by V M Knox
‘The school is behind this wall, you say?’
Morris nodded.
‘When I was at school there were always boys who seemed to know what went on outside the school grounds. They knew how to get out of the school without being seen. And get back in. They had a knack for sourcing things that other boys only dreamt about. It may yield us nothing, Arthur, but I think it’s worth checking if, on the off-chance, a boy could have been here and either heard or saw Smith meet with this other man.’
They walked back to the car then took the road out of Ramsey to the east; the road that followed the curve of the massive wall. Minutes later they saw the school’s wide entrance with large iron gates. They were open. Morris drove in, following the drive for some distance. Ahead was an expansive field where boys were playing cricket. Beyond was an elegant stately home. Driving up to the house, Morris parked the car at the foot of the front steps and they got out.
‘A generous gift for a man who wasn’t popular,’ Clement said, wondering why the De Ramsey family had given the estate to the school.
‘Death duties and taxes would be my guess. Sometimes things are not as altruistic as they at first seem,’ Morris said and preceded Clement up the stairs. Pushing open the front door, they went inside where a sign at the foot of a handsomely carved staircase indicated the location of the school office. Following the sign, they found a woman sitting behind a desk in a small partitioned office. ‘Would it be possible to see the headmaster?’ Morris asked.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ the woman asked, her gaze shifting from Morris to Clement and lingering on his clerical collar. Morris produced his warrant card.
‘One moment,’ she said, lifting the telephone receiver. ‘I have the police here, Headmaster. They wish to speak to you.’ She waited a few seconds before replacing the receiver. ‘Mr Hetherington will see you now. I’ll show you the way.’
The woman led them up the elegant staircase to a wide landing where a timber panelled corridor ran the length of the building in both directions. Lining the walls were tall-backed chairs but no one sat there waiting to see the headmaster today. The woman knocked.
‘Enter’, a stern-voiced man replied.
‘Please go in,’ she said and left them.
The headmaster occupied a lavish room with a large window overlooking the vast playing field below. A man of mature years and wearing an academic gown stood from behind his desk and walked towards them.
‘I understand from Miss Cook that you are policemen? Although I’ve never heard of a policeman in orders before. How can I help you?’ Hetherington gestured towards two leather chairs before his ornate desk.
Clement smiled and showed the headmaster his security card. ‘Special Duties? An even more unusual occupation for a vicar. What brings you to our door?’
‘Just exploring possibilities, Headmaster. Nothing for you to worry about,’ Clement replied.
‘This may seem an odd request,’ Morris began, ‘but it is an important one; one that involves the security of our nation.’
Hetherington frowned but remained silent.
‘An incident occurred outside the school fence near the old gatehouse some months ago. We are wondering if anyone, teacher or pupil, may have witnessed it?’
‘What sort of incident?’
‘Two men met there on the morning of the thirty-first of January.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Hetherington said, his stern eyes fixed on Morris.
‘The day a German was discovered with a broken ankle in Mr Chisholm’s field out near Wistow?’
‘I remember it,’ Hetherington said. ‘What makes you suspect these men were witnessed?’
‘It’s just a theory at this stage, Headmaster.’
‘I see.’ Hetherington paused. ‘There is a group of boys who have been reprimanded in the past for being on the wall. Generally they are no trouble but they are easily led. One boy in particular seems to exert influence. There is, of course, no guarantee that any of them were there that day.’
‘Of course. Could we speak to this boy?’ Morris asked.
Hetherington reached forward and grasped the telephone. ‘Miss Cook, ask Michael Hasluck to come to my study immediately.’ The headmaster replaced the receiver and leaned back in his chair, his gaze firmly on Clement but he remained silent.
‘You have a very lovely building and grounds for your school,’ Clement said. ‘I understand it was a gift?’
Hetherington’s startlingly blue eyes looked steadily at Clement. ‘Many of our great families have been forced to endure the ignominy of divesting themselves of property or face the onerous burden of excessively harsh taxes. Our authorities should be mindful of the enormous and often unseen sacrifices our aristocratic families have made. People should know their place. However, it is the modern way, it seems. And the school has certainly benefited.’
