A Wind on the Heath

by James Pattinson

  Raven moved so fast then that he had no time to guess what was about to happen. Something seemed to explode in his right eye with a brilliant display of stars, and it was not until later that he realised it was the man’s iron fist. He went down, upsetting a chair on the way. He was blind in one eye and the pain was agonising. As if from a long distance he heard the girl scream. He was dazed and only half aware of a knee on his chest and a knife pricking his throat. He was seeing none too clearly from his one good eye, but he had a vague impression of Raven’s face hovering over him and words spilling out of the mouth in vicious little spurts.

  ‘I could kill you, you bastard. People get in my way, they wish they hadn’t. Maybe I carve you up some; spoil your looks; learn you not to get in my way. How’d you like that, mate?’

  ‘No, Jude, no!’ It was Angela’s voice. She was pleading with him; fearing what he might do in his rage. ‘Please! Oh, please!’

  He took no notice of her.

  ‘This for a start,’ he said.

  Sterne felt the blade of the knife make a cut in the flesh under his chin. It was to leave a scar that would be with him for the rest of his life. He tried to struggle free but was groggy from the blow that had almost stunned him, and Raven’s knee was heavy on his chest. He waited for the next cut to be made.

  But it never came.

  Another voice broke in: ‘Drop the knife or I will shoot you through the head.’

  It sounded like Lakos’s voice, though it was crisper and more authoritative than he had heard it sound before. And then, through the kind of gauzy screen which was blurring his vision, he discerned Lakos standing close to Raven and pointing a stubby revolver at his head.

  He could not believe it. Peter Lakos was the last person he would have suspected of owning a weapon of that kind and of being prepared to use it. Could it be that he was in dreamland and imagining all this?

  But then Lakos said: ‘Do it. I shall not tell you again.’

  Raven must have decided that the threat was genuine, or at least that it would be advisable not to take a chance on its being merely bluff. He put the knife down on the floor and stood up, removing the pressure of his knee from Sterne’s chest.

  ‘You wouldn’t use that thing,’ he said. ‘An old bastard like you.’ But he did not sound too sure.

  ‘I may be an old bastard,’ Lakos said. ‘but you will find out whether I would use this gun if you do not leave my house this instant. I have killed men for less than you have done. So now away with you.’

  Raven seemed to be in half a mind to refuse. He might have been thinking of calling Lakos’s bluff – if it was a bluff. But in the end he lacked the nerve. The gun was too close and there was a finger on the trigger.

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll go.’ But before leaving he spoke again to the girl. ‘I want you back, Mag. I mean to have you back. You better not be obstinate; it could be the worse for him.’ He stabbed a finger at Sterne. ‘You get me?’

  She said nothing.

  He felt in his pocket and fished out a card. It was not printed but an address had been written on it in block capitals. He flicked it towards her and it fell at her feet.

  ‘That’s where you’ll find me. Don’t keep me waiting too long. You know me. No patience.’

  ‘Go,’ Lakos said. ‘You are trying my patience.’

  Raven made an obscene gesture and went.

  *

  Sterne’s eye plagued him all night in spite of cold compresses applied by Angela and some kind of concoction prepared by Petra Lakos. In the morning it looked bad and he knew it was going to be bad for days, maybe even weeks. The cut under his chin had bled a lot, but it was not too serious and it was covered now with a strip of sticking-plaster.

  He asked Lakos what had made him come up to the flat with the revolver. Lakos said that it was a feeling he had had.

  ‘It was I who let that man into the house, and I saw at once that he was a rogue; I have an eye for such things. I saw him enter your flat and feared there might be trouble. So I climbed the stairs and listened at the door. In the end I heard enough to make me think it was time I intervened; so I went in.’

  ‘And you had the gun with you?’

  ‘Oh yes. I knew that if there was trouble I would be of no use without a weapon. I am not a man of violence. I cannot use my fists like a pugilist.’

  ‘I am surprised you own a gun,’ Sterne said. He wondered whether the revolver was registered, but he did not ask.

  ‘There are reasons,’ Lakos said. But it was apparent that he had no intention of saying what those reasons were.

  ‘And is it true that you have killed men?’

  Lakos smiled. ‘Oh no, no. Do I look like a killer? That was just to persuade the man that he had better not hang around. I don’t know whether he believed it, but it made him think.’

  ‘Are you going to tell the police about this?’ Sterne asked.

  Lakos answered quickly: ‘No. I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?’

  ‘No, perhaps not,’ Sterne said. He was thinking of Angela becoming involved. Better not to have the coppers putting their noses into the affair.

  *

  Later Angela said: ‘You want to know all about him, don’t you?’

  He had asked no questions, but she was right: he did want to know. He had heard enough to make him unhappy, and he guessed that whatever else she might tell him would be likely to make him even more so. But he had to know.

  ‘You know where he’s been, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Abroad?’

  She gave a hard sort of laugh. ‘No, not abroad. In stir.’

  ‘Stir?’

  ‘Prison.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I didn’t know he was out until he turned up here.’

  ‘What was he in for?’

  ‘Robbery with violence.’

