If Necessary Alone

by V M Knox

  They stood beside the shed, the only sound the crashing waves. Then they saw it. The flash of a torch light from across the water, then another. Then nothing. A moment later two more flashes. Clement saw Stratton’s head lift but it was his eyes that spoke. The submarine would not wait more than its allotted time and his chance of escape had gone.

  ‘Was that the submarine?’ Tom asked.

  Clement nodded, but his eyes were on Stratton.

  Then a boom from across the bay, deafening in the night air. Clement looked out over the water. A bright and intense light filled the night sky. Clement remembered the large gun Reg had told him about at the western end of Dunnet Bay. But there was no subsequent explosion indicating that the gun had struck its target. Regardless, the submarine would not remain.

  Clement watched Stratton. He had expected to see dejected resignation on the traitor’s face, but Stratton was smiling. Clement wondered about Stratton’s reaction. Was it bravado? Or was Stratton’s allegiance to the Fatherland sheer fanaticism to the point of self-sacrifice?

  Twenty minutes later Reg reappeared. ‘It’s a ruse, Clement. There are no explosives.’

  Clement held the gaze of the man he had known for twenty years. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’ve been around every door and window half a dozen times and there isn’t a wire anywhere and there is no sign of recent disturbance in the garden that would indicate the presence of a mine.’

  ‘Thank you, Reg. Who told you it was wired, Tom?’

  ‘Stratton.’

  Stratton gurgled through the gag. The former police inspector; despite his injuries and impending execution, appeared to be laughing. More than that, he seemed to be enjoying the situation. Clement had never met anyone like Stratton. His true character had been completely concealed, and the man showed not the slightest remorse for what he had done.

  Clement also realised that it had been Jean in the Frews’ house. The woman was no murderer. Women murderers, so Clement had been taught, killed only to remove a threat. It made sense to him now why he had not been pursued that night. In fact, Jean had gone out of her way to avoid an encounter with him. He understood now. She had been ordered to get something hidden upstairs in the house. He had been correct about Sarah’s radio transmitter being in the poultry shed, but it had been the machine gun and sniper rifle hidden in the Frews’ house. Jean had removed them, just like Sarah’s wireless, piece by piece every time Jean went to the house. Stratton then could collect them on his occasional visits to The Bell. Clement visualised the neat kitchen where the old ladies had died so horribly. Everything in its place, even the tea cosy sitting on a tray on the bench by the back door. He remembered the empty gin bottles awaiting collection. Jean came and went just as easily as McAllister. Jean had left the Frews’ house and used the rear garden of the manse as the shortest route to and from The Bell. That the footprints leading from the Frews’ house to the manse implicated Aidan was icing on the cake for Stratton. Clement also believed it had been Jean and Stratton in the ambulance. But why would Jean still be involved with her ex-husband? What hold did Stratton have over her?

  Clement knew he may never know the answer now that Jean was dead, but he also understood how Stratton had always been one step ahead of him. “Comply with any instruction from a man named Hope,” Clement recalled his conversation with Stratton in Thurso Police Station. He had been expected and Jean had provided all the information Stratton needed about Clement’s movements in Canisbay. So much made sense now.

  ‘Reg, there’s an ambulance in the rear yard of The Dunnet Hotel parked next to the bus. Put Stratton in the back and make sure he cannot escape. No trips to the lavatory, no food, no water. Nothing, until he is safely behind bars. Take him to Wing Commander Atcherley. No one else. I’ll see to the others. And thank you, Reg. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘Nonsense, Clement. I just held a gun on a piece of scum.’

  Clement smiled, but he knew that without Reg’s presence, it all may have had a very different outcome. Reg untied the leg restraints and dragged Stratton to his feet. ‘And don’t worry about the woman, Clement. I’ll arrange for some of my men to get her body tomorrow morning. Good to work with you again. I better report in or they’ll think I’ve deserted.’

  Clement reached for Reg’s hand in farewell. ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you, Reg. Oh! And don’t forget your coat.’ Clement began to remove the borrowed garment.