Clement thought Hetherington was about to continue with what he evidently saw as an unnecessary and unjust breach of social protocol when a knock at the door ended the headmaster’s speech.
‘Enter,’ Hetherington boomed.
A boy of approximately ten years of age appeared in the headmaster’s study. His shoes looked scuffed and his shirt hung below his purple jacket. Clement hid a smile. He knew the type. Not really a naughty boy, just mischievous. Such boys were often in trouble but this usually created a sharp mind and a quick tongue for evading punishment.
‘Take your hands from your pockets, Hasluck. These gentlemen are from the police. They have some questions for you.’
Clement glanced at the boy. When he was ten, the headmaster telling him the police wanted to question him would have made him want to rush to the lavatory. But Hasluck was taking it all in his stride. In fact, Clement thought Hasluck would be able to entertain the whole lower school for months on this story. Hetherington remained seated, his hand inches from a leather strap that sat rolled on his desk.
Morris turned to face the lad. ‘A few months ago, in late January, there was an unusual car seen in Ramsey. I was wondering if you saw it? Perhaps around the ruins?’
The boys eyes moved to the school principal.
‘Tell the truth, Hasluck,’ Hetherington said. ‘This time your indiscretions will not be punished.’
The boy’s gaze returned to Morris. ‘I saw it. That was the day they got that Jerry who landed in Chisholm’s field. The car was amazing. Silver-green convertible. A Lagonda.’
The boy was almost salivating; his intonation one of admiration and envy.
‘You’re sure that was the make?’ Clement asked.
‘Saw it in a magazine. Really expensive. V12 motor. Goes like the wind.’
‘Where did you see it?’ Morris asked.
‘Parked beside the pond.’
‘Do you remember at what time of day?’
‘Morning. Early.’
‘You mean at dawn?’ Clement asked.
‘No, later. Just before morning bell.’
Hetherington’s glare remained fixed on the boy. ‘Bell goes at eight twenty-five, Superintendent.’
‘Did you see the man driving it?’ Clement asked.
The boy nodded.
‘Can you describe him?’
‘I can describe both of them, if you want.’
‘Both?’ Morris said.
‘The one who drove the car got out. He threw something into the pond.’
‘Do you know what?’ Morris asked.
‘It was large. Like a box or a suitcase. Produced ever such a splash!’
‘Then what?’
‘He lit a cigarette.’ Hasluck glanced at the headmaster. ‘I asked him for one.’
‘You mean you called to him from the wall?’ Clement asked.
Hasluck shook his head. ‘I climb over the gate. It isn’t hard. The space at the top is just wide enough for me to squeeze through. Sometimes the older boys pay me to do it and I get them things.’
Hetherington’s eyes flared, but he remained silent.
> ‘Did one of the older boys ask you to climb over that day?’ Clement asked.
‘No. I saw the man smoking, so I climbed over the gate and ran across the grass to where he was parked. It was really cold. It snowed later that day.’
Clement looked at the boy. ‘How do you get back?’
‘I climb up the jagged stones near the little door and jump from there. It’s really easy.’
‘The man who gave you the cigarette, can you describe him?’
‘He was tall. He had really big teeth. And he smelt of expensive tobacco.’
‘Anything else about him?’ Morris asked.
‘When he walked towards the pond, I saw him flick the cigarette into the water. He had a swagger. And his legs were sort of bowed. He was a bit ugly.’
‘Was he an old man?’ Clement asked.
‘No. Not as old as my father but older than the senior boys here. He said I reminded him of himself when he was at school. I asked him if he went to this school. He said he didn’t. He said he was a…’ The boy thought for a while. ‘A wickedness. I didn’t know what he meant but he said it was the best school in England.’
‘And the other man?’ Clement asked.
