Croft was stunned. “What?”
Millie nodded slowly. “Body size matches, hair at the rear – what was left of it – matches, prints match. Samples have gone off for analysis. We’ll have interim confirmation by the time we get to the station, and we’ll be absolutely sure by Wednesday, but I don’t think there’s any doubt.”
The car left the airport and joined the motorway, heading for Manchester. Croft watched the traffic move aside for the flashing emergency lights of the small convoy.
“Ted Sinclair and his bloody guns.” he murmured.
“Warrington knew he was member of a local gun club, but they didn’t realise he kept so many of them at home. And that’s a question Ernie is asking right now. Course, Burke and his pal could have taken a pistol and the shotgun from the taxi driver in Nottingham, or the van driver whose vehicle they stole. We don’t know.”
Croft shook his head. “No. They were Ted’s.”
Again Croft studied the movements of the traffic, this time through a log jam of cars and trucks as they approached the M60 near Stockport. Drivers looked in their mirrors, saw the emergency lights, and moved to the hard shoulder, or hugged the central reservation until the motorcycles and car passed. Ad hoc movements, spur of the moment decisions to accommodate the unexpected.
“The opposite of Burke,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thinking out loud.” Croft half turned in his seat to feast his eyes on Millie’s strong body, thriving on memories of the times he and she had enjoyed each other. Quelling his licentious thoughts, he said, “Burke was a planner, and he would never have planned to eliminate Trish. It’s the other party’s work, and that may give us an advantage.”
“Burke obviously planned the escape,” Millie argued.
Croft shook his head. “No. Not alone. They planned an escape, but there was a lot they had to take on spec, as it happened. How could they know there would be a nurse with them when they attacked his warders? They couldn’t. How could they know the taxi driver or van driver, or whoever, would be armed? They couldn’t. I repeat: the guns were Ted Sinclair’s. He boasted about them online.” He frowned. “And what the hell were Scarbeck General playing at when they told this caller that Trish had been discharged? I only found out after an argument with them, and it was Trench, the psychiatrist, who told me.”
“I can tell you what they told me,” Thurrock said from the driver’s seat. “I was there this morning, and I took statements from them.”
“I’m listening,” Croft replied.
Thurrock was silent for a moment, zigzagging the car through gaps in the traffic forcing their way onto the M60. When they were settled again, moving into the offside lane, waiting for traffic to yield, he outlined what he had learned.
“Scarbeck General logged the call at eight in the morning about a month ago. This bod rang the ward direct, claimed to be you and you were ringing from Tenerife. Idiot in charge thought no more about it and told him she’d been discharged. When he asked where, the ward bod told him she was at her elder brother’s. Won’t have been difficult for him to get Ted Sinclair’s address from there.”
Croft chewed spit. “And the ward clerk never thought to check whether I already knew. Wait until I see them.” He suppressed his anger. “Do we know what time Burke and his companion hit the Sinclairs?”
“Warrington estimate about eight thirty to nine o’clock,” Millie replied.
Croft made some rapid calculations. “It’s about right. They left Nottingham, got to Leeds for half past four, five in the morning, you say, and at that point it would appear as if they were heading for Scarbeck. But instead, they made for Warrington where they sat and waited for signs of movement in the house. Once they realised Ted was up and about, they hit. You rang me at ten fifteen, Tenerife time, nine fifteen UK time. By then, they’d had forty-five minutes to deal with Trish, Ted and Belinda.” He tapped the rear of the driver’s seat. “Thurrock, what time were you at the hospital?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“We were straight onto Warrington when you told us, Felix,” Millie said. “And we rang again stressing the urgency after we got the report from Dave. They would have been there by ten thirty, and that’s when they found the two constables in the hall.”
“But by then, Burke and his pal had a half hour’s head start on them. Maybe an hour. I assume you’ve put out a general alert for him.”
“All counties north of Birmingham for the time being.” Millie took his hand. “We’re in a passive position, Felix, just like always. Only thing is, this time we don’t even know who we’re looking for, and the few CCTV images we have are crap. Unless we get lucky and someone spots and identifies him or Ted’s Range Rover, we can only wait for him to act.”
The traffic freed up, the motorcycles and Thurrock accelerated until they were once more moving at high speed.
Croft squeezed Millie’s hand. “The only one to blame for this mess is me. I should have let us all go at Cromford Mill.” He sighed. “I’ll reiterate; he’s working ad hoc; making it up as he goes along. Remember as The Handshaker, Burke had everything carefully planned, down to the last detail and contingencies in place if things went wrong. Freewheeling was not his style. It’s risky, prone to mistakes. We don’t know how smart his accomplice is, but he’s taking risks, and that may be to our advantage.”
Millie forced a smile. “Let’s hope so.”
9
(As recounted by Anna Etzler to Franz Walter and later by Walter to Julius Reiniger.)
Heinrich Etzler often boasted of his progress. From school he had joined the Planning Department of the Bavarian Regional Government as a messenger boy, and through the years had been steadily promoted to a position of junior clerk.
He was also a fervent Party Worker for the NSDAP, in which he saw the future of Germany, and it was thanks to that political dedication that he ended up in Heidelberg working for the Planning Department.
