by Rennie Airth
Vane reflected on what he had said. Then he shrugged.
‘It must have been later, when we were driving into Oxford, that I made some reference to my car. It was new, as you know, and I’d bought it because I thought it would be easy to maintain in Germany and less noticeable than a British-made vehicle would have been. It so happened a minor problem had developed with the gears and I must have expressed some irritation over the fact that I couldn’t now drive up to Scotland the following day, as I’d intended, but would either have to leave it in a garage in Oxford, or find some way of getting it back to London, so that the necessary repairs could be made while I was away.
‘Whatever it was I said, Lang offered to deal with the matter. He said he planned to spend a day or two in the Oxford area, but would willingly drive the car to London for me after that. The worst of it is I so very nearly refused his offer, and for no other reason than that I’d taken such a strong dislike to him. But my reaction seemed out of all proportion, so in the end I let him have it. If only I’d followed my instincts!’
Visibly upset, he stared out of the window where lights could be seen burning in other windows across the courtyard.
‘What happened? Did he pick her up on the road?’ He spoke without looking round.
‘Yes, in Henley. She was running an errand for her mother. The shops were only a mile away.’
With a sigh, Vane turned to face them once more. He seemed paler than before. ‘The car was delivered to my garage in London, as promised. By the time I returned from Scotland, Lang was already in Germany establishing himself. I took up my own posting in Berlin in October. It was more than two years before I saw him again.’
‘Despite the fact you were there all that time?’ Sinclair was incredulous.
‘Yes, but that was by arrangement, you see. It wasn’t intended we should meet. Lang’s assignment was in the area of political intelligence and his orders were to recruit and control agents, to run them, as it were, and to forward their reports to me. Naturally it was important he should have no contact with our embassy in Berlin. My own position was nominally that of a senior attaché with responsibilities in the economic field and I made sure our paths didn’t cross. He reported to me in writing.’
‘Did his duties take him to Munich, by any chance?’ Sinclair asked the question.
‘Most certainly.’ Vane hesitated. He bit his lip. ‘Look, there’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you what Lang was doing for us in Germany, provided you remain discreet about it. His specific brief was to cultivate contacts in the Nazi party. It’s something we’ve been slow to get on to. Like others, we’ve tended to dismiss them as rabble. Now it looks as though they may form part of the next government. Or, God forbid, end up running it.
‘Lang was sent to Berlin with the assumed character of a representative of an Austrian textile firm. His job was to insinuate himself into party circles with the aim of identifying individuals who might prove useful to us. It’s a delicate business, one he’d shown himself to be highly skilled at. He had an eye for picking out the kind of people who could either be bought or persuaded to cooperate by other means, not all of them savoury, and which I’ll leave to your imagination.’ Vane grimaced. ‘Suffice to say he was quite ruthless, something we’d taken note of in the past.
‘We’d so arranged it that the firm he was supposed to represent had business ties in Munich and this provided him with an excuse to go there and hang about the beer halls, so as to make his face known.’ He noticed the glance that passed between his visitors. ‘Why? Is that significant?’
‘To us, yes.’ Sinclair nodded. ‘Two of the murders I’ve spoken of took place in the Munich region.’
Vane absorbed the information with a frown. He made no comment. ‘Well, so much for our plans. Now I’ll tell you what occurred. For the first year or so everything ran like clockwork. Lang went about his work with his usual efficiency. In due course he joined the party and having identified various figures whose acquaintance might yield dividends later began to cultivate them. He lent money to several. All was proceeding according to plan. But then, midway through the second year, his work began to fall off. The change was gradual, but quite marked. His reports became irregular - something unheard of, he was methodical to a fault - and when they reached me showed signs of diminishing activity on his part. I remonstrated with him in writing several times, without effect, and was beginning to think a face-to-face meeting between us might be necessary when I received a message from him asking for just that. He wanted to see me urgently.’
Vane made a gesture of weariness. ‘There was little I could do but agree, and so we met at a small hotel in the country, outside Berlin, where he told me he wanted to cut short his assignment and leave Germany. He gave as his reason his growing suspicion that he’d been identified once more as a British agent. He insisted he was in danger and said he could no longer carry on with his work.’
‘When was this?’ Sinclair broke in. ‘Can you be precise?’
‘Early in June of this year. Does that tell you anything?’
‘Yes, the last in the chain of murders occurred in April. The Bavarian authorities got a lead from it and with the Berlin police mounted a campaign to identify the killer. They used the newspapers among other means. Lang must have been aware of that.’ Sinclair paused, curious. ‘What did you make of his behaviour?’ he asked.
Vane shrugged. ‘As regards his being exposed as one of our agents, I was far from convinced. After all, his activities weren’t directed against the state. But something was amiss. He was clearly under strain.’ He hesitated, gnawing at his lip. ‘I won’t pretend I had any sympathy for him. I found him no less alien than before. But I couldn’t discount the possibility that he might be cracking up, and immediately following our meeting I got in touch with London and it was decided we should withdraw him, temporarily at least. He let it be known he’d been called back to Vienna on some pretext and left Berlin.’
