Now, if the police had managed to hold on to Ludwig, which, knowing his strength, was by no means certain, he would presumably be in a police station, probably in a cell. They would try to make him talk, give them information about the Nazi scum they had disposed of, but he knew his brother would hold out. It would take more than some weak English policemen to get him to give up their secrets, of that he was certain. But if - and it was a big if - they did manage to get anything out of him, it could jeopardise their plans. They still hadn’t finished what they had sworn to do, all those years ago and Wolfgang wasn’t prepared to give up until the task was complete. There was only one thing for it. He would have to try, somehow, to rescue Ludwig. With that resolve he made his way back into the wheelhouse, started the engine, pushed the throttle forward and turned the bow towards the English coast.
-0-
‘What did he say?’ Parker growled. He and the man from forensics were sitting on one side of a battered table, its surface ringed with stains from tea mugs and burns from cigarette ends. A cuffed and sullen Ludwig sat opposite them. Barrow leant against the wall to one side. The German had grunted a reply to a question that Lewis had translated for the DI.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch it, Sir.’
‘Well ask him again. Why did he kill those men?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Lewis turned towards the German. ‘Warum haben Sie diese Männer getötet?’
Ludwig lifted his head slowly and looked directly at Parker. ‘Ich weiß nicht, was Du meinst.’
Parker held his gaze but spoke to Lewis. ‘What did he say this time?’
‘He said he doesn’t know what we are talking about.’
The DI let out a groan of frustration and slumped back in his chair. ‘Of course he bloody does!’
This had been going on for more than an hour. If the German bothered to answer the questions Parker put to him through Lewis, it was with a non-committal or negative reply. Suddenly he stared straight at the inspector and said, in perfect English: ‘I would like a cup of coffee.’
Parker sat upright, with a startled look on his face. ‘You speak English!’
‘Nein,’ Ludwig said quietly, and dropped his gaze to his hands, linked together on the desk.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, get him a coffee! And one for me, too.’ Barrow straightened up and left the room.
-0-
Ludwig pushed the cup away, a look of distaste on his face. ‘Das schmeckt furchtbar. Ich habe keine Lust es zu trinken.’
Parker leant quickly forward. ‘What was that?’
‘Er, he doesn’t like the coffee, Sir,’ Lewis said quietly.
The DI sat backed and exhaled noisily. ‘He can please himself then. Ask him again, why he killed those men.’ Lewis translated but there was no answer from the German. He just shrugged and shook his head. ‘Oh for Christ’s sake!’ Parker snapped. ‘We’re getting nowhere fast. He pushed back his chair and stood up abruptly. ‘Right, that’s it for now. Put him back in the cell.’
-0-
The coast of England was in sight and Wolfgang was now more certain in his resolve. Moonshine was steadily heading shoreward, the bow cleaving the sea, a crisp curl of white foam either side, softening as it slipped along the hull, joining the creamy wake astern. Once sure of his bearings, he headed towards the conspicuous landmark of the Martello tower on the shore at Shell Bay. He kept the engine at a quarter throttle, driving the boat into the shallows, until the bow nosed into the soft sand, a few yards from the beach. Satisfied, he switched off the engine and made his way along the now still deck. He stood scanning the shore for movement. After a few minutes he was satisfied the beach was empty and, unlashing a short wooden ladder, he lowered it over the side, hooked it on the gunwale and climbed down into the shallow water. Taking a line and tying it to a convenient stump, he secured the boat so it would not float away on the incoming tide. The day trippers had gone home but he hoped that the ferryman would still be plying his trade, and not yet sinking a pint.
Wolfgang made his way past the Martello tower, his built-up boot dragging in the dry sand, causing him to limp more than usual. He found the effort tiring and was glad when he reached the wooden jetty. He rang the bell then sat down on the boards to wait, closing his eyes and breathing hard after the effort of trudging along the beach. Within a few minutes he heard the splash of oars and looked up to see Spratt’s blue boat approaching. The ferryman glanced briefly over his shoulder, checking he was on course for the jetty, but without noticing who was waiting. This suited Wolfgang as he preferred to maintain the element of surprise. And surprise Jack he did.