Two weeks after the failed putsch of 1923 – he was not amongst the faithful who marched with Herr Hitler – he was called to the office of his supervisor, and told that his position within the department was untenable.
“But Herr Rosen, my politics have never interfered with my work.”
“I know that, but in the same breath, you have never made a secret of your politics. This party of which you are a member has demonstrated its contempt for democracy, and, Heinrich, we owe our very jobs to democracy. I have a solution, and if you’re agreeable, you’ll find that it is also a promotion.”
Unhappily, Herr Etzler listened.
“There is a vacancy in the Planning Department in the city of Heidelberg. It would mean uprooting yourself from here in Munich and moving permanently to Heidelberg, but the move would be good for you, and your party is strongly represented over there.”
Convinced that the old Jewish supervisor had engineered this scheme because of his objection to the National Socialists, Etzler nevertheless agreed and early in 1924 moved to rented rooms in Neuenheim, across the river from Heidelberg, and it was while working in the town hall that he met Frau Elsa Haller.
Not that he was particularly interested in a forty-year-old woman who commuted thirty-five kilometres each way every day from her husband’s farm near Friedrichstal, but on the day Frau Haller resigned and left her position with the department, in order to take a new post nearer to home, he was invited to the family homestead and introduced to their fourteen-year-old daughter, Anna.
This girl was a vision of loveliness, and Etzler had to remind himself that she was under the legal age for marriage. There was something about her shapely figure that excited his lust and over the coming months, as a frequent visitor to the farm, he had to exercise rigorous self-control to prevent himself committing a crime that could be interpreted as rape. Not that Anna would have objected, but Heinrich Etzler was made of sterner stuff. There would be time enough for mutual pleasure when they were married.
As Anna rea
ched the age of sixteen, he formally asked her father’s permission to court her, and it was granted, but always under the strict supervision of her parents. Over the previous two years, Etzler had made good progress within the Planning Department, and at the tender age of twenty-three, he had already been made assistant supervisor over a small team of administrators concerned with street repairs in Heidelberg. His prospects were good, and he could promise Anna the kind of life her father’s ailing farm would never yield.
For young Etzler, 1928 was a bumper year. His beloved National Socialists had secured no fewer than twelve seats in the Reichstag, with an ebullient Hitler promising more at the next election. At work, Etzler received his next promotion to section supervisor, which prompted him to formally propose to the eighteen-year-old Anna, and on the strength of her acceptance he put down a deposit on a small house off Lutherstrasse in Neuenheim. Heinrich Etzler’s dreams were turning to reality.
Two years had passed and the idyll had become something approaching a nightmare.
His wife of only four months had been seeing a Dr Bergen for the previous three years and when Etzler saw the bills after their wedding, he immediately forbade her from seeing him again. The doctor’s outstanding bill was twenty Marks. Etzler wrote back, told Bergen in no uncertain terms exactly what he thought of him:
“I refuse to pay one Pfennig of your exorbitant rates, and if you are dissatisfied with this decision, then I suggest, Herr Bergen, that you take the matter up with the university hospital authorities. Before you do, however, I feel I must point out that I am an official at the Heidelberg City Hall, and therefore, not without influence. With the name of Bergen, it seems to me that you must be a Jew, and your outrageous fees demonstrate exactly what is wrong with Germany today. Too many of your people are in positions of authority, where they can rob the honest Aryan worker of his hard earned income. But I, sir, am also a prominent member of the NSDAP and I give you my assurance that, when we come to power, I will ensure that your practice is thoroughly investigated.”
The letter, which he gave to Anna to post, must have done the trick, for he never heard a word from Dr Bergen.
A week later, however, Anna’s hand seized into a painful cramp. No matter how hard she tried, she could not unclench any of her fingers, but the little finger. The pain became so great that it often reduced his wife to tears.
“The only person who could ever help me was Dr Bergen,” she wept. “Heinrich, we must find the money to pay him and let me see him again.”
It rankled, but her pain became his pain, and he relented. He managed to get together half the fee and borrowed the remainder from Anna’s father who handed it over grudgingly.
“I hope, Heinrich, when your National Socialists come to power that they will take steps to curb this Jewish extortionist.”
“You have my word on it, Herr Haller.”
Anna arranged to see Dr Bergen, and within days the cramps had eased and she was her old, cheerful self again, but the first seeds of suspicion had been sown in her husband’s mind.
***
September 1930 was a time of great rejoicing for the National Socialists. After the 1928 elections they won just twelve seats in the Reichstag, and the party was almost bankrupt, but the great depression of 1929 saw a reversal in their fortune. Herr Hitler, the only political leader in Germany untainted by the economic scandals of the Weimar Republic, forecast winning fifty to sixty of the five hundred and seventy-seven seats. In fact they won one hundred and seven, making them the second largest party in the Reichstag.
It was not such a good time for Julius Reiniger who lived in constant terror of Hitler coming to power, and whose dread was exacerbated by Walter’s determination to defy Heinrich Etzler.
