‘Anyways, I didn’t let on that I’d come to, just kept me eyes ’alf closed. I could see them two brothers and they was deep in conversation with some squaddie.’
‘Rankin,’ the two detectives said in unison.
‘Eh? I don’t know about that but they were right pally. ‘Well, to start with anyhow.’
‘What do you mean?’ Russell asked.
‘At first they was chattin’ like old mates. ’E was askin’ ’ow long they were plannin’ to be there. The little one said somethin’ like, “as little time as possible”. They chatted away for a while, as if they was discussin’ some sort of pleasure trip or jolly. The army bloke then asked what they wanted ’im to do. The little bloke said ’e wanted ’im to go to some brickworks or other and get some stuff they’d left there. Then the squaddie started gettin’ all uppity. ’E said there was no way ’e could go back, on account of the fact that ’e’d pinched the lorry and gone AWOL an’ they’d all be out lookin’ for ’im. ’E said ’e thought the brothers had come to take ’im away.
‘Wolfgang started to get real angry then. ’Is face went kinda red like and ’is voice got louder and ’e even used some foreign words. German I think. Funny thing was, the soldier shouted back at ’im, an’ ’e was speakin’ in foreign, too. ’Is brother Ludwig ’ad been standing back but when the little one got angry, ’e moved forward, real quick like, and grabbed the soldier by the throat. That seemed to calm ’is brother down. ’Is voice got quieter and ’e told the big bloke to let ’im go. Which ’e did.
‘The squaddie coughed a bit, then said: “What about ’im?” an’ pointed forrard, into the fish ’old. I looked, an’ blimey, if there weren’t some poor sod trussed up lyin’ there - ‘e looked scared stiff. They was standin’ there quietly starin’ at this wretched bloke when you lot turned up. That’s when Ludwig jumped into the wheelhouse and banged the engine in reverse. Wolfgang shouted somethin’ and I made me move. I just got to me feet an’ fell backwards over the rail into the water, praying someone would get to me before I drownded.’
‘Lucky for you this gentleman is a strong swimmer then,’ Russell said, jerking his thumb towards Beaumont, who had draped his jacket round his shoulders but was starting to shiver. ‘Better get you somewhere warm, lad. D’you reckon the keys are still in that lorry?’
They made their way over to the Bedford and the keys were indeed still in the ignition. Russell and PC Lee climbed over the tailboard into the back, while Beaumont and Spratt got into the cab. Weeks clambered up into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and put the heater on full blast. The lorry had moved forward only a few feet when Weeks happened to glance out to sea and stamped on the brake. ‘Hey!’ a shout came from the back, ‘what the hell’s going on?!’
Weeks was throwing the door open and clambering down from the cab. ‘Sir! I think they’re coming back.’ Russell and the two constables tumbled out of the lorry and they stood, staring as the shape of Moonshine grew larger as she approached them. When the vessel was 30 yards off the shore, the engine was cut and she slewed round sideways. They could see movement on the deck and a plank being run out over the bow. After a few moments a figure was seen stumbling along it, shoved from behind by a much larger one.
‘What the…?’ Russell said. ‘I don’t believe it…they’re making him walk the plank!’
With that, the man teetered to the edge of the narrow board, which projected a couple of feet over the gunwale, and fell headlong into the water. Then, with a roar, the boat reversed a few yards, spun round, and headed out to sea again. Beaumont, still dripping from his previous dunking, was just shrugging off his jacket when Weeks yelled: ‘It’s too far to swim,’ and ran for Spratt’s boat, followed by Lee. They jumped down from the jetty into the dinghy. The constable cast off and Weeks slotted the oars into the rowlocks and pulled strongly towards the figure that could just be seen, bobbing in the water. Russell watched as they reached the man and heaved him into the boat. He could see it took quite an effort as he looked to be more than six feet tall and heavily built.
