‘Hmm. That’s interesting. What did they look like then?’
‘Hauptsturmführer Pfeffer, one point six five metres tall.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s about five foot four, not much more than me.’ Still grinning, he went on. ‘Weight, 90 kilos.’ He whistled. ‘Wow, he was a tubby chap, a good 200 pounds, that’s more than 14 stone - obviously liked his food - must have looked like a barrel. Bet they had fun finding uniforms to fit him! Let me see, blonde hair, no distinguishing features.’
‘What about the other one - Krull was it?’
‘That’s right Untersturmführer Max Krull. He weighed 100 kilos. That’s about 16 stone, but he was one point nine metres, that’s well over six feet.’ He peered at the sheet in front of him. ‘But what about this: he had a very distinguishing feature.’ Russell cocked his head to one side. ‘A scar running from navel to throat.’
Russell sat up straight in his chair. ‘Say that again?’
‘Why, is it important?’
‘It could be.’
Judd peered down. ‘Let me just check I’m translating this correctly.’ He studied the page for a few moments. ‘Yes, a distinctive scar, starting just above his umbilicus or navel and finishing just below his laryngeal prominence. I guess that’s his Adam’s apple.’
‘Well I’ll be jiggered!’ Russell sat back heavily.
It was Greg’s turn to look quizzically. ‘Does that mean something to you?’
‘It certainly does. You know there was a third victim, killed by the brothers?’
‘Er, the one who was made to walk the plank, then stabbed in hospital?’
‘That’s the one. Crooks, the pathologist, showed me the man’s chest and, it had just such a scar. Plus he was a big man. What colour hair does it say he had?’
The American looked again. ‘Let me see. Rote haare.’
Russell smiled. ‘Let me guess - red hair?’
‘Correct.’
‘That’s our man then.’
Judd leant back in his chair and stroked his chin. ‘So, three of the four SS officers we know were involved with T-four are now dead, and, somehow, your two Miller brothers are probably responsible. The thing is, why?’
Russell stroked his chin. ‘Hmm, that’s exactly what I want to know, too.’
-0-
Weeks was facing a dilemma. He knew he should pass on to DI Parker what the boys had told him but, knowing the inspector, he wasn’t sure it would be taken seriously. Alternatively, he could turn up at the rendezvous on his own, but that could be potentially dangerous. He wished he could speak to DI Russell about it. He would know what to do. The trouble was, he was several hundred miles away. So, as he didn’t know exactly where, he would have to make the decision on his own. Weighing up the alternatives he decided the sensible thing would be to tell Parker, and hope he would be taken seriously. With this in mind, he got in the car and drove to the police station. When he arrived the duty constable told him that they were in the interview room. He knocked and put his head round the door. Parker looked up and scowled. ‘Yes? What do you want?’
‘Can I have a word, Sir – please?’
He stood in the corridor outside the interview room with Parker and Barrow. ‘So you want me to believe the word of two boys. I repeat, two boys who allegedly, saw two men, having a conversation about trying to find someone?’
‘But Sir, it must have been Wolfgang. They saw him struggling across the beach,’ Weeks said imploringly. He’d been trying to persuade the DI for 10 minutes to take what Sandy and Christopher had told him as the truth but he had remained unconvinced.
Parker sighed and shook his head sadly. ‘He was probably struggling because the sand was soft and deep. I know I would have.’ He gave Barrow a knowing look.
Weeks tried one more time. ‘Don’t you think we should at least stake out the beach tomorrow evening?’
‘Listen constable. I’ve got three murders to solve. I’ve got two men in custody, who are, undoubtedly, heavily involved with these murders. And these two men are on the verge of spilling the beans, and therefore helping me to wrap up the case.’ Weeks made to protest but Parker held up a warning finger. ‘So I haven’t the time, or for that matter, the inclination, to go on some wild goose chase.’ Weeks looked deflated.
‘But,’ the DI went on, ‘if you want to “stake out” the beach on your own, you have my blessing.’ He looked pointedly at his wristwatch. ‘Right, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got a suspect to interview. Come on Barrow.’ With that he turned on his heel and went back into the room.
