Weeks sat down beside them, on a groundsheet spread out on the sand. ‘I’m following up your lead.’
They looked incredulously at him and Christopher spoke. ‘Really? On your own?’
‘We thought you’d have half the Collinghurst police force with you,’ Sandy added.
‘Afraid not, boys.’ Weeks shook his head glumly.
‘But why not?’
‘Let’s say DI Parker and DC Barrow didn’t think it important enough to send anyone else.’
Sandy snorted. ‘Ha! Bonnie and Clyde? Wouldn’t know a baddie if he came up and bit them!’
Weeks smiled. ‘Now, now. That’s no way to talk about officers of the law.’
‘Well,’ said Christopher, looking heavenward and tutting, ‘we know what we saw and we thought it looked pretty serious and needed investigating.’
‘I agree, and so does your Uncle Sonny.’
‘Ooh! Have you spoken to him? Where is he?’
‘He’s in Germany, in a place called Ludwigsburg. I talked to him. He said he thought I should come and observe what happens.’
‘Can we observe, too?’ Sandy asked excitedly, kneeling up on the groundsheet.
‘I don’t see why not. As long as we’re careful and only watch from a distance.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half four... I doubt anything will happen for an hour or so. Any chance of a cuppa while we wait?’
The boys busied themselves with the fire and a billycan of water, preparing a battered teapot and tin mugs. Weeks saw now that they went about their tasks quietly and efficiently. It reminded him of the happy times he had had as a sea scout, before the fun was cut short by the war. If only Parker could have seen them he might have realised they could be trusted. Unfortunately, he was on his own, but if he heeded Russell’s advice to be cautious nothing should go awry, he reasoned.
Before long, the water in the billycan was bubbling merrily. Christopher carefully lifted it off the fire with a cloth and poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot. Soon they were sipping the brew and munching on biscuits from their supplies.
‘Hey, Johnny - look,’ Sandy said, pointing. Weeks looked up to see tendrils of vapour floating in off the sea. In a matter of minutes visibility was greatly reduced as the sea mist thickened.
‘At least we won’t be spotted,’ Christopher said
‘True.’ Weeks looked at his watch again. ‘Time we took up our positions.’
They doused the fire with sand then made their way cautiously to the marram grass on the edge of the beach. Sure enough, after a while an engine could be heard approaching, although there was no sign of the craft.
‘Quiet now,’ the policeman whispered, unnecessarily as the boys were holding their breath and peering excitedly into the mist. ‘And hold on to Aggie. We don’t want her giving the game away.’ Christopher gripped the dog’s collar tightly.
The boat’s engine was suddenly cut and there was a splash. Then they heard someone shuffling slowly along the beach. The footsteps came close enough for them to see the shadowy outline of Wolfgang’s slight form. They crouched lower, unseen by the German making his laboured way along to the jetty. As the sound faded, Weeks knew that that the ferryman would have little to tell him so made a rash decision.
‘Boys,’ he whispered, ‘I’m going to take a look at the boat while there’s no one aboard. You stay here.’
Christopher was about to protest. Instead he said: ‘Okay, Johnny – but take care.’ With that Weeks stood up and crept off into the mist. They stared hard but could see nothing. Then they heard talking.
‘So what have you found out about my brother?’ The voice was high and reedy but quite clear.
‘Not much.’
That’s Jack Spratt, the ferryman,’ Sandy whispered. ‘I recognise his voice.’
‘Who’s the other one?’
‘Don’t know, must be the German. Shh. Let’s listen.’
‘What then?’ asked Wolfgang.
‘’E’s bein’ ’eld at Collinghurst,’ Jack replied, his voice gravelly.
‘And?’ The German sounded agitated.
‘I spoke to Salt…’
‘The Navy type who goes in the Shipwrights Arms?’
‘Owns it, actually.’
‘I am not interested in what he owns.’ Wolfgang’s voice was shrill. ‘Just get on with it!’
Jack growled. ‘All right. Keep yer ’air on. It seems that the copper on the case - Parker I think…’
‘Is he the one who has been nosing around? The one who bungled the capture of my brother?’
‘Nah, that’s Russell -’e’s off the case - this is a new bloke. Don’t think ’e’s very good.’