  ‘I see.’ So violence was part of his stock-in-trade. Well, that came as no surprise. He had given a demonstration of it. ‘Was it right what he said – that you were his girl?’

  She admitted that it was. ‘We practically grew up together, though he’s a few years older than me. I thought he was wonderful; he was my hero; he used to be top dog with all the other boys. Then when I started dancing professionally I left home and went to live with him. He was making pots of money one way and another, and he had a lovely flat.’

  ‘Better than this, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  He could imagine a lot more; imagine that swine and her together, making love. It hurt. It hurt him more than his injured eye, which was surrounded by black and swollen bruises; a real shiner.

  ‘What did your people think of you going to live with him?’

  ‘They didn’t like it at all. They never had liked him.’

  Well, good for them, he thought. It showed better judgement on their part than she had shown.

  *

  She was restless all day. He knew that she was thinking about Judas Raven, and it bothered him. He caught her looking at the card Raven had thrown at her.

  He said: ‘Don’t even think of it. Don’t even think of it for a moment.’

  ‘I have to,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t mean it. You can’t really mean you’re considering the possibility of leaving me and going back to that swine. I don’t believe it.’

  It was a shock to hear that it had even entered her head. But obviously it had, and he had to face the fact, distasteful though it might be.

  ‘It would maybe be for the best, you know.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Well, look at it this way. If I don’t do what he wants he’ll take it out on you. From his point of view you’re an interloper. He’s jealous as hell and he’ll stop at nothing to get rid of you. You’ve got to realise that.’

  ‘So what can he do? Kill me?’

  ‘Even that wouldn’t be out of the question. But probably the start would be a beating-up. He wouldn’t even
have to do the job himself; he knows the sort of people who’d do that sort of thing any day of the week if they were paid to. And they’d give you a real going-over. It’d be more than just a black eye and a broken tooth. You’d be a hospital case. Believe me, David, I know about these things and I don’t think you do.’

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘You may think so, but you can’t. However careful you were, they’d get you in the end.’

  He thought about it. He thought about it for a whole minute, and his thoughts were gloomy.

  ‘So what you’re saying is that if you were to go back to him you’d be doing it entirely for my sake? To save me from getting hurt. Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, that is it.’

  He gave her a keen searching look, and it came to him like a sudden blinding revelation; the truth of the matter.

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re not thinking of me; you’re thinking of yourself. You’re still in love with him, aren’t you? You want to go back to him.’

  She said nothing; made no vehement denial of the charge; just met his accusing gaze in silence.

  ‘So it’s true. It’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you say so,’ she said.

  He lost his temper. He had an impulse to hit her. She was so cool, and her coolness maddened him, nearly drove him out of his mind. But with a supreme effort of self-control he restrained the impulse and even managed to speak calmly, though bitterly.

  ‘Very well, then. You’d better go.’

  ‘I’m sorry, David.’

  Sorry! She was sorry! It didn’t even begin to describe how he felt.

  Chapter Twelve – ARREST

  In the late summer of 1939 he decided to join the Territorial Army. Anyone who was not blind and deaf or half-witted could tell that war was inevitable, and he felt that he had to do something about it. Hitler was insatiable. In March he had annexed Bohemia and Moravia, making them a German Protectorate. In April his ally, Mussolini, had seized Albania. Austria had already gone, Poland was threatened, and there seemed to be no end to the land-grabbing by the two fascist powers. Somebody surely had to make a stand, if it was only David Sterne.

  It was now five months since Angela had left, and he had neither seen nor had a word from her in all that time. He supposed she was still with Raven. He could no doubt have obtained information regarding her from the Maggses if he had taken a trip down to the East End where the greengrocer’s shop was situated, but he was not at all sure he wanted to have news of her. It could only serve to open the old wound, which had never fully healed. He still missed her. He could never get her out of his mind; remembering the sweetness of life with her and regretting that it had had to come to an end.

  There was just one favourable result of it: he now had no distraction from his writing. Successes still came with little frequency, but he was learning his trade; he was learning all the time. And now once again he could live with a frugality that had rather gone by the board while there had been two of them in the flat.

  The Lakoses had been saddened by the departure of his partner. They both had an affection for Angela, and they could not imagine how she could have brought herself to abandon him in favour of that other man.

  ‘A scoundrel,’ Peter said. ‘A villain. One could see it at a glance. And she has gone to him. What madness. What could she see in him?’

  ‘They had been lovers since childhood,’ Sterne said. ‘I suppose her time with me was just an interlude while he was away.’

  Mrs Lakos refused to believe it. ‘She was in love with you. How can you doubt it? I tell you what it is: there is witchcraft in this. He has bewitched her; made her crazy.’

  ‘I should have shot him,’ Lakos said. ‘I should have shot him when I had the chance. A man like that has no right to live.’

  Sterne had to laugh. The idea of Peter Lakos shooting anyone was too ludicrous; not to be taken seriously.

  ‘Perhaps someone else will kill him,’ Petra said. ‘There is always hope. I am sure he has many enemies.’