After a few minutes they had returned. Willing hands lifted the man on to the jetty. He was unconscious and barely alive. Again, Weeks worked at his bonds with the knife and once free of the tightly knotted ropes, the constable, using the Holga Nielsen method of resuscitation, started pumping the man’s chest. Nothing happened for a few moments, then he coughed, bringing up seawater, his eyes briefly opened then closed again, his breathing steady, though ragged.
‘We’d better get him to hospital…quick,’ Russell said. They carried him to the back of the lorry and laid him on the pile of sacks, the rest of them getting in as before.
With Weeks driving they bumped across the sand until they reached the parked Wolseley. Russell and Lee climbed out of the back of the lorry and transferred the prone figure to the back seat of the car. They then set off in convoy to Collinghurst. At the hospital, nursing staff helped the victim out of the car. ‘You stay here with him,’ Russell said to the constable, ‘and let me know the moment he wakes up.’ Protesting that he was all right, Jack too was taken inside for a check-up. Russell got back into the car and they set off for the police station.
The sun was just cresting the horizon as they drove into the car park. The day shift was yet to clock on so, apart from a sleepy desk sergeant, the station was empty. The kettle was soon coming to the boil and Beaumont had changed out of his wet clothes and into a spare uniform. Russell went into his office and sat in his chair. Looking down at the desk he saw there was a hand-written note on his blotter. It was from the forensics man, Lewis.
Dear Sonny,
I had a good look through those papers you found and I think you might have struck lucky. I had a conversation with John Crooks and we discussed the two men whose bodies you found. From the descriptions it seems the papers belonged to them. However, it’s quite probable that they were forged. The men who had them had most likely been in the Gestapo. The identity discs seem to confirm this.
During the war they were possibly SS officers working for the Reich Administration Main Office. Briefly, this dealt with the belongings of Jews and other people the Nazis deemed unwholesome and undesirable. I will go into more detail when I see you but basically, they stripped their captives of all their wealth in life and in death. They were most unpleasant characters. No wonder they were dealt with so horrifically at the end. I just wonder how it came about.
I’ll get in touch when you’ve returned to the office. I hope the nocturnal visit went well.
Lewis
Russell sat back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head. Despite having had very little sleep, he was intrigued by this note. His 48-hour deadline was fast approaching and he needed something definite to tell Stout. The confrontation on the beach had not turned out as he had planned. He just hoped that the man they had rescued would be able to provide some much-needed information. He also had the discovery of the brothers’ secret hideout at the brickworks and the uncovering of the identity papers and SS discs but he wondered if that would be enough to placate the Super. He looked at his wristwatch. Ten minutes to seven. It would be a while before Lewis came in - he allowed himself the luxury of a nap.
-0-
‘Russell?’ Russell slowly opened his eyes and Lewis’s concerned face swam into focus.
‘What time is it?’ the DI asked, through a yawn.
‘Just after nine. Thought I’d better wake you before Stout came along.’
Russell was alert. ‘Why? Is he on the warpath?’
‘Not yet, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time. However, I think I’ve some information that might just appease him. You saw my note?’ Russell nodded. ‘While you were having ‘40 winks’…’ he paused and grinned, ‘I’ve been busy. I felt sure there must be some sort of connection with France. After all, the brothers seem to go back and forth across the Channel quite regularly. I took the liberty of telexing the details to your friend Bruissement. I hope you don’t
mind?’ Russell shook his head and waved away any objections. ‘He came back to me pretty quickly. What he had to say was very interesting.’
‘Go on,’ Russell said.
Lewis took a deep breath and continued. ‘Apparently, he has an American friend who works with the German police in Berlin and as soon as he saw what I’d wired over he got on to him straight away. This American is an expert on the SS and spends his time tracking down those who went to ground at the end of the war. We know that a large number of them escaped to South America but many, after going into hiding, returned to Germany under false names and continue to live there.’
‘How on earth is that possible?’ Russell asked, perplexed. ‘I thought they would have been rounded up.’