‘He cannot be any worse. So tell me about Ludwig.’
‘As I said,’ Spratt replied slowly, ‘’e’s bein’ ’eld at Collinghurst. And Parker reckons that ’e’ll ’ave ’im charged with murder within the next 24 hours.’
‘Scheisse!’
‘Oh, an’ that was yesterday evenin’.’
‘Gott im Himmel! Was kann ich wissen?’
‘Whassat?’
Wolfgang spoke slowly. ‘What can I do now? I need help to finish what we started.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We have one more problem to eliminate.
‘Eh?’
The German was weary. His shoulders slumped. He was obviuosly struggling to cope without his brother. ‘How can I go back to France and finish the job by myself?’
Spratt was intrigued. ‘So what’s this thing you’ve gotta finish?’
‘Mmm?’ Wolfgang seemed in a daze. ‘This thing? It is nothing you can help with.’
The ferryman shrugged. ‘Ah well, in that case, I’ll be on me way. Where’s me money?’
‘What?’
‘The dosh. You promised me the other ten quid if I found out where your brother was.’
‘Go to hell!’ Wolfgang hissed.
‘You bastard!’ Jack’s voice was raised. ‘You promised me that money!’
‘I will promise you more than that!’
Jack sounded startled. ‘All right, all right! You can put the gun away, I’m going.’ There was a splash as his oar went in the water then, shortly afterwards, the boys heard the German coming back.
They waited a few more minutes but Weeks still hadn’t returned ‘What should we do?’ Sandy whispered anxiously.
‘I don’t know. He told us to stay put. Let’s just wait a little longer,’ Christopher replied, frowning. The sound of the boat’s engine suddenly bursting into life made them both jump as if they had been shot.
Christopher’s grip loosened on the terrier’s collar and she shot forward, down the beach. The boys got to their feet and raced after her. Soon they were at the water’s edge. The mist was even thicker and they could barely see a few yards ahead. The sound of the engine fading and some white water swirling at their feet were the only indications that the boat had ever been there.
‘Johnny must be on board. What do we do now? He might be killed!’ Sandy was near to tears.
‘Hang on. Let me think.’ Christopher was concentrating hard. ‘I think we should go to Collinghurst and tell Bonnie and Clyde what’s happened.’
‘But it’ll take us hours to walk there,’ Sandy protested.
‘Wait a minute. What’s the time?’
Sandy looked at his watch. ‘Nearly 5.30. Why?’
‘Have you got any money?’
‘A little. Why?’
‘We could get the last train that goes from Compass Point to Collinghurst. It gets to Snargate Halt at 10 to six. If we hurry we can just make it.’
‘But what about the mist?’
‘C’mon – quick. Back to the camp. We’ll get the map and a compass. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find our way to the station.’
-0-
Russell and the American sat across the desk from each other, the coffee pot and cups empty in front of them. ‘What do we do now, Sonny?’
Russell drew in a large breath then let it out slowly. ‘As you say, there’s probably not much mileage in delving into the pasts of the three dead Waffen-SS men.’
‘Well, I’m sure we could find out more, but as we agreed, time could be running out. Especially for Achim Pfeffer. Or as he is now - Micha Salz.’ Judd sat back, a grim look on his face.
‘So how do we find out more about him?’
‘I doubt if there’s much more we can discover here, in Germany.’
‘So where can we look?’
Greg sat up. ‘I think it’s time for a chat with our friend Bruissement in Boulogne. I’ll give him a call.’
‘Guillaume, how are you?’ Judd smiled as he spoke.
‘Ah! Mon ami Amêricain. Tres bien! And you?’ the Frenchman’s voice was loud enough for Russell to hear what he was saying quite clearly.
‘Good thanks. Listen Guillaume, I’ve got Sonny Russell here…’
‘Ah, bon soirée my English friend!’ the Frenchman bellowed jovially.
‘…and we need some help.’
Judd outlined what he and Russell had discussed over the previous 24 hours. Bruissement listened quietly at the other end of the line until he had finished. ‘So ’ow can I ’elp you?’
‘We need to know about someone in Saint-Valery-sur-Somme.’
