‘Could you show me where the travel permits are issued?’
‘Of course. You can speak to Mr O’Donnell as well. He runs the camp.’
The admin office of the International Committee of the Red Cross was like Bedlam: there was no other way to describe it. Hundreds of people crowded the building and every one of them seemed to Payne to speak a different language. The whole spectrum of human emotion was visible within a few feet of the door: anger, despair, joy, apathy.
A man with a lilting southern Irish accent was in charge. He introduced himself as Mr O’Donnell, but any trace of affability disappeared when Payne said he was a British policeman.
‘What is it you want exactly, Mr Payne?’ he said, interrupting Payne’s attempt to explain precisely that. He made a point of calling me Mister, as well, Payne thought. The man had been drinking, Payne was certain. As a teetotaller, the smell of spirits on another’s breath always hit him like a slap in the face.
‘I’d like to know how a person goes about obtaining a Red Cross travel permit.’
O’Donnell’s lips pursed. ‘It’s a complicated process. But as you can see we are rigorous in checking each applicant before the documents are actually issued.’
Yes, Payne could see that. The chaotic line outside fed into perhaps half-a-dozen smaller lines inside the building. At the end of each one Red Cross personnel sat behind desks with translators whose function seemed to be to question the refugees and check that each person was actually a native speaker of the language they claimed as his or her own.
Payne had arranged for a list of the seven names found on the travel documents at the murder house to be sent to the camp. He asked O’Donnell about it.
The Irishman shook his head. ‘We’ve no record of issuing travel permits to any of those people.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Didn’t you just hear me? I had one of my nurses look through the records, then I double-checked it myself personally. Those people were not issued travel permits at this camp.’
The Belgian nurse was still with them. At mention of the travel documents, she had looked away suddenly.
‘And yet the permits exist,’ Payne said, dividing his attention between O’Donnell and the nurse now. ‘And they’ve got the official stamp. I’ve seen them myself.’
‘What you have or haven’t seen, Detective Inspector, is beside the point. There is no record of these people having passed through this camp.’
O’Donnell made it clear that he considered their business concluded and began walking away, but Payne was far from finished. He caught O’Donnell up in a couple of strides and kept pace beside him.
‘Is it possible there could have been some mistake? Perhaps the documents were issued in another camp but stamped here? Or could you have lost the relevant records?’
‘I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain the intricacies of Red Cross procedure to you, Mister Payne. There are millions of people currently without any form of valid documentation.’
‘How would someone obtain them illicitly?’
O’Donnell stopped. His bloodshot eyes blazed. ‘What the devil are you insinuating?’
‘Is there a register?’
‘Yes, there’s a register, but I’m damned if I’ll let you look at it.’ O’Donnell’s face flushed a yet deeper shade of carmine. ‘I know all about the British police, Mr Payne. You and your fucking G-men and Black and Tans. They smashed some of my brother’s teeth out. So if you think I’ll tell you anything, you’re wrong. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not much better than the Nazis.’
With that, O’Donnell turned and stormed away, waving a hand in the air and shouting curses in Gaelic.
The nurse held Payne’s eyes for a moment until O’Donnell turned and shouted for her to follow him.
She hurried away.
7
THAT DAY HAD turned into a nightmare for Captain James Booth.
During the morning, Colonel Bassett’s patrols began to round up German civilians and bring them to a temporary interrogation facility that that wretch Freddy had set up. As there were only three fluent German speakers on the whole of the staff of the British Military Government in Eichenrode, most of the interrogators had to use German translators which, as far as Booth was concerned, defeated the whole object of the exercise. It was bad enough having to do it in the first place, without knowing the whole thing was a complete waste of time.
The more Booth thought about it, the stranger it seemed that Freddy would be such an enthusiastic adherent to this werewolf idea. A galumphing bully Freddy might be, but he wasn’t stupid; yet by promoting the idea so forcefully Freddy had actually created an enormous amount of work for himself, something that he would normally have assiduously avoided.
Booth conducted more than a dozen interrogations during that morning. At lunchtime, he took a break and motioned for Tubbs to follow him out of the interrogation building.
‘Have you had any luck finding that officer’s name, yet, Tubbs? The one at Wolffslust?’
For a brief moment, Tubbs looked guilty. Then he shook his head.
Booth stepped closer and dropped his voice. ‘What’s going on, Tubbs? I just don’t understand it. I can’t help feeling you’re dragging your feet on this one.’
Tubbs had a way of twisting his wedding ring when he became nervous or upset. He was doing it now.
‘Come on, Tubbs, out with it. I know something’s up. You should have found that information for me days ago.’
Tubbs sighed. Then he said, ‘The truth is I’ve known all along who the officer was at Wolffslust. And actually, it was officers. There were two of us.’
It took Booth a moment to realise the implications of what Tubbs was saying. ‘Do you mean to say you were there?’
Tubbs nodded. ‘Freddy and I went into Eichenrode with the advance guard. I think Freddy wanted to make sure he got decent billets. When we reached the town some combat troops radioed in about the prison, so we went there to take charge of the situation.’