Monday
The Waffen-SS – created as the armed wing of the Nazi Party’s Schutzstaffel, (SS: ‘Protective Squadron’).
IT WAS a bright Monday morning, the Shipwrights Arms had been open for business since 11 am but the only occupants were the landlord Alf, polishing glasses as usual, and Jack, nursing his first pint. ‘You’re quiet this morning,’ the landlord said. ‘Something bothering you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Nah, bit of a heavy night, that’s all.’ Alf went back to his polishing. The truth was that Spratt’s meeting with Wolfgang had unsettled him more than he liked to admit. He knew he’d done quite well out of the Germans financially, plus there was a promise of more to come, but he was wondering if it had been a mistake to get involved in the first place.
Since he’d first met them, and found the boat for them, there had been three dead bodies and he’d been subjected to a barrage of questions by the police, not to mention the ducking and near drowning he had received, when he threw himself overboard from Moonshine. He liked his quiet life, ferrying tourists to and from Shell Bay and drinking in the pub and, as long as Mrs Spratt didn’t give him too much grief, it was nigh on perfect. But since the Miller brothers had appeared on the scene, all this had gone to pot and any amount of money didn’t make up for the stress he’d been put under.
He was just ruminating on this when the door opened and Captain Salt breezed in. ‘Morning Alf,’ he said, walking towards the bar. ‘I’ll have a tot of me usual, and one for this fine gentleman.’ He clapped the ferryman on his shoulder and sat down on the stool next to him. ‘You look glum Jack. What’s up?’
‘That’s what I said too,’ Alf added.
‘Oh you know Skip, pressure of work an’ all that.’
Salt chuckled. ‘Pressure of work, Jack? You’re the last person in the world to have any pressure. Unless it’s from your delightful wife Joan.’ His eyes twinkled as he smiled through his beard.
‘No, she’s all right. The lads ’ave been keeping her stall topped up wiv fresh fish an’ them tourists ’ave been buyin’ plenty of ’er cockles an’ whelks, so I’ve ’ad no grief from that quarter lately.’
‘Well, what is it? Come on, spill the beans.’
Jack took a deep draft from his pint then put the glass carefully back down on the bar. He considered for a few moments and spoke. ‘I know it shouldn’t bother me, but I’ve bin thinkin’ about that big German.’
Salt cocked a bushy eyebrow. ‘Really?’ He took a sip from his glass.
‘Yeah,’ Spratt went on, ‘I knows ‘ow I shouldn’t but I feels a bit sorry for ‘im; the duckin’ ‘e got at Nottery, then I ’ear ’e had a bang in a car before bein’ ’cuffed and hauled off by the law.’
‘I shouldn’t feel too sorry for him, Jack,’ Salt said surprised, ‘he’s quite possibly been responsible for the death of three men.’
‘Yeah I know, but he seems such a gentle giant. It’s ’is brother who’s the mastermind.’
‘Really?’
Spratt realised he may have said too much and backtracked. ‘Well, ’e was the one who was supposed to ’ave done all the talkin’ weren’t ’e?’
Salt nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Anyway,’ Jack went on more confidently, ‘What ’appened to ’im after ’e got nabbed?’
‘They hauled him off to the police station in Collinghurst I believe.’
‘Oh, so is ’e ban
ged up in the cells?’ Jack asked as casually as he could.
‘For the time being.’
‘ ’Ow’s that then?’
‘Well…’ Salt looked round conspiratorially and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve heard that Detective Inspector Parker is about to make a breakthrough.’ ‘Really?’
‘Look, keep this under your hat. He expects to charge him with murder.’
Spratt was alarmed. ‘What? When?’
‘Within the next 24 hours.’
‘What’ll ’appen to ’im then?’
‘Presumably he’ll be taken to court and formally charged.’
‘I see.’
The Captain realised he’d probably said too much. ‘Jack, if you breathe a word of this…’
‘Don’t you worry, Skip,’ Spratt tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and winked. ‘Mum’s the word.’