‘Interesting. What do you wish to know?
‘Apparently, there’s a German there who runs a boulangerie. During the war he worked with the three dead SS men, and like many of his “comrades” went to ground. But - in France.’
‘That is unusual but not unknown.’
‘He was originally called Achim Pfeffer but changed his name to Micha Salz.’
‘I know him! Well, I know his shop!’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I have bought bread several times from there. It is très bien! I had no idea he was German.’ He paused. The line crackled. ‘‘If I remember correctement, he speaks French parfait.’
‘Good, that might make it easier.’
‘But my friend, you speak perfect German. That would make it easier.’ It was not hard to imagine the Frenchman sitting in his office in rue Perrochel, his blue eyes twinkling.
Judd was perplexed. ‘What are you suggesting?’
Simple. Come here and we will go to Saint Valery together!’
The American looked startled. ‘What?’
‘You and Sonny Russell jump on a train. As soon as you can. I will meet you at la gare. We will ’ave a discussion then go down there and see ’ow the land lies.’
-0-
When Weeks left the boys, he had dashed across the sand, splashed quickly through the shallows and scrambled up the ladder that Wolfgang had put over the bow of Moonshine. Once on board he made his way straight to the wheelhouse and stepped over the threshold. He glanced around. There was a chart table with little on it but navigational paraphernalia: an unrolled chart, a pencil, a pair of nautical dividers. A compass in gimbals was bolted to the bulkhead. Binoculars hung from one hook and a yellow oilskin and sou-wester from another. He backed out and made his way down the companionway to the cabin.
There were two bunks, one with an unrolled sleeping bag on it, on the other a couple of sailcloth bags. He started rummaging through them, finding nothing but crumpled clothes. Forrard there was a galley. He opened drawers and found only cutlery and cooking implements; lockers held pans and food, tinned and in packets. He turned and looked around. There were more lockers below the bunks.
Weeks knelt and opened the first one. It contained just a bundle of ropes. He was about to close the door, and move on, when he stopped. He pulled the ropes out. He saw knots. Dozens of them. All different. All beautifully tied. He even recognised some: reef knot, bowline, sheepshank and… one unusual but very familiar to him now, a double constrictor knot.
‘My, my,’ he said quietly to himself. ‘This neatly ties the brothers to the murders.’ He smiled at the joke he had just made. Still smiling he started putting the ropes back in the locker when he was startled to hear the boat’s engine turn over. His expression turned to one of disbelief and he felt panic rise in his chest. He stood, rooted to the spot, wondering what on earth he should do. The engine revs rose and the boat started moving, initially in reverse as the bow was pulled out of the soft sand. Then, as the craft slewed round, the young policeman lost his footing and was thrown sideways. He cracked his head on the bulkhead with a horrible thud and blacked out.
-0-
Ludwig sat impassively in his seat in the interview room. He leant back, arms folded tightly across his barrel chest, legs outstretched, one booted ankle crossed over the other.
Parker frowned. ‘There’s something been bothering me. He leant forward and put his elbows on the table, cupping his chin in his hands. ‘Do you know what it is?’ The German remained tight lipped. The detective continued. ‘What I want to know, is what happened to the knife. Any idea, Herr Müller?’ Still no response. Turning to the side: ‘Lewis, ask him where the knife is.’
Lewis took a deep breath. ‘Ludwig.’ The German looked at him, unblinking. ‘Wo ist das Messer?’ The German gave a shrug and looked down.
‘Try again,’ Parker growled. ‘Ask him where he’s hidden the knife.’
‘Wo haben Sie das Messer versteckt?’
Ludwig looked up. ‘Wo Sie es nicht finden können.’
Lewis translated before Parker could speak. ‘He said where we can’t find it.’
The DI snorted. ‘Yet again we’re getting nowhere.’
‘Could I have a word … outside? asked Lewis.
‘Hmm. I suppose so. I could do with a stretch.’ He got up with an effort. ‘Come on then.’ Lewis followed him through the door, closing it behind him. In the corridor Parker rested against the wall and lit a cigarette. ‘What is it?’ he asked wearily.