  ‘Keep it, Clement. I can get another easily enough. And I’ll collect your old one tomorrow when I return. You can do something for me, though, if you would.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Put a good word in for me with whomever it is you work for. Got to be more useful to the war effort than riding a motorcycle and digging latrines in Caithness.’

  Clement smiled.

  Reg pushed the muzzle of his Sten gun into Stratton’s back and they made their way up the hill away from Dwarwick Pier.

  Chapter 27

  Clement waited until Reg and Stratton had disappeared from view. ‘Did you dispose of Sean, Tom?’

  ‘Aye. Just as you requested. Sad business. Sarah has the few possessions we found in his pockets.’

  ‘Why were you all still here? You left Gills Bay over twelve hours ago?’

  Tom didn’t answer.

  ‘I have to know, Tom. Everything.’

  ‘We bring bacon and meat in and collect whisky and brandy and sometimes sugar from the shed, but it wasn’t there. We waited an hour or two then Sarah went to see Anne Ferguson, who works at The Dunnet, while Ian and I waited on my boat. What with that Nazi plane and Two-One-Three Squadron overhead, we had to keep low.’

  ‘Does the alcohol and sugar come from The Dunnet Hotel?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Those officers live like kings. Anne drops a bottle from time to time, cold tea, actually, and brings the whisky and brandy home, a bottle or two at a time. They don’t go without. Venison, mallard, all kinds of luxuries.’ Tom paused. ‘But when Sarah came back several hours later, she wasn’t alone.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘We were escorted from the boat up to the cottage and tied up. We thought Stratton had arrested us for black-marketeering. He took us at gunpoint and we submitted like lambs. We had no idea.’

  Clement believed Tom, but their naivety had been exploited and not just this night. ‘Who’s in the cottage?’

  ‘A young farm hand along with Sarah and Ian. Aidan Heath is there too.’

  ‘Aidan is with them?’

  ‘He’s injured. Shot in the shoulder. Only superficial though. It was a clever plan. Reverend Heath was on the ambulance. Apparently, Jean held him at gunpoint, marching him from the vestry into the graveyard while the Stuka attacked. Then when the ambulances arrived to transport the injured and dead from the raid, Stratton convinced the ambulance drivers to stay and look after the injured while he drove the deceased to the mortuary in Thurso. It’s behind the police station, you know.’

  ‘I did know. And Reverend Heath?’

  ‘His presence was to provide a reason for Jean to go on the ambulance. She was to look after his injuries while on the journey.’

  Clement felt the frown crease his forehead. ‘But the Nazi bomber didn’t do any shooting. It dropped two bombs and left. Of course. Very clever of Stratton. If Aidan’s injuries had been seen by the real ambulance drivers, they would have recognised them as gunshot wounds. No wonder they wanted him on the bus. And, no doubt, they forced him to assist them.’ Clement thought of the bodies of Robert Wallace and the boy. But at least now, with Aidan alive, the father and son would have a decent burial.

  ‘It amazed us all. Especially Aidan. We all knew Jean was strong, but we never imagined she could do that.’

  They stood outside the low-lying cottage where the hostages waited. ‘Do you know, Tom, if they have any weapons in the cottage?’

  ‘Not any more. Stratton threw the farmer’
s rifle into Dunnet Bay.’ Tom stroked his little dog. ‘You saved my life, Flip. And you, Vicar.’

  ‘Just honour your vow to stay away from the black market.’

  They approached the cottage from the front. Everything was in darkness.

  Clement called out to them. ‘It’s Reverend Wisdom and Tom Harris. You are safe to come out. There are no explosives. Stratton has been apprehended and Jean is no longer a threat.’

  The door opened, slowly at first. McAllister, with Sarah and Aidan, walked towards him, Aidan’s left arm in a sling. ‘Are we glad to see you, Clement. It’s been a Sunday to remember.’

  ‘I am pleased to see you, too, Aidan. Sean’s bus is parked behind The Dunnet Hotel. If you can manage to walk there, perhaps Mr McAllister would drive us back to Canisbay?’

  ‘It’s the least I can do, Reverend Wisdom.’