-0-
Greg had taken Russell to a restaurant in the town after they had finished examining the file on the Germans in his office. He’d told the American that he was a vegetarian. ‘No problem. They do a great Rösti with Spinat und Spiegelei.’ Russell’s initial misgivings turned to delight when he was given a kind of fried potato cake, served with spinach and a fried egg. It was delicious. After a comfortable night in a nearby Gasthaus, Russell returned to the office in the morning and was shown up to Greg’s room. The American’s hair, so neat the night before, looked distinctly rumpled and the lenses of his glasses magnified the bags under his eyes. However, he stood up from his seat, smiling a welcome.
‘Hi, Sonny. I think I’ve got something that might interest you.’
‘Hello, Greg, have you been here all night?’
Judd chuckled. ‘Not quite. I came for an hour or two after you went off to your bed and I was here again early this morning. Take a seat and I’ll tell you what I’ve found.’ They sat and Judd continued. ‘Our friend Bruissement sent me other paperwork in addition to the details of the SS officers.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yeah, it’s a heap of information about your two German brothers who’ve been creating so much havoc. You know them as Wolfgang and Ludwig Miller. That sent me off on completely the wrong tack at first. I spent a long time, going round in circles, trying to track them down using that surname. Then I had a brainwave. I thought, what if they’d changed their name? It happened a lot with people who were escaping their past - for whatever reason. But what might it have been before they changed it?’ He looked up, his eyes sparkling.
‘I started by trying variations of Miller. Things like Mailer, Miler, Maller, Mellor, Mallet without any success. I even tried translations like Hirse, which means Millet in English - still no luck. I guess I must have been half asleep - not surprising, considering I was in the office before six this morning - because the truth was staring me in the face. And … it was much simpler. Müller! Obvious really, as it’s a direct translation of Miller. I felt pretty stupid, as you can imagine.’
‘I’m not surprised you missed it. I’m sure I would have done if I’d had only a few hours’ sleep. Anyway, did that help in your search?’
‘It sure did. In no time I found reference to Ludwig Müller, Soldat. The lowliest rank in the German army, the Wehrmacht.’
Russell smiled. That makes sense. He might be built like - I don’t know - like the side of a house, but he appears pretty low in intelligence.’
‘Not the brightest then, but cunning.’ Russell nodded. ‘Frustratingly, I found no reference to Wolfgang Müller, however hard I looked.’
‘Do you mean in the military records?’
‘Yeah, that’s all I had to go on.’
‘I guess that’s not surprising, as he appears to have a disability. Something wrong with one of his legs - polio perhaps?’
‘Ah, that would explain it. He would probably be excused military service because of that.’
Russell slumped in his chair and sat in silence for a few moments. He suddenly sat up, saying brightly: ‘Hang on, I think there was another brother! We found a photograph in their hide-out at the brickworks of Ludwig and Wolfgang with another young man. On the back were their names and he was called…let me think…um…I’ve got it - Franz!’
Judd echoed the DI’s enthusiasm. ‘Right! That’s given me something to go on. Let me see.’ He started going through the typed pages, littered across his desk. After several minutes he held up a page. ‘Eureka! Obergefreiter Franz Müller!’
‘What does Obergefreiter mean?’
Judd frowned and thought deeply. ‘Ah, I think you’d call him a senior lance-corporal, therefore of a higher rank than his brother.’ He continued reading the page in front of him. When he reached the bottom he turned it over. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed.
‘Mmm?’
‘Strange. It says he’s deceased. That’s a surprise. I wonder what happened?
‘No idea,’ Russell said. ‘The photograph is the only indication of another brother.’
-0-
Parker and Barrow returned to the interview room after talking to Weeks on Sunday evening. They sat briefly, before the DI said: ‘We’re all a bit jaded. I think we’d better pack up for tonight and continue tomorrow.’
The following morning they reconvened and Rankin was led in by a uniformed PC. The room had the rancid smell of stale cigarettes and sweat. Parker was in feisty mood, anticipating that the scent of fear would be added to the odours. ‘Right, where did we get to?’