‘You mean to say you had a hand in causing all that chaos?’
Tubbs shrugged. ‘Most of the prisoners were already free when we arrived there. Anyway, the looting and vandalism were already going on.’
‘Why didn’t Freddy stop it?’
‘I think the situation went to Freddy’s head a little, especially when we found some of the Allied prisoners in the medical ward. They were terribly thin. Freddy went wild after that and ordered all the prisoners to be released. He even organised a little ceremony. He had the men of each nationality march through the prison gates singing their national anthem, led by a flag bearer: first the Russians, then the Dutch, the Belgians, the Poles and the French.’
Booth was thinking aloud now. It all suddenly made sense.
‘And presumably that is why Freddy is so hell bent on convincing Colonel Bassett that we have a werewolf problem here? Because it’s just possible that Freddy has released a bloody maniac?’
Tubbs shook his head. ‘No, that isn’t it. I don’t think Freddy believes in your killer theory at all.’
‘Then what on earth is the problem?’
The wedding ring was turned full circle. Tubbs’s gaze returned to the floorboards. He seemed to be fighting some internal battle. When he sighed, it was a sigh of capitulation. He looked up.
‘Freddy doesn’t want attention focused on Wolffslust, because he shot two of the German guards.’
‘What?’
‘When we got to the prison, there were still two German guards locked in a room. Freddy stood by as the prisoners pelted the men with stones. Then he marched the guards round to the back of the prison and shot them both in the head. They’re buried in the woods, somewhere close to the walls. That’s why he fudged the report. He realised there might be consequences.’
‘Why on
earth didn’t you say something before, Tubbs?’
Taylor looked towards the window. His eyes were wet with tears now.
‘Do you know what Freddy and I found when we came into Eichenrode? The bodies of three young German boys, hanging from the trees on the main street, tongues poking out, blue in the face. They couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old. They’d tried to contact the Allies and tell them the best way to enter the town to prevent any more killing, so the town commandant had them executed. The war was hours from ending and yet he still killed three children.
‘I made a note of the bastard’s name: Glasisch. He walked into captivity a few days later. I had to interrogate him. Do you know what he said to me? Endlich ist mein Krieg vorbei. At last, my war is over. He even tried to shake my hand.’
Tubbs stared at his right hand, turning it from side to side as if it were now forever sullied. Tubbs gave a great gulp and his voice became ragged. The tic in his eye trembled a few times, the way Booth had noticed it did when Tubbs was really upset.
‘Why didn’t you tell someone about Freddy?’
‘Do you think I was going to dob Freddy in just because he shot a couple of Jerries? Do you know what I saw at Belsen when I first got there? The Germans deserve to be punished, Jimmy.’
Tubbs was going to say more, but stopped mid-word. He looked upwards and the light reflected the tears in his eyes. Then he began weeping. It happened so suddenly it took Booth a moment to react. He stood and put a hand on Tubbs’s shoulder and the man seemed to unravel before his eyes.
‘You’re all done in, aren’t you, old man? It’s OK.’ Booth fetched whisky and poured Tubbs a stiff measure. Tubbs drank it down before he got up and dried his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. About Freddy I mean. I’m going back to the interrogations, Jimmy. Do what you have to about Wolffslust. I just don’t care anymore.’
‘Tell me one thing, Tubbs. Where did Freddy find those travel permits? The ones at the murder house.’
‘They were stitched inside the linings of the suitcases.’
Booth went back to his office. He wouldn’t waste any more time on the interrogations. He knew what he would say to Freddy if the bastard tried to make any trouble.
He sighed as he considered what he should do about Tubbs’s admission. If he went by the book he should report the matter straight away. But what if Tubbs withdrew his statement? He would be accusing a fellow officer of murder. That wasn’t something you could do lightly. He would have to think it through.
A lorry rumbled past outside, bringing more German civilians in for questioning. Booth suddenly felt very tired. He was sick of the Army and everything that went with it. All he wanted now was to find a home for Piotr and then settle down in a quiet part of the English countryside with Ursula. Somerset, perhaps, or Gloucestershire.
At midday he went to the police station and told Detective Inspector Payne about the Red Cross permits.
‘We need to find Jaeger’s suitcases,’ he said, when he’d listened to Booth’s explanation.
‘How would we do that?’
‘Beagley, the sergeant who reported the finding of the first two bodies. We need to find him.’
‘Can you be sure he has the suitcases?’
‘Someone does, I’m certain of it. Jaeger and his woman had plenty of clothes with them and I’ll wager they weren’t carrying them in their arms.’
They found Sergeant Beagley standing by the door of a wooden barrack hut, supervising an entire company of men as they packed belongings and equipment into duffel bags and stripped bedding from bunks. Beagley rolled his eyes when he saw Payne.
‘You’ve a damned nerve to come out here, copper. I’ve said everything I have to say to you.’
‘That’s enough in that tone of voice, sergeant,’ Booth said, stepping into the barrack hut behind Payne. ‘You’re to answer Detective Inspector Payne’s questions as if you were speaking to an officer. That’s an order, sergeant. And stand to attention when you address us.’