‘I’ve been wondering about that knife for a while. Crooks, the pathologist, says all three men were probably killed with the same knife. A thin blade. He found traces of fish scales in the first victim’s wound so surmised it might be a fish-filleting knife.’
‘Yes, we know that.’ Parker blew out a plume of smoke. ‘What’s your point?’
Lewis pressed on. ‘The knife could have come from the boat Moonshine. If we could find it, there may be some fingerprints. Also we could get Ted Spencer to identify it.’
Parker dropped the part-smoked cigarette on the floor and ground it savagely with his heel. ‘Who the hell is Ted Spencer?’
‘Um, he was the previous owner of the boat.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Parker wasn’t going to let Lewis know he hadn’t read all the notes. ‘So what do you suggest?’
‘Well, Ludwig obviously had the knife when he went to the hospital but didn’t have it on him when he was arrested after he crashed the police car - did he?’
‘No,’ the detective agreed grudgingly. ‘He was clean. No knife.’
Well I don’t think he’ll just have dumped it.’
‘Now come on. He’d get rid of it as soon as he could surely?’
‘No, hear me out, Sir. I think after using it three times he may well have become attached to it, so to speak. So I don’t think he’d just discard it.’
‘So where do you suggest he’s hidden it?’ Parker said, humouring him.
‘Listen, I don’t want to sound critical of your methods, but the secret hideout at the brickworks was never properly cleared out, was it?’
‘True,’ Parker reluctantly conceded. ‘So are you suggesting we turn it upside down?’
‘Might be an idea – I’m happy to help,’ Lewis added.
‘Dead right. You’re coming along for sure.’
-0-
Parker, Barrow, Lewis and PC Beaumont climbed out of the car at the bottom of the track outside the brickworks. The brushwood and branches had been cleared away and the door to the Germans’ hiding place was now quite obvious.
Parker pushed the door open and peered inside. ‘Cor blimey! It’s a
bit cramped. You two…’ - he motioned to Barrow and Beaumont - ‘There’s not room for all of us in there so you have a mosey around and see if anything’s been missed. Me and Lewis are going to turn this place inside out.’
Working systematically, they examined the mouldering cans and packets on the makeshift table. They pushed it to one side and searched through the debris of paper and rags that had been concealed underneath. They found nothing. Pulling the straw-filled sacks aside and piling one on the other, Lewis knelt on the grubby floor and, with the aid of a powerful torch, searched around the area where the walls met the floor. With the beam from another torch Parker searched the shelving. He found shards of clay tiles and old cigarette packets, broken brick-making tools and empty bottles, but no knife.
‘This is hopeless,’ the DI grumbled, breathing heavily from the exertion, his initial enthusiasm replaced by his default sour nature. ‘I don’t know why I bloody well listened to you.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ Lewis said, ‘I was sure he’d hidden it here.’
The physical effort had obviously been too much for the unfit DI and he flopped down heavily on to the makeshift mattresses. No sooner had his broad posterior compressed the straw than he yelped and arched his back. ‘Ow! What the bloody hell was that?! Something sharp stuck in my arse!’ He scrambled back to his feet as quickly as he could and rubbed his backside.
Just as he was about to protest farther, Constable Beaumont came running up to the doorway, closely followed by Barrow. ‘Sir!’ he said panting, ‘Look what we’ve found!’ He held out a small canvas bag. ‘It was in the bushes, behind that big shed. The German must have dropped it when we were looking for him.’
‘Yes,’ Parker growled, ‘and when he nicked our car. Give it to me.’ He took the bag and loosened the strings at the neck. Turning it upside down he shook it. Some dry, but grubby clothing fell out, followed by a couple of tins, a plain packet and a box of matches. As the box hit the ground, the tray slid out, scattering matches across the soil. Parker shook the bag hard but there was nothing farther inside. ‘Bloody hell!’ he barked. ‘I thought we were in luck for a moment.’
While this had been going on, Lewis had slit the uppermost mattress with his penknife and was feeling around inside. He gave a triumphant shout: ‘Sir! Look at this!’ Carefully he withdrew his hand, scattering straw and chaff. As he brought it out the others could see he was holding a slim-bladed knife by the tip.
Blood on the Tide Page 22
