them what was going on was more substantial than he cared to admit. It was after midnight. They’d be asleep, and he could wait until tomorrow. He had more pressing matters at hand. The PETN, along with enough plasticizer to make another sizable bomb, had just been found in a shed behind the house Meller was renting. The detonators were under a table, tucked away beside a garden spade and a hoe. Why? Was he planning on carrying out more bombings, or did he want to get caught? It was almost too easy. Apparently, he’d made the bombs himself. Neighbors had already testified to seeing the light on in the shed at all hours of the night. It seemed like a done deal—the man was guilty. He’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and still had the crumbs all over his face. Sara had caught him and saved her father’s life. Some questions were still yet to be answered, however. How was he able to make the bombs? Tom could only guess that he’d been a partisan during the war, like the men he’d killed, and had learned then. The big question was why? Meller wasn’t talking—not yet, anyway. He thought about what Meller had said about Sara’s father and the others in the hospital: “They’re Ukrainians. Trawniki men.” Hard to know what to make of those words. Thankfully, she was fine. They’d treated her in the hospital for cuts and bruises and sent her home. Somehow, he doubted she was sleeping much.

Tom shuffled the papers he was filling out and sat back in the swivel chair. It had been a while since he’d been in a precinct house, and he’d forgotten how exciting these places could be after a big bust. Cops were walking around, slapping each other on the back as if they’d done more than just show up and throw the cuffs on him, but Tom didn’t care.

Detective Lloyd English approached the desk Tom was sitting at. English was tall, well over six feet, with a shock of blond hair and mustache to match. Tom had met him a few times over the previous week or two. He looked as puzzled as Tom felt.

“You speak to him yet?” Tom asked.

English pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Tom. “I tried. He’s not talking. His lawyer’s tighter than a snare drum. What did he say to you at the hospital?”

“I asked him why he wanted to kill those men.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said they were Ukrainians.”

“I wasn’t aware being from Ukraine was a reason to blow somebody to smithereens.”

“Neither was I.”

“Is he a communist? Was he trying to strike a blow for Mother Russia?”

“I don’t think so. The Bureau doesn’t have a sheet on him as a communist sympathizer, or anything else. He doesn’t seem to fit. There was something else.” Tom leaned forward to emphasize the next part.

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