‘He stayed in the car. He looked at me then turned away. I thought his head looked like a ball. It was really round. His hair was flattened down so he must use hair cream. My father uses it too. He thinks it makes him look stylish but I think it’s because he doesn’t have much hair.’
‘And this man in the car, did he also not have much hair?’ Morris asked.
‘No. He had hair but he uses hair cream.’
‘What colour was it, fair or dark?’
‘Dark. He also had a moustache and a really big chin,’ Michael added, jutting out his jaw.
Clement stifled a grin. ‘Could you see what he was wearing?’
‘No. There was a big suitcase behind his seat though. Must have been too big for the boot because it was in sideways, with one corner poking up.’
‘Did this man say anything?’
‘No but he looked grumpy.’
‘How do you know that?’ Morris asked.
‘He had a scowl on his face.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘That’s when Big Teeth threw his cigarette away. Then, he got back into the car. Must have only had two puffs. What a waste.’
‘Did you get the impression these men were friends?’ Clement asked.
Hasluck shook his head again. ‘I don’t really know.’ The boy grinned. ‘But as he got back into the car, he smiled at me and tossed the whole cigarette packet to me. There were six left. Who does that?’
Clement looked up at Morris. ‘What happened then, Michael?’
‘They drove away.’
‘Which way did they go?’
‘The road that leads out of Ramsey, past the old gatehouse.’
‘Thank you, Michael. You’ve been most helpful. Should you remember anything else perhaps you could inform Mr Hetherington?’ Morris said, looking from Michael to the school principal.
The boy nodded, his small hands going back into the pockets before glancing at the headmaster.
‘Straight back to class now, Hasluck,’ Hetherington barked.
The boy left the headmaster’s study and Hetherington walked with Clement and Morris to the landing outside his office. ‘He’s not a bad boy. Just an insolent one,’ Hetherington said. ‘Parents are often away.’
‘Thank you for allowing us to speak to him, Headmaster,’ Morris said.
It was nearly six o’clock when they drove away from Ramsey. Clement stared out the window at the flat fields as they drove south, back to Cambridge.
‘You know, Arthur, the more I think about it, with or without a tampered parachute, I think Jakobs was nothing more than a decoy.’
‘Interesting theory.’
‘I should know more after I’ve spoken with him.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Tomorrow…’ Clement paused. ‘I’d also like to know why someone who was so insistent that his car was parked at the rear of the inn, chose to drive such a distinctly memorable vehicle anyway?’
‘Perhaps he thought no one would connect him with Jakobs. And, in fact, there isn’t any proof that he is. But I have always thought there was more to this death than met the eye,’ Morris said.
They drove in silence for some miles. Verdant green fields rolled away to a gentle blue sky. There was no sound of bombers today, nor the pulsating drum of enemy fighters, nor, in fact, the quick burring of friendly aircraft. Yet the tranquil scene held more secrets to be revealed. ‘From young Hasluck’s description, and the time of day, this other man in the car doesn’t sound like our man in the mortuary. Bathgate said that Smith left early. Did he meet up with our deceased man here in Ramsey before going to Wistow or not at all? Was he even connected to Smith?’
Morris didn’t respond immediately. ‘We don’t have any proof that the man Bathgate saw with the turn-ups actually knew Smith or even if he is the same man as seen by Bathgate. Moreover, Clement, he could merely have been asking Smith the time of day.’
Clement sighed. He needed to think. ‘Perhaps I should stay overnight in Cambridge.’
‘Happy to put you up, Clement.’
‘Thank you, Arthur.’ His thoughts returned to Smith. ‘If we believe Bathgate, Smith met with a man wearing turn-ups. If he is the corpse in the mortuary, and if Smith drove him to the field at Wistow where our man was killed, that would explain the limited amount of mud on the man’s clothes. Then Smith meets with a different man; the one young Hasluck witnessed in the Lagonda. Can you ask your people to check the pond and find out what Smith threw into it?’
‘Already thought of that,’ Morris said.
Clement continued. ‘If Smith left Ramsey before dawn with our man in the mortuary, then waited at Wistow to collect this man with dark hair, why did he return to Ramsey?’