The boat bumped against the timber work, Jack shipped his oars and turned to throw a line over a post. As Wolfgang got unsteadily to his feet, the ferryman saw who had called him and his jaw dropped. ‘What the bloody ’ell…?’
The German grinned. ‘Hello, Jack. Are you not pleased to see me?’
All Spratt could do was splutter. ‘But, but…’
‘I need your help, Jack.’ He paused while the ferryman stared, open-mouthed. ‘Do not worry, I will make it worth your while.’
Jack regained his wits, and tried to push the boat off. ‘You’ll be lucky,’ he spat, ‘after last time!’
Wolfgang grabbed the line looped round the post with his left hand and pulled it tight. ‘Not so fast.’ The boat jerked to a stop.
‘I’m not ’elping you,’ Jack growled.
‘I think you are.’ Wolfgang was sure of his ground now.
‘Why should I?’ Spratt tried to free the rope but Wolfgang held on tightly.
With his free hand he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a handful of notes. ‘Will this help?’
Spratt’s avaricious nature overcame his desire to get away and he relaxed his grip on the rope. ‘’Ow much?’
‘Shall we say ten pounds?’
‘20!’
‘What about 12?’
‘15!’
Wolfgang appeared to think for a moment, then smiled. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Spratt. Very well, 15 pounds. Now this is what I want you to do. I wish to know where my brother is.’
‘But I don’t know. ’Ow would I?’
‘I know you don’t,’ Wolfgang said patiently, ‘but I want you to find out.’
‘But ’ow?’
‘First of all, you go into that public house at Compass Point…’
‘The Shipwrights Arms?’
‘Yes, that is what it is called. And when you go in there, make some discreet enquiries. I’m sure that old sailor…’
‘Captain Salt?’
‘Yes, that is him. I’m sure he has, how you say, the ear of the police. I want to know if they have Ludwig in their police station.’
‘But what if ’e don’t know?’
‘I think that is unlikely, but if it is so, we will have to think of something else. However, from what I have heard, he will.’
Jack slumped back on the thwart in the boat. ‘So if I find out where ’e is, an’ I’m not makin’ any promises, you’ll give me the cash?’
Wolfgang smiled a thin smile. ‘Oh you will.’ He held out a white five pound note. ‘This is by way of a deposit.’ Spratt snatched the note. ‘You will get the rest when I have the information. Meet me here, at the same time tomorrow. Now go. And tell no one of this meeting.’ The ferryman stuffed the fiver into his pocket, slotted the oars back into the rowlocks, nodded towards the little German and pulled strongly across the estuary. Wolfgang, the smile replaced by a frown, made his way dejectedly back across the beach. The enormity of the task ahead hit him again and he was not sure he could make it happen.
While he had been talking to Spratt the tide had risen and now Moonshine was afloat, tugging at her mooring. He untied the rope, waded through the water and laboriously climbed the ladder. Once on board, he hauled it up and stowed it on the deck. Back in the wheelhouse he started the engine and turned the bow out towards the channel.
-0-
Wolfgang t
hought he had been careful in ensuring the coast was clear before his meeting with the ferryman but, unknown to him, they had been observed. Two tousle-headed boy scouts had been innocently setting up camp when they heard Moonshine approach the shore. Curious, they had dropped to the ground and wriggled to the edge of the dunes. They remained hidden behind clumps of marram grass while Wolfgang had made his laboured way to the jetty, near to where they were hiding. The onshore breeze had allowed them to hear some of what had passed between the two men.
As the boat grew smaller, they looked at each other, astonished. ‘Blimey! What was all that about?’ Sandy, the blonde one, said.