‘But came to England?’ The chief inspector was listening closely.
‘Yes, we brought him back here discreetly. We wanted to keep him under our eye until it had been decided what to do next. I took the opportunity to return to London myself. I had my own views on the subject and every intention of airing them.’
‘And where was Lang while all this was going on?’
‘In a clinic near Lewes, in Sussex. It’s a place we have a ... connection with. He was told to take it easy for a few weeks. We arranged for him to receive treatment while he was there.’
‘For what, precisely?’
‘The doctors found he was suffering from nervous exhaustion, which came as no surprise. We’d seen other agents react to the pressures of their work in similiar ways. It’s a hazardous profession, after all. But I was more interested in what their psychiatrist had to say, man called Bell. It was clear he was fascinated by Lang. In his very first report he described him as an unusual patient, one whose personality he found disturbing, but difficult to penetrate. Opaque was the word he used.’
‘Was that all he had to say?’ Sinclair frowned.
‘At that stage, yes. And since he didn’t take issue with the more general diagnosis, Lang was treated simply for strain. He was encouraged to relax. On the advice of the doctors we’d provided him with a car and I understand he spent time driving about the countryside.’
‘Did he, indeed?’ The coolness had returned to Sinclair’s manner. ‘Well, I dare say he found occasion to pass by Bognor Regis. One of the two murders I mentioned took place near there, as you may recall.’
Vane’s face stiffened. But he said nothing. After a moment, he continued. ‘In due course we received a full report from the clinic which included Bell’s observations. Though still guarded in his views, what he had to tell us was alarming. He said he had little doubt Lang was suffering from some acute psychological disorder and cautioned us to be wary in our dealings with him.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Bennett struck his thigh in i
mpatience. ‘Couldn’t he have been more specific?’
‘I certainly thought so. So I rang him up to see if I could discover more, but he merely repeated what he’d said earlier: that Lang was someone we’d do well to keep at arm’s length. I then asked him point blank if he thought he was normal, and he replied that wasn’t a word people in his profession liked to use, and that in any case he didn’t want to make a categorical judgement since the patient in this case had been unwilling to submit to a proper examination.’
Vane smiled grimly. He caught the assistant commissioner’s eye.
‘Having cleared his conscience, however, if that was what he was doing, he then informed me that various aspects of Lang’s behaviour had given him cause for concern, telltale signs he called them, and one more than any other which he termed “a lack of adequate emotional response”, a condition most psychiatrists regarded as being inaccessible to treatment. Extreme detachment from the consequences of one’s actions might be another way of putting it. Those who displayed its symptoms frequently felt no guilt or responsibility for what they did, he said, adding it was one of the classic signs of a psychopathic personality.’
‘I’ll be damned!’ Bennett was bereft of words. Sinclair, on the other hand, seemed unsurprised.
‘And what effect, if any, did that have on your colleagues?’ he asked. ‘Were they taken aback?’
‘It depends what you mean.’ Vane eyed him. ‘Some of us were shocked, certainly. And since I was the person who’d had to deal with him it fell to me to press the case for dispensing with his services. Using Bell’s words as ammunition, I insisted that he was a man we could no longer trust and that it was time to cut our ties with him for good.’ He laughed harshly. ‘I thought I’d made a convincing job of it, but I soon learned better. My arguments cut no ice with those that mattered; nor, it seemed, did the views of some psychiatrist. I was reminded that Lang was one of our best agents with a long record of achievement behind him. As for his flaws of character, they were no more than one might expect from one engaged in so dubious a profession.’
He turned away to stare out of the window. It was some moments before he resumed. In the interim Sinclair and Bennett exchanged glances. But neither felt inclined to speak.
‘I dare say you won’t find it easy to stomach what I’ve told you.’ Vane addressed the darkness outside. ‘You may even wonder how such an individual came to be employed by our intelligence service. I mean, quite apart from the issue of these bestial crimes. I can only answer by giving you the arguments of those who promoted his career in the first place and have championed him ever since. They would say the world was changed by the war in ways the people of this country have yet to grasp. Put simply, it’s grown savage—there’s no playing by the rules any longer - and men like Gaston Lang, and the uses they can be put to, are just a symptom of that change. It’s not a view universally shared, not yet, but one that’s likely to gain favour if present trends continue.’
He turned to face them again.
‘Where were we ...? Yes, Lang’s future. Well, that was quickly settled. It was decided to send him back to Berlin. His claim to have been unmasked as a British agent had been found to be groundless. We’d been able to obtain independent confirmation of that. Accordingly, he was summoned to London, reminded that he had an obligation to us and instructed to return to Germany without delay and resume his assignment.’
‘And how did he respond? Did he accept the decision?’
‘He seemed to. He raised no objection, at any rate. But watching him, I was reminded of our meeting at Woodstock and it struck me more strongly than ever that I had no idea who he really was or what was going on in his mind.’
Vane pondered his own words. He shook his head.