  It was nearly an hour before they sat in the bus.

  Sarah handed McAllister Sean’s keys. ‘Found them in his pocket.’

  Clement would always feel responsible for the Irishman, but he thanked the Lord for Reg Naylor. His presence in Caithness had been a real blessing; divine intervention and an answer to prayer. And the man, resourceful as ever, had acquired some useful skills, particularly when it came to starting engines without keys. McAllister shifted the gear stick into first and drove into the lane beside The Dunnet Hotel.

  ‘Where are we going, Vicar?’ Tom asked.

  He glanced over to where Tom was sitting. ‘To The Bell. What you all do after that isn’t my concern, but it must not include the black market.’

  Sarah leaned forward. ‘And you, Clement. Where are you going?’

  ‘Home!’ But even as he said it, he wasn’t really sure where that was. ‘If it’s alright with you, Aidan, I could use a bath and a bed before leaving Canisbay.’

  ‘My pleasure, Clement. Stay as long as you want. With my arm in a sling, I’m sure you will be of more assistance to me than I will be to you.’

  The bus crawled passed The Dunnet Hotel, the gravel crackling under its wheels. McAllister flicked on the head lights and pulled out onto the main road in the quiet darkness, heading east. As they did so, Clement saw several bicycles leaning against the wall, all grouped around the entry to the inn. The officers were returning to their billets after a long day on duty somewhere. That was the interesting thing about public houses. In one way, they were always open. People came and went all the time.

  But he couldn’t get Stratton out of his mind. What the man had done was beyond evil and his after-hours visits to The Bell had belied his true purposes. Details. Little things. Clement recalled Chief Inspector Morris’s advice and the small acts of kindness exhibited by the Reverend St Clair of Inverness. Details and inherent kindness. These were the indicators of character more than anything else. But while Clement knew Stratton to be treacherous, he felt nothing but sadness for Jean Buchanan.

  He thought back to the night he’d encountered her in the Frews’ house. She had fled to The Bell but had entered the inn through the rear, after she’d hidden the machine gun and the pistol in the out-building. She’d even taken a crate of bottles before returning to the bar to defray suspicion. And, Clement believed, it had probably been Jean who had secreted the ammunition drum in McAllister’s lorry while the man was doing deliveries at The Bell. Clement visualised Jean standing at the window of Room Ten. He knew the view from that room was extraordinary. Every detail planned for and expected. He knew now, everything was peripheral to The Bell, standing as it did in the middle of Canisbay, with views extending in all directions. And Stratton could use a portable transmitter with a six-volt battery which he connected to the antennae in the bell tower when he needed to make contact with the enemy. It would be unlikely that he would be discovered there, given that Aidan rarely used the vestry for anything other than robing on Sunday morning and never climbed the ladder in the belfry. In light of what Clement now knew, he regretted not asking Nora to pursue her enquiries with the Scottish Records Office.

  They drove into The Bell’s back yard. It was nearly midnight. The lazy moon still lay in its celestial hammock as shifting clouds came and went. Reaching for his lock-picks, he unlocked the rear door to the inn and bade farewell to Tom Harris.

  ‘I’ll help you with Reverend Heath, Vicar. It’s the least I can do for you,’ McAllister said.

  At the gate to the manse, Clement said good bye to Sarah Crawford and Ian McAllister. Clement wanted to leave the area the next day. His plan was to drive Sean’s bus back to Thurso and, after seeing a doctor about his injuries, catch the train south. He stood on the doorstep of the manse while Aidan opened the door, and watched McAllister and Sarah Crawford disappear into the night.

  Inside, the manse was cold. He remembered the inviting warmth on his first day. In reality it was only eight days ago, but it had been the longest week of his life.

  ‘Are you hungry, Aidan?’

  ‘No, thank you, Clement. Given the hour and all that’s happened, I think we both could do with sleep more than sustenance. You look exhausted and I haven’t asked if you are injured in any way?’

  ‘Just superficial. Nothing serious. The greatcoat took most of the damage. But if you had a bandage I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Of course, but I’m afraid you will have to put it on yourself.’