‘Whatever it was, it didn’t sound right,’ Christopher, his dark-haired pal, replied. ‘What should we do?’ He sat back on his heels, a troubled look on his face.
‘Isn’t your mum’s brother a policeman or something?’ his companion asked.
‘Uncle Sonny? Yes, he’s a detective inspector,’ Christopher replied, with pride in his voice.
‘Well let’s tell him then.’
That’s a good idea.’ he replied brightly. Then he furrowed his brow. ‘Blast, we can’t.’
‘Why not? Sandy asked.
‘Mum said he’s gone abroad for a few days. His constable, Weeks, is looking after Aggie.’
‘Well let’s tell him then.’
Christopher looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose we could,’ he said slowly.
‘Do you know where he lives?’ his friend asked eagerly.
‘Yes. Not far from Uncle Sonny’s railway carriage, although he’s got a proper house - well sort of - more of a shack really. What’s the time?’
Sandy looked at his wristwatch. ‘Quarter past five.’
‘I suppose he’ll be finishing work soon. How long do you reckon it’ll take us to get there?’
‘Half an hour if we cut across the dunes.’
‘What are we waiting for then?’ Christopher got to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’
The two boys knew the dunes well and made good progress, reaching the stony track in 25 minutes. They passed Russell’s railway-carriage home and several other eccentric buildings, continuing along the track until Christopher stopped in front of a small, neat dwelling. Its single story was timber framed with flat white panels, probably asbestos sheet. The roof was clad in faded red tiles, laid in a diamond pattern. The garden, like the others, had no soil, just shingle, and was dotted with Red Valerian and Euphorbia. A Tamarisk hung over the fence along the front, a muddle of untidy branches. Mexican fleabane grew in profusion along the path to the front door. There was no sign of life and just as the boys were wondering if they had made a fruitless journey, a plume of dust and the sound of an engine announced that a car was coming along the track. The vehicle slowed to a halt in front of the house and as soon as the driver opened the door, Aggie jumped out and bounded over to the boys, leaping up at them, her tail wagging furiously. She was followed by Weeks who gave them a cheerful grin. ‘Hello lads. What are you doing here?’ he asked.
-0-
‘So he won’t talk either?’ Superintendent Stout was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake after all. Bringing in the two detectives sitting across the desk in his office was starting to look like an error of judgment.
Parker looked even more crumpled and crestfallen than usual. ‘Afraid not, Sir. Either he refuses to answer my questions or says he doesn’t know anything.’
‘What about the squaddie, Rankin?’
‘He’s still in the cells, Sir.’
‘Well get him out and have another go at him. Really lean on him this time.’
-0-
‘I told that other detective… Russell… I know nothing about them two Germans. How long are you going to keep me here?’
Parker got up and walked slowly round to the other side of the battered table, leant down close to the soldier and whispered directly into his ear. ‘We’ll keep you as long as we need to.’ Then he stood up and shouted: ‘SO START BLOODY TALKING!’ walked back to his chair and sat down. He pulled a cigarette from the packet on the table, put it between his lips and lit it. Rankin was visibly shaken by the outburst but kept his mouth tight shut. Parker blew out a plume of smoke then spoke, more quietly this time.
‘Let’s try again. We know you drove the lorry that Wolfgang and Ludwig used to dump the body in the water at Compass Point. We also know you drove it to Shell Bay to meet them on the Moonshine, and I dare say you were at the building site as well as at the brickworks.’ He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side but Rankin remained silent, his arms folded protectively across his chest. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be able to prove this before too long.
‘The fact that you were seen on Moonshine with the brothers at Shell Bay is pretty damning but when you fell overboard at Nottery Quay and we fished you out of the drink it is fairly conclusive that you are tied up with them, don’t you think?’ Rankin sat silently, looking down at his hands. Parker banged his fist so hard on the table, the empty tea mugs leapt in the air and a pen clattered to the floor. ‘WELL?’