Anna never posted the letter her husband wrote to ‘Dr Bergen’. Acting under Walter’s post-hypnotic suggestion, she instead brought it to him at their weekly meeting in Karlsruhe, where he would take her to his office, an apartment in a seedy block near the Bahnhofplatz. After raping her, without protest while she was muted under hypnosis, he sat by the fire, with Julius, and read Herr Etzler’s pompous letter, then laughed scornfully.
“What an oaf!” He passed the letter to Julius who read it with widening, fearful eyes.
“But, master,” worried the servant, “if this man chooses to go to the police, his political influence—”
“Is nothing,” Walter snorted. Taking the letter from his apprentice, he tossed it on the fire and watched as it burned brightly for a few moments before the ragged ashes were drawn up the chimney. “Julius, he is a section supervisor in the Planning Department at Heidelberg. He has less influence than the mayor’s pet dachshund.” The criminal hypnotist smiled sadistically at Anna’s inert form on the bed. “Considerably less influence than me, too. I think, my boy, it is time we tested Herr Etzler to the limit. I will show him that he cannot cheat me of twenty marks.”
He crossed to the bed where the naked Anna lay, and stroked her breast.
“Anna, you will listen to me, listen only to my voice. There is no other sound of any importance other than my voice. The moment you climb on the train to return to Heidelberg, the fingers of your left hand will pinch into the palm. You will not be able to move them until you hear me tell you they are free. When you go home, you will be in great pain, and when your husband asks, you will tell him that Doctor Bergen is the only one who can cure the problem, and he must get the twenty marks Doctor Bergen has demanded.”
He repeated the instruction to ensure that she had understood it, and then ordered her to dress.
It worked. Less than a month later, she was back with the money and Walter released her fingers, but he was determined to continue with his plan to annoy Herr Etzler, and that worried Julius.
One of Walter’s first moves was to begin ‘renting’ Anna out. The apartment block offered various services, including that of a maid who was available by the hour. Over the summer months of 1930, Walter arranged for many men to visit Anna in the apartment, and each time it was a maid who would show both Anna and the ‘gentleman’ to the room, where Anna, given the command ‘combarus’ would do exactly as the men wished.
But with the National Socialist’s success in the elections, and the threat of a Fascist state looming, word reached the worried Julius that Herr Etzler had visited the university hospital and learned that they had never heard of Dr Bergen.
And where did you hear this, Julius?” his master asked.
“I overheard a couple of errand boys talking about it, master. It is only a matter of time before Herr Etzler tracks us down.”
“Give me credit for having more sense, Julius. Anna can never tell him, and he is like all National Socialists. He follows orders blindly. It will never occur to him to take a day off work and follow her. Instead he will ask the housemaid to do so, and I will ensure that Anna instructs the maid differently.” A frown creased Walter’s forehead. “However, I do believe that you are partly right and the time has come to do something about Herr Etzler before he causes any further trouble.”
Julius was horrified at the implication. “Master, you cannot murder a government official. The party would come down upon us from a great height and we would surely both hang.”
Walter smiled at his manservant. “You’re right, my boy. Neither you nor I can take actions against Herr Etzler.” He gestured at Anna. “But she can murder a bullying, unloving husband.”
The young man was perplexed. Walter crossed the room and sat by the hypnotised woman.
“Since Munteanu taught me the art of hypnosis, I have read many books on the subject, including one by the great Ludwig Mayer, Professor of Psychiatry at the University of Heidelberg. They all say the same thing. You cannot induce a hypnotised subject to carry out any act which goes against his or her moral integrity.” Walter laughed. “Therefore, Julius, it is impossible for you or I to fuck Anna Etzler, because she is a morally upright, dutiful and loving wife. It also means we cannot induce Anna Etzler to
murder her husband.” He stood up and stretched. “Let’s see if that is true.”
10
“Attention to detail, old boy,” Billy said to the body of the shopkeeper as he rolled the yellow, rear number plate under the press. “It’s the difference between winners and losers.”
He had found the car spares shop, situated on one of the main roads out of Northwich, a small establishment in a terraced row of shops. Billy passed time, waiting patiently, just a few streets away until the proprietor was almost ready for closing up. But those hours had not been completely wasted. He had watched for Range Rovers which matched the model and colour of Ted Sinclair’s. And when he spotted one, he noted the number.
Bursting into the shop just after 5.30pm, as the owner was about to lock up, he begged for a number plate, and the shopkeeper grudgingly agreed. It was his last ever action. A moment later, Billy hit him on the back of the head with the butt of the Colt. Snatching a hammer from a display stand, he followed up with three more blows to the man’s skull. After drawing the vertical blinds across the door, he had driven the Range Rover to the rear of the shop, gone back into the place, locked up and proceeded to make his own number plates, bearing the number he had noted earlier in the day. When he was through, he would fit them to Sinclair’s Range Rover and the law could pass its time looking for Sinclair’s registration, which they would not find.
He had also taken the opportunity to catch up with the latest news on the radio, and learned, much to his gratification, that the police had not yet gone public on either Burke’s escape or the subsequent killings. It was only a matter of time, he knew, but right now, with only the police looking for him and no clue to his identity, he had the advantage.
The Deep Secret Page 8