  Aidan fetched a clean rolled bandage from the kitchen and handed it to him.

  Stifling a yawn, Clement took off Reg’s greatcoat and pushed back his sleeve, winding the cloth around his arm. He knew he should wash the wounds, but he was too tired. Tomorrow he would have time for such things. All he wanted was the panacea of sleep. He could allow himself that now. It was over and Stratton was safely in custody. ‘Is there anything you want, Aidan, before I retire?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ll be good as new in no time. But I’m sorry there won’t be any hot water for your bath until tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m too tired anyway.’

  Clement closed the door to his little room and threw Reg’s coat over the chair. He fell onto the bed and began to remove his webbing and boots. Unbuttoning his jacket, he tossed it on the foot of the bed, unable and unwilling to stand up again, then unbuckled the Welrod’s holster from around his chest. He ran his hand over his woollen vest. It felt surprisingly dry. The layers of coarse army clothing had most probably saved his life, as had Reg’s dry coat. He glanced at his friend’s greatcoat on the chair and smiled, thinking of his old comrade. Removing his knife, Clement tucked it and his pistol under the mattress and lifting his feet, lay back on the bed, the muscles in his body finally relaxing. Once he had thought the bed hard, but now he didn’t care if it had nails. Exhaustion coursed through his body, making his limbs feel heavy and useless. Lying back on the pillow, he stared through the window. He knew he should close the curtains, but he was too exhausted to get up.

  Chapter 28

  Monday 3rd March

  The dawn light woke him, the soft whitish light of a grey, overcast morning intruded through his window. Clement reached for his watch. Seven o’clock. Early. Too early to get up. Pulling the blankets over his shoulders, he allowed the warmth to permeate his body, but his arm was throbbing. Rolling over, he pulled back the sleeve on his vest. The bandage on the wound inflicted by Stratton was stuck with thick, congealed blood. He knew without looking at the wound that it would scar. Clement pulled his sleeve back over his arm and decided he should get up and redress the wound.

  Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, Clement sat up and pulled on his shirt. He stared through the window at the early morning sky. Everything seemed quiet and still. ‘The illusory calm of Canisbay,’ he muttered. Standing by the window, he saw the Frews’ house. He stared at it. In his mind he saw the horrible image of the elderly ladies. He felt both sadness and rage for what Stratton had done to them, as well as to Donald Crawford and young McCrea. Even the man’s endeavours to kill Clement had not just been an attempt at a fatal wou
nd. Deliberately inflicting further injury to an existing wound was a contemptible act.

  Clement rubbed his hand over his beard. He needed to shave and bathe and a change of clothes would be nice. He hoped Aidan would not mind if he borrowed some, as he remembered his pack had been destroyed in the bell tower. He thanked God that Aidan’s life had been spared. Aidan had told him how Jean had taken him out the side door of the vestry and into the graveyard at gunpoint. There they had waited for the raid, during which she had fired the shot that injured his upper left arm. He had been forced to remain behind a large headstone until the ambulances arrived, when Stratton had joined them in the graveyard, ostensibly looking for bodies.

  Clement drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled his exhaustion. It had been one of the most difficult times of his life but with God’s providence, he had survived.

  Clement slipped his feet into his boots and wrapped the greatcoat around his aching body then opened the door to the corridor. He glanced up; Aidan’s bedroom door was still closed. Clement decided to light a fire and make a hot cup of tea.

  He tip-toed down the stairs and opened the door to the sitting room. It was bitterly cold. Seeing there was insufficient coal in the scuttle, Clement opened the rear door and stepped outside. It wasn’t raining, but the intensity of the cold bore into his flesh and he shivered. It surprised him that after being in Caithness through one of the most physically and mentally challenging times of his life, he now felt the cold so keenly. Perhaps it was just that he had the time to feel it now. Opening the door to the shed, he swung a sack of coal onto his shoulders and returned to the kitchen door, but the large house behind him refused to be ignored. He turned and stared at it. At least, Clement told himself, he had honoured his pledge to the elderly spinsters.