Rankin looked up at the detective. ‘S’pose so,’ he mumbled.
They sat in silence for a minute or so then the DI tried another tack. ‘How did you meet?’
Rankin looked perplexed. ‘What? Oh, how did we meet? Well….’ He leant back in his chair, put his hands in his lap and frowned. He had obviously decided to start talking. ‘It was in Germany. At the end of the war. I was out there fighting for me king and country…’ Parker tutted but the soldier went on: ‘I stayed on after the hostilities was over. I was involved in…’ he paused, ‘…let’s say, in a little buying and selling.’
‘You mean the black market.’
‘You could call it that. Anyway, things was going well…’
Barrow piped up for the first time. ‘You were making a killing.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, but I was doing okay. Then something happened.’ Parker cocked an eyebrow and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Go on.’
‘I weren’t the only one involved in… the black market.’ he said quietly. ‘There were a couple of local fellas. For some reason they thought I were moving in on their territory, undercutting them and pinching their customers…’ He was visibly warming to the task of explaining his presence now. ‘I weren’t of course, but that’s not how they saw it. They started to get nasty.’
‘How do you mean, nasty?’
‘At first, just threats: ‘Keep away from our customers, or else!’ That sort of thing. To begin with I didn’t take it seriously. Carried on as normal. Then things changed.’
‘Why, what happened?’
Rankin shuffled in his seat and, when he was more comfortable, he continued. ‘I had this young chap working with me. German he was. He ran errands and delivered goods, that sort of thing. He was pretty reliable so I was surprised when he didn’t turn up for work. I left it a couple of days then made some enquiries, discreet like. No one had seen him. I were getting a bit worried so went round to his apartment. He was there all right. He only opened the door a crack. Didn’t want to let me in. Finally, after talking for a while I persuaded him.’
When he did open the door I couldn’t believe me eyes. He was a mess. He’d been roughed up good and proper. Cuts all over his face, a black eye. By the way he winced when he moved, a broken rib or two. He didn’t want to tell me what happened at first. Finally he broke down in tears and sobbed. Turned out it were these other fellas giving me a warning.
‘I was furious and wanted to get straight after them. But this young chap pleaded with me not to. They’d told him if I tried anything, they’d break his legs - and mine. By the time they’d finished with our faces, we’d never win a beauty contest. This took me aback a bit, I can tell you.’
‘So what did you do?’ Parker knew this wasn’t the whole truth, but let him carry on.
‘I needed time to think. I didn’t want to leave him but he said he’d be all right. But, he didn’t want a
nything to do with my business any more. I told him I understood. I gave him some money to help him out. He wouldn’t take it at first but I insisted. It was the least I could do. Then I went to a bar I used regular, ordered a beer and sat at a table in the corner.
‘I was on my second bottle when these two Germans came up to me. One was little. The other, a giant of a man.’
‘And you hadn’t seen them before?’
‘What? I, er, no, I hadn’t.’
Parker pushed the ashtray aside and opened a file that was on the table. He turned a couple of pages. ‘Let me see. According to your army records...’ A look of alarm crossed Rankin’s face. The detective went on: ‘…According to your records, you spent some time in Germany before the war, with a German family. Now that family wouldn’t happen to be called Miller, by any chance, would it?’ Parker exchanged a smug grin with his constable. ‘Well? I’m waiting.’
Rankin sighed noisily. ‘I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later. So yes, I did spend time with them in ’39. But once the war started, we lost touch. Different sides, see. By the way, they were called Müller then.’ Parker made a note on his pad. ‘Anyway, you can imagine how surprised I was to see them. ‘Specially after six years. They seemed quite pleased too…’ He smiled at the memory. ‘We sat down and had a good catch up. Reminiscing about the great times we’d had before the war. Well, me and Wolfgang did, Ludwig didn’t say much. Never does.’
‘Yes, we know.’ Another look was exchanged between the two policemen. ‘Go on.’
Blood on the Tide Page 17