‘Far from it. A large proportion of the worst of them had been planning their escape from expected persecution months before the end of hostilities.’ The DI raised an eyebrow but made no comment. ‘They could see the writing was on the wall as the Americans moved across Europe and the German Army was suffering crushing defeats at the hands of the Russians. SS officers were making plans to disappear while forcing the regular army, the Wehrmacht, to carry on fighting a war that was already all but done. As the war reached its conclusion many of the Gestapo just quietly disappeared and few were tried for war crimes.’
‘But what about the Nuremberg Trials?’
‘They were high profile certainly, and many of the most senior Nazis were tried and sentenced but a huge number of SS officers - and men - had already melted away. They’d formed an organisation called ODESSA, which aided their members in escaping via a system called ratlines. And…’ he paused, ‘…they were even helped by the Vatican!’
‘Really?!’ Russell was incredulous.
Lewis looked down at his notes. ‘Yes, in particular, a certain Bishop Aluis Hudal helped dozens of senior Nazi officers escape capture and almost certain trial and subsequent punishment.’
‘But how can that be possible?’
‘I know, it’s incredible, isn’t it? But, he actually believed that the SS men were being wrongly pursued, saying that they were victims of allied propaganda. He considered saving German and other fascist officers and politicians from the hands of Allied prosecution, a “just thing”.’
Russell shook his head sadly. ‘But how on earth could he justify it?’
Lewis read from the notes on the pad in front of him. ‘He said he did “what should have been expected of a true Christian”, adding, “We do not believe in the eye for an eye of the Jew”.’
There was silence for a while as he thought this new information over. Then Russell spoke: ‘So our two corpses are quite possibly SS officers who had been in hiding since the end of the war and somehow, they’d been discovered.’
Lewis nodded. ‘Not only that, but whoever found them tortured them in bizarre ways before finishing them off and dumping the bodies, one in the sea and the other in a mixer.’
‘And our elusive Miller brothers are probably responsible.’ Again Lewis nodded his head. Russell exhaled noisily. ‘I don’t know whether to despair or to congratulate their actions.’
‘It certainly makes you wonder,’ Lewis agreed.
Russell thought for a moment, then sat up in his chair. ‘Nevertheless, we can’t have people going around the countryside committing murder, even if the victims are war criminals. We need to find these two brothers before they kill anybody else.’
As he finished speaking Weeks put his head round the side of the doorway. ‘The Super wants to see you, Sir,’ he said, ‘and he doesn’t look very happy.’
‘Thanks, lad.’ Russell turned to Lewis. ‘Come on, hopefully the information you’ve got will cheer him up a bit.’
-0-
It was just after 10 am when they sat down in the Superintendent’s office. ‘So you reckon our German brothers are somehow involved in tracking down and executing ex-Waffen-SS officers?’ Stout said, evenly. When they had first walked into his office his anger was barely suppressed, but as Lewis began to outline the information he had received from the American via Bruissement, he grew gradually calmer and more attentive, his initial ire abated and he appeared almost chastened as Lewis’s explanation drew to a close.
‘It seems that way, Sir. As they were holed up in the brickworks down the road, there are obviously connections with this area. Also, it’s pretty certain that the squaddie, Rankin, is tied up with them too. Some wartime connection perhaps...’
‘Tell me again about your ‘operation’ on the beach.’ Stout leant back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.
‘Well it wasn’t quite as I’d planned, Sir.’
‘So I understand.’
‘First there was the problem with getting across to Shell Bay, owing to the absence of the ferryman.’
‘Couldn’t you have rowed yourselves across?’ Stout asked.
‘We would have done but there wasn’t a useable boat to be had, let alone oars to row with.’
The superintendent grunted.
‘This meant that we had to drive back up the track to the bridge that crosses the estuary, which cost us more time. Then, drive down the track to Shell Bay, which was even more rutted so we had to go slowly. However, I’m not sure we’d have been able to do much more if we had been there earlier. It seems that the soldier, Rankin, had been on board the Moonshine for some time. At least we managed to save Spratt from a particularly nasty death and rescue that poor blighter who’s in the hospital now.’
‘Any news from there?’
‘Nothing yet. We’ve got PC Lee waiting outside his room so we’ll know as soon as he comes round.’