‘However, it appeared that matters had been settled. Lang returned to Lewes to pack and prepare for his departure. We were expecting to receive confirmation of his travel plans. Instead, two days later, what amounted to a letter of resignation reached us through the post. He said he’d reviewed his position and decided he could no longer continue in our employment. He was returning to Brussels - that’s where he was based - and would leave the car we’d provided him with at a garage in Dover. Where, incidentally, it was recovered later. Inquiries made at the ferry ticket office revealed that a man answering his description had booked a cross-channel passage the day before.’
‘Was that all? Are you telling me no attempt was made to stop him, or bring him back?’ Sinclair was disbelieving.
Vane shrugged. ‘Whatever hold we might have thought we had on him, there was little we could do, in fact. You can only lead a horse to water, after all. We couldn’t force him to work for us. And there was another consideration. Lang knew a good deal about our intelligence activities; the last thing we wanted to do was antagonize him. All in all, it was thought better to let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘So you had no further contact with him?’
‘None whatsoever, though we’ve tried to get in touch with him. We mean to continue with the German operation and there are aspects of it that need clarifying. But there’s been no sign of him in Brussels - or anywhere else on the Continent where we might have expected to catch up with him.’
‘Hardly surprising, given that it’s clear he remained in England.’ The chief inspector made no effort to hide his chagrin. ‘This man has made fools of you, Mr Vane. You and your confounded colleagues. Do you see what he’s done? He got you to spirit him out of Germany, leaving no trace behind. That’s twice you’ve saved his miserable skin.’
‘I’m only too aware of that, Chief Inspector.’ Vane held his accuser’s gaze without flinching. But his remorse was plain.
‘I need some dates from you, sir.’ Sinclair sought to keep a rein on his temper. ‘When did he enter the clinic, and how long was he there?’
‘He arrived from Germany towards the end of June and disappeared in the middle of August.’
‘The Bognor Regis killing occurred in late July, when he was still a patient, then. But the Brookham murder was in September, long after he was supposed to have gone home. Why did he choose to stay in this country? Can you tell me that? And more important - where do I look for him now? How do I find this man?’
Vane sat back with a sigh. The strain of the long afternoon showed in his pale features. Across the desk, Bennett glanced at his watch. For the past few minutes the assistant commissioner had been trying to attract his companion’s attention - he wanted to bring the meeting to a close - but Sinclair’s gaze remained fixed on the photograph which Vane had taken from his folder a short while back and handed to them.
An ordinary snapshot, it showed a man clad in a black coat and homburg, standing before some anonymous backdrop - the wall of a building, perhaps. As though caught off guard, his eyes had widened slightly at the moment the photograph was taken, appearing like two black holes in the white of his clean-shaven face. Otherwise expressionless, Gaston Lang stared back at the camera.
‘That’s the only one we have of him, I’m afraid.’ Vane had been apologetic in making his offering. ‘As you can see, he wasn’t expecting it. He’s not a man who likes to have his picture taken.’
He had added a description of their quarry which the chief inspector had noted down.
‘He’s in his early forties, of average height, lean and fit. Wiry. He struck me as being stronger than he looks. But his appearance is nondescript: brown hair, brown eyes and with no scars or other identifying marks.’
‘What about a birthmark?’ Sinclair spoke bluntly. ‘We understand he might have one. He was seen half-naked by a witness to one of his murders.’
‘I don’t know about that...’ Vane frowned. ‘But wait a minute ... he must have had a full medical examination at the clinic. We insisted on it.’
He opened his file and sorted through the contents.
‘Yes, here it is ...’ He picked out a sheet of paper and studied it. ‘Well, I never ... you’re quite right. It’s on his upper
chest. A large haemangioma.’
He glanced up at Sinclair, nodding.
‘What else? Can you think of anything out of the ordinary? Any peculiarities he possesses?’ The chief inspector’s tone remained cool. Although he’d made an effort to moderate the sharpness of his manner, his anger remained unabated. To his way of thinking, it was a sorry tale they’d been treated to.
‘Apart from the fact that he speaks English with an accent, none. He’d be easy to miss in a crowd. Up close, though, it’s a different matter. That curious quality I spoke of - a sort of lifelessness - it’s unsettling.’
On the crucial question of Lang’s likely whereabouts, Vane could offer only cautious advice.
‘It’s been three months since he disappeared. What his intentions were is anyone’s guess. Almost the only thing of any value I can tell you is that he’s probably changed his name. He won’t be Emil Wahl any longer. He’ll be busy covering his tracks.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’ Bennett had questioned the assertion. ‘As I understand it, the German police haven’t actually identified the man they’re after. And there’s been nothing in our press to connect the two sets of cases.’
‘Perhaps not. But his actions tell a different story. You’ve only to look at the care he took to make us believe he was returning to the Continent. Isn’t that the reaction of a man who in his own mind at least is already on the run and trying to throw any pursuers off the scent?’ Vane frowned. ‘That said, other aspects of his behaviour seem quite irrational. I’m thinking of those two murders he committed after he got here. They go against all reason. Surely he must have been aware of the danger of drawing attention to himself?’ He had glanced at Sinclair as he spoke, perhaps hoping for enlightenment, but the chief inspector’s only response had been to repeat the question he’d put earlier.