‘To dispose of the suitcase young Hasluck saw most likely, containing either a radio transmitter or the parachute.’
‘Is that a sufficient reason?’
‘Perhaps it is as simple as that, Clement. The drainage ditches are too shallow, and the current in streams or rivers will, eventually, uncover anything submerged, so a still pond is far more preferable for permanently disposing of things.’
Clement stared at the winding, twisting road before them as they drove back to Cambridge. Was it as simple as that? Or was there another reason Smith had returned to Ramsey?
Chapter 6
Friday 30th May 1941
Morris drove the car into the precinct of Cambridge Railway Station and Clement alighted. It was still early but already the railway forecourt was crammed with people. ‘Thanks for the lift, Arthur. And for putting me up last night. An enjoyable evening, given the circumstances. All being well, I’ll most likely be back late tonight.’
‘You’re welcome to stay with me again, if you wish.’
‘Thank you. Most generous.’ Shaking hands with the Superintendent, Clement made his way to the ticket office.
Twenty minutes later he boarded the train. The corridors were crowded with passengers, some standing while others sat on their suitcases, blocking the narrow passageways. Standing in the congested corridor, Clement leaned against the glass partition of a compartment until a young soldier inside offered him his seat. Grateful for the gesture, Clement settled himself quickly then closed his eyes, his mind alive with details and facts. The train rattled and lurched its way south, stopping frequently.
Clement pulled out his notebook and scribbled down some questions he had for Nora Ballantyne. He wanted to know if there’d been any unusual radio traffic in the Ramsey area in late January and whether there had been any SIS operations in Cambridgeshire the night Jakobs landed. The train slowed then stopped. People around him groaned but it was only temporary and the train soon moved slowly forward again. Smith’s behaviour worried Clement. Why had he returned to Ramsey? Morris had t
hought of another possible explanation; Smith wished to use a telephone. This was certainly possible. It was reasonable to assume that Smith would want to let others know of the man’s safe arrival. Clement visualised the small township of Ramsey with its still pond. He hadn’t noticed any public telephone boxes but he knew a town the size of Ramsey would have some. He decided to ask Morris to check it.
His thoughts then turned to the boy, Michael Hasluck. The lad had seen the car pull up by the pond but he hadn’t said from which direction it had come. Nor had the boy said that Smith had done anything other than throw something into it before leaving Ramsey. If Morris’s theory about a telephone call was correct, Smith must have made it before his encounter with Hasluck.
Clement furrowed his brow and listened to the regular rhythmic sounds of the train as his mind continued to sift facts. Three men, three suitcases: the man known as Smith had had two in the boot, one quite possibly a radio transmitter; the second man with the turn-ups was most probably the corpse in the mortuary and also the man the publican Bathgate had seen talking to Smith. The third man had dark hair and a moustache and had also had a suitcase of some size that young Hasluck had seen behind his seat in the car.
If Smith had disposed of the parachute in the pond, what did the suitcase behind the dark-haired man contain? Clement opened his eyes and stared at nothing in particular, his mind replaying events. He wondered why Smith hadn’t walked to the copse? Was it just so that Smith didn’t have to wade through the boggy Cambridgeshire fen? Clement stared at the windowpane, at the dirty smears formed when a moving train causes rainwater to mix with grime leaving a streaky pattern. A frown settled on his forehead. The more he thought about it, the more he thought the man with the turn-ups had been deliberately sent to his death. He could identify both Smith and the passenger that young Hasluck had also seen. Could he have been murdered for some other reason? ‘Turn-up Man’, Clement reasoned, would have known the car only held two people. Therefore, he would have expected to walk back to Ramsey. But by meeting the dark-haired man in the copse, his fate was sealed. Clement scratched his head. The truth was he had few facts, just assumptions. Other than a brief exchange witnessed by the publican, Bathgate, Smith had been careful not to associate with the man wearing turn-ups while in town. To the casual observer, there was nothing to connect them.