Stout grunted. ‘Good, let me know the minute you hear anything.’ He paused, deep in thought. ‘What I don’t understand is why Rankin was there? Why did he purloin the lorry? Any ideas?’ Stout held his hands out, palms upwards.
‘Not as yet, Sir,’ Russell said.
‘I’ve got my men going over the lorry with a fine-toothed comb, Sir,’ Lewis added.
‘Well, let me know when you have anything, however slight.’ Turning to Russell he went on: ‘I think you’d better find out what you can about the two dead men: where they’ve been living, how they escaped capture at the end of the war and if there’s any connection with the Miller brothers. Also we need to know more about Rankin. Not only have I got the Chief Constable breathing down my neck but the press are hammering on my door, wanting to know what we’re doing about the deaths and asking if there are going to be any more.’
‘I hope not,’ Russell said, quietly.
‘So do I,’ the Superintendent said. ‘So do I.’
-0-
‘Right, son.’ Russell was in his office with his constable. He was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head and Weeks was bent forward, his mop of hair tumbling over his forehead as he jotted down notes on his pad. ‘The Super has given us a breathing space so we’d better make the most of it.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Lewis and his men are going over the lorry. Maybe they’ll pick up some clues from it this time. You get on to Valiant at the barracks. Find out all you can about Rankin. I’m going to speak to Bruissement and, hopefully, his American friend.’ Weeks nodded. ‘Right, let’s get cracking.’
-0-
‘Oh well, thank you anyway. Please let him know I called.’ Russell put the handset back on the receiver. ‘Damn!’ he said quietly. Getting a call through to the Commissariat de Police in Boulogne had proved troublesome. First the operator had struggled to make his opposite number in France understand who Russell wanted to speak to. Then, when it was eventually clarified, the connection was lost and it took some time to reconnect. Finally, once they were back in touch it was discovered Bruissement had left the office, hence his frustration.
Russell sat back in his chair and massaged his temples with his knuckles. He was getting a headache. The weather, which had been fine and dry for several days, was on the change. It was becoming increasi
ngly oppressive and there was thunder in the air. Russell realised it was getting dark outside and checked his watch. Just after 2.30 pm. There must be a storm coming. He switched on his desk lamp, which cast a warm pool of light on the open file in front of him. Leaning forward he idly turned the pages, glancing at them but not really reading the words. Getting to the last page he started from the beginning again, this time looking more carefully. He had almost reached the end when he stopped, turned back a leaf and studied the handwritten note clipped to the sheet of paper. It was the account of Spratt’s time on Moonshine. Weeks had written it down when they arrived back at the station. Known for his eidetic memory, it was bound to be word-for-word accurate. Something struck Russell as being significant.
Apparently the soldier, Rankin, who had absconded, had shouted back at the smaller brother, ‘in foreign’, according to the ferryman. Russell sat back in his chair and thought about this. If Spratt had recognised the language that Wolfgang had used as being German, in all probability, it was German that the squaddie had spoken too. Most curious. If the soldier had indeed spoken in German, then the chances were that the relationship was more complicated and involved than it had at first appeared. He hoped that Weeks would be able to shed some light on Rankin’s background and that it would offer up some clues. He was just pondering this when Weeks burst into the room. ‘Sir! You won’t believe what I’ve found out…’ He stopped in his tracks, retreated a pace and tapped gingerly on the door. ‘S-sorry, Sir,’ he stammered in embarrassment.
‘That’s all right, lad. Sit down, get your breath, then tell me what it’s all about.’
Weeks slid into the chair opposite his superior, took a deep breath and began. ‘You know you asked me to find out about Rankin’s background?’ Russell nodded. ‘Well, guess what…?’
‘He spent some time in Germany.’ Russell sat back and linked his fingers behind his head.
‘What? How….?’ Weeks stammered. ‘How on earth did you know that?’
‘I am a detective,’ his boss chuckled. ‘Go on, tell me more.’
Blood on the Tide Page 12