  *

  The unit that Sterne joined was a light anti-aircraft battery. He now had the rank of gunner and a number: 1489116. He had a battledress uniform made of coarse khaki material and a pair of ammunition boots with hobnails in the soles and irons on the heels. When you marched in such boots on a hard surface they made a clinking noise which beat out the rhythm of the march and helped you to keep in step with the other men in the column. He liked route marches; there was a camaraderie about them that was unique and wholly pleasurable.

  In that glorious late summer before the world went mad he did foot-drill and rifle-drill and gun-drill on the Bofors. He learned about aim-off and cartwheel sights and moving targets and the intricate mechanism of the 40 millimetre quick-firing gun with its long slim barrel and conical flash-guard on the end.

  When he told the Lakoses that he had joined the Territorials he was not sure whether they approved or not. They both looked rather concerned.

  ‘You think there will be a war?’ Peter asked.

  ‘It looks pretty certain, doesn’t it? What do you think?’

  ‘I am afraid you may be right. It will be a disaster of course.’

  ‘But somebody has got to stop the Nazis.’

  ‘Yes, that is true.’

  Mrs Lakos said: ‘I cannot bear to think of you going to fight, David.’

  ‘But if there’s to be any fighting I couldn’t just leave it to others.’

  ‘But you need not have put yourself forward.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But it would probably have come to it in the end.’

  He had of course told his parents. His mother tended to think along the same lines as Mrs Lakos; it worried her. His father thought he had done the right thing and was proud of him. Whatever opinions George and Will might have had on the subject were not revealed to him. He doubted whether they were either proud or worried.

  *

  It was an odd thing that on the very day, August the 23rd, when Ribbentrop and Molotov signed the infamous German-Soviet treaty which effectually carved up Poland between the two great dictatorships and gave each of them time to prepare to fight the other, Peter and Petra Lakos were arrested. It was sheer coincidence of course; the two events were not connected in any way and took place fifteen hundred miles apart, but Sterne always remembered the two in tandem because they had occurred on the same day.

  It was also the day when he glanced out of the window and saw the couple meditating on the grass patch below. Later he saw them picking up their things and returning to the house.

  About half an hour more had passed when the police turned up. He heard the cars stopping in the street outside, and in a minute the house seemed to be full of policemen, some in plain clothes, others in uniform. Some of them came rushing up the stairs, and the door of the flat was pushed open without the preliminary of a knock and two of the officers came in.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Sterne demanded.

  One of the men, who was wearing a grey suit and trilby hat, said: ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Blake.’ He showed a warrant card. ‘And this is Constable Foan.’

  Foan was in uniform. He was standing with his back to the door, as if to make sure that Sterne did not make a run for it.

  ‘What is your name, sir?’ Blake asked.

  Sterne told him.

  ‘And you live here?’

  ‘Yes. I rent this flat from Mr Lakos.’

  ‘Is there anyone else living here?’

  ‘No. I’m on my own. But what is this?’

  Blake ignored the question and said: ‘We’ll just check up if you don’t mind, sir.’

  He gave a nod to the constable, who then made a rapid inspection of the bedroom and the kitchenette and found no one hiding anywhere. Sterne could hear the sound of heavy feet in the attic above, so it was obvious that a search was going on up there also.

  ‘I wish you’d explain,’ he said. ‘What am I supposed to have done?’

&nb
sp; Again Blake failed to answer the question. Instead, he asked one of his own: ‘What do you do for a living, sir?’

  ‘I’m a writer.’

  ‘Oh, a writer, are you?’ Blake said. Somehow or other he succeeded in making this sound highly suspicious.

  ‘Yes,’ Sterne said. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask Mr Lakos. He’ll tell you the same.’

  ‘Oh, no doubt. I am sure Mr Lakos will tell us a very great deal. And Mrs Lakos also. But it will be at the station. They are both under arrest.’

  ‘Under arrest! But what have they done?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Of course I don’t know. I can’t think of anything they would be arrested for. They are two perfectly respectable people.’

  ‘Oh yes, very respectable.’ Blake spoke ironically. ‘We are always arresting respectable people. They usually turn out to be the worst kind.’

  A little later Sterne found himself in a police car being taken to the station from which the officers had come. There he was questioned about his relations with the Lakoses, and eventually he discovered why they had been arrested. It appeared that they were part of a spying operation, though they did none of the collecting of information themselves. Secret agents came to the secondhand bookshop and passed material to Lakos, who transmitted it in coded messages to Berlin. The radio equipment in the attic of Number 23, Rosetta Avenue was a short-wave transmitter, and what Lakos had passed off as a harmless hobby had a darker side to it. Mrs Lakos was also deeply involved in the operation.

  Sterne found all this hard to believe; it seemed so out of character. How could those two pleasant innocent-seeming people be part of a Nazi espionage organisation? Had not Peter been thrown into a paroxysm of fury at the mere sound of the Fuehrer’s voice coming out of the Cossor? Had he not called the man a monster and a maniac?

  But when he mentioned this to Blake the detective sergeant gave a shake of the head and a cynical smile. ‘You shouldn’t let yourself be fooled, Mr Sterne. When you are dealing with a man as cunning as Lakos you have to look beneath the surface. You have to strip away the innocent front presented to you and uncover the true picture concealed behind.’