Barrow consulted his notes. ‘Rankin had been telling us how he’d met the Müller brothers before the war and how he’d realised what Ludwig was capable of, Sir.’
‘Yes, well, that’s all very interesting but we need to know more about what happened when you met them after the war.’ He looked pointedly at the soldier. ‘You said they told you they’d sort out your problem. Then they’d be in touch. Let’s take it from there, shall we?’
Rankin took a deep breath, placed his hands on the table and linked his fingers. ‘I didn’t hear anything from them for a while. I kept a low profile. Didn’t meet up with any of my contacts. I basically mooched around. Also I didn’t see the two fellas who’d threatened me either. Then, after about three days, I was sitting in the bar, nursing a beer, when it went dark. I thought a bulb had gone. Then I turned and saw that it was Ludwig standing over me. He’d crept up, without making a sound. I remember feeling glad it wasn’t me he was after. Wolfgang was just behind him. He walked round and stood at the table. ‘You won’t have any more trouble from those two,’ he said, and smiled at me. It weren’t a warm smile. ‘Now, we’ll leave you in peace but remember, Du bist mir etwas schuldig.
Parker leant forward and said: ‘Don’t be clever - what the hell does that mean?’
The soldier appeared lost in thought. After a moment he looked the policeman. ‘What?’
‘You said something in German.’
‘Oh - sorry. Hmm, it means ‘”You owe me one”.’
‘I see. So what happened next?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Well, not straight off.’ Rankin licked his lips and shuffled in his chair. ‘I decided not to try to shift any more stuff for the time being. Just keep me head down. A few days later I was sitting in a cafe, having a coffee. I picked up a paper that someone had left on the table. I opened it and a news item caught me eye. The headline said that two bodies had been washed up on the bank of the river. That was all. Then I realised that someone had torn off the bottom of the page.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I left the café immediately and went round the corner to a Zeitungsladen - newsagents that is – and bought a copy of the paper. I sat down on a bench and turned to the article - carried on reading.’
‘What did it say?’
‘Well that was the strange thing. I feared the worst, but it just said that it was thought they’d fallen overboard from a boat. The police didn’t think there were anything suspicious. It were just an unfortunate acciden
t. I read further down and there were a description of the men. I couldn’t believe it. The descriptions fitted the two fellas who’d threatened me. I was so tied up in reading, I didn’t notice that someone had sat on the bench next to me. Then I felt a hand on my arm and looked up.’
‘And?’
‘It were Wolfgang. He leant over, pointed at the paper and said: ‘You won’t be getting any farther trouble from them.’ Then he stood up and smiled, tapped the side of his nose and said: ‘Don’t forget…’ He turned and walked away without saying another thing. I tell you, I was so rattled, I left Germany a few days later. Came back to Blighty and joined up again.’
‘So you didn’t see him anymore?’
‘No, that was the last I clapped eyes on him until he came back into my life a couple of months ago.’
‘Well, why don’t you tell us about that then?’ Parker lit a cigarette and eased himself back into his chair. Turning to Barrow he said: ‘I think tea is in order, don’t you constable?’
‘Okay, Sir,’ Barrow said, rising from his seat and heading off to the canteen.
-0-
‘Now we’ve established the names of the four SS men involved in searching out the mentally ill and physically disabled, can we discover anything farther about them?’ Russell asked.
Judd got up and went to one of the racks on the wall. He took down a dog-eared file and, after placing it on top of the pile already on his desk, opened it and started looking through the papers. ‘This may help us to find out where the SS men went after the war. The files are not exhaustive and there are a lot of gaps, but this is where we’ll find it, if it’s been recorded. Just give me a few minutes.’ He paused. ‘Oh, would you like some coffee?’
‘That would be nice.’
‘Hang on, I’ll see if anyone’s in yet.’ He moved some folders aside and uncovered the telephone. He picked up the handset and dialed a number. After a moment: ‘Hello? Karena? Any chance of coffee?’ He smiled at Russell. ‘For two, please. Bless you, you’re an angel.’ He put the receiver down and continued going through the papers.
Blood on the Tide Page 19