Beagley gave Booth a grudging salute.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but my CO spoke with Colonel Bassett and he said I was to go to him if the Inspector came round bothering me.’
Payne stood his ground. Some policemen enjoyed the argy-bargy of police work, but Payne prided himself on getting what he wanted without ever raising voice or hand. ‘I hear your unit is being taken back to England, sergeant.’
‘Yes. So?’
Payne moved until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the sergeant. Then he turned his head and said in a low voice, ‘Because earlier in the week you lied to me, sergeant, and I mean to know why. You can either tell me now or you can do it when you’re back in England. It’s your choice, but I’ll tell you one thing: as soon as you step off that gangplank in Dover, you will be on my turf. I’ll have officers waiting for you at the port and they’ll take you in for questioning as soon as you leave the ship. This is a major investigation now. What’s it to be?’
Payne felt the man bristle. Then Beagley sighed in the deep, weary way people do when preparing to unburden themselves of a secret.
‘What do you want to know?’ he said.
‘Why did you break into the house?’
‘We went inside to see if there was anything we could nab. In case you hadn’t noticed, the whole of Germany has become one vast Tom Tiddler’s ground. Everyone else is going home with their pockets stuffed and yet me and my boys, we’ve always missed out – mainly because we were too busy fighting.’
‘And I presume you found something?’
‘Suitcases. There were two suitcases on the floor of the kitchen. They were nice ones, brown leather with big chunky locks. And filled with clothes.’
‘So your men removed evidence from a crime scene?’
‘They didn’t know it was a crime scene. It was just another bombed-out house, like dozens they’d seen before. Most of these lads came into the forces as teenagers and they’ve had five solid years of war. If they’ve learned to grab what they can when they can, you can hardly blame them.’
‘What did you do with the suitcases?’
‘We cracked ’em open and started divvying up the clothing that was inside. Some of it was real nice stuff. Then someone went down into the cellar and . . . well, you know what we found down there.’
‘Where are the suitcases now?’ Payne said.
It took only a couple of minutes to locate the suitcases; Beagley had been planning to take them back to England with him.
Payne stood the larger of the two suitcases on a table, opened it and examined the silk lining. He saw that at the top right hand corner about four inches of the seam had been carefully unpicked and then re-stitched.
Payne used his penknife to cut the lining open, then turned the suitcase on one end and shook it. A Red Cross travel pass dropped out onto the floor.
‘Bingo,’ Booth said.
They checked the other suitcase. That, too, contained a travel permit, hidden within the lining of the suitcase.
Payne held the permits up to the light to examine better the passport-sized photos in each.
They were undoubtedly of Konrad Jaeger and the woman whose body had been found in the cellar of the house. Jaeger’s travel pass identified him as Tomáš Novák; his nationality was listed as Czechoslovakian. The woman was also described as Czech.
Payne handed the documents to Booth. ‘We have our proof. We know now for certain that a man wanted for war crimes has somehow obtained a Red Cross travel pass that could have got him out of the country. I’ll bet he had to pay handsomely to get it, too. We also know that Suttpen has links with the Red Cross camp. I think we really need to find out who requisitioned the murder house. I’m willing to bet that Lockwood and Suttpen had something to do with it.’
They drove to the offices of Housing Branch. The clerk was none too pleased to see Payne, but when he saw Booth’s uniform his attitude changed. Booth told the man to find the boxes containing the relevant requisition chits. Booth and Payne sat down and began sorting through them.
‘Here it is,’ Booth said an hour later, handing Payne a file.
According to the file, the murder house was first requisitioned on May 5th 1945 by a combat unit of 30 Corps that had been moving in to occupy the area. That unit had left the house on May 14th. It had then been requisitioned for ‘Army Stores’ by Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant J. Suttpen on May 19th. The receipt stub was signed by Mr T. Lockwood.
That was the link between the two men, as Payne had suspected all along. He showed the file to the clerk and said, ‘I need to see the details of all the houses requisitioned as army stores and signed for by Mr Lockwood.’
The clerk grumbled, but he did as Payne asked. When Payne offered to come back for the paperwork later, the clerk said, ‘No, I want you to see how much bloody work it is trying to find this nonsense.’
It took him another hour to find the relevant documents.
There were four properties in total. Each one had been requisitioned as an ‘army store’ and each had been signed for by Suttpen and Lockwood.
Payne thought about what that meant: Suttpen had probably been paying Lockwood to requisition specific properties, he decided. Yes, that made sense. It explained why Lockwood had looked so panicky when Payne first mentioned the matter to him: Lockwood’s name had been on the requisition receipts but he had no idea what was behind them. Did Suttpen? That was the burning question.
‘I think this Lockwood chap was accepting bribes to keep certain properties aside,’ Payne said. Booth nodded and looked away sharply, his face flushed.
‘Do you know something that you think you should tell me, Captain Booth?’
Booth sighed. ‘I don’t really want to go into details, Inspector. But I can tell you that, yes, you are entirely correct in your supposition.’
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