by Hylton Smith
The group began remonstrating amongst themselves and this led to blows being struck. Amidst the mayhem, Otto emerged and held up his hand.
‘Your name please,’ shouted Devlin, ‘quiet, the rest of you.’
‘Steinmann, Otto Steinmann. I would like to talk in private.’
‘About what?’
‘Finding this disc.’
‘I thought we knew where it is, well, approximately. Do you have more specific information?’
‘I told Sepp to say it was in the latrine. It isn’t.’
‘Very well Ottto. Let’s go to my tent.’
It was crunch time. Devlin dismissed the guard at the entrance.
‘It’s just you and me.’
‘I buried the disc.’
‘Fine, let’s go and get it.’
‘I might not be able to remember the exact spot, so it could take a while.’
‘What you really mean is that after a while you won’t be able to find it. Ok, then let us cut to the chase. Just tell me why you did this, because to be honest I don’t give a shit if Gunther can’t go home. Anyway he’ll have company – I do hope you get on well with him?
Otto stood up and was told to sit down. He frantically weighed up the consequences, finally asking for protection. Devlin laughed out loud.
‘How the hell do you expect me to talk about that when I haven’t a clue who it is you want protection from or why?’
‘Because it is some organisation within your organisation.’
‘Look, you’ve consistently lied or have others lie for you. And that means the first thing you must do is gain credibility. Start with why all of the bullshit with the discs took place.’
‘This could cost my life, either here or in Germany, so you have to believe it, or I will say nothing further.
‘The German intelligence operation will not be disbanded just because the hostilities have stopped. There is a hell of a lot to gain from the re-settlement of Europe. I will not betray my country, but there are some who will still hold power with whom I don’t want to cooperate, and if I make this known it will spell my death.
‘These people want Karl Heinz Buchwald back to extract his knowledge. He found out about this, and the stupid bastard escaped, directing the risk to the rest of us, unless we were prepared to help you to find him. But how could we? We are confined to this camp. I came up with the idea of taking the disc which the little boy returned to us after the escape.
‘I had to send someone back to Germany with the wrong disc – as Karl Heinz Buchwald. They would find out it wasn’t him and probably torture the imposter to no avail, if he didn’t know about the swap. I didn’t choose Gunther, he simply had both discs. His misfortune would save the rest of us from suspicion and they would have to demand you to look again for Karl Heinz here. Now do you see why I need protection whichever way I proceed.’
‘Hold on a minute, how do you know all this about Karl being wanted? There’s no communication into or out of this camp to Germany.’
‘You may believe that, Mr Devlin, but ask yourself why Karl Heinz would risk being shot by escaping when he knew the war was all but over. It’s true that no German officials have vetted this camp, but what about Nazi sympathisers? Think about it carefully.’
‘Mmm, well you can get me in the mood by giving me Gunther’s disc, as I already have Karl’s.’
‘I will, we can do it now, please take me to the furthest point of the latrine to the south, and give me a shovel.’
They left together.
Chapter 14
Hexham, Northumberland
Frank Reichert had finally got the monkey off his back. In a carefully worded letter to the Abwehr, he said he’d recently discovered his father’s dog tag in the loft, and although Ernst had talked infrequently about his detainment in the UK, he hadn’t ever mentioned the previous period, except to say that he was involved in the Eastern Front of the Krieg.
He played on the entire family’s interest in completing Ernst’s biography for posterity, nothing more. He recognised that records may have been lost, using this as the rationale for enclosing the actual disc, and politely requesting it was returned after any search they could justify. The letter was phrased in a truly nostalgic tone. He hoped it would elicit a response.
He told Maggie about it, but asked her to respect it as a family matter, he didn’t want the police to know about the letter, or even her mother, at least for the time being. He didn’t want his wife to worry all over again about the past, especially as she’d talked him out of taking the first step on numerous occasions.
*
Newcastle C.I.D.
Moss hadn’t extracted any helpful information about the ring from his London auctioneers, and allowed Black to play the opening moves of the chess match with Charles Stone and Marion Wentworth. Black needed no convincing.
“I thought you might be interested in this,” dropping the ring on the table, “it is part of the debris which we extracted from the mud surrounding the skeleton. We couldn’t be certain it belonged to the deceased until we’d done some checks regarding its origin. We’ve now got a lead that it may have been made in Germany, so it is being logged as evidence. We need you to sign for it, if you want to add it to the file.”
Unexpectedly, it was Marion Wentworth who spoke.
“Is that all you know? How did you trace it to Germany?”
Moss answered. “Does that matter right now?”
“It does if we need to keep the information on a need to know basis.”
Moss smiled and replied without intonation.
“Yes, thank you for reminding me, it seems that our omnipotent one, sorry for the internal jargon, I’m referring to the head of the police in the UK, knew about your interest in this case, but was ignorant of your need to ‘take it over’ so soon. He understood you were looking for any surprises which may crop up, which you feel need to be treated with a certain sensitivity. He fully expects us to carry on with our investigation and if there are examples of disagreement on how to proceed, your bosses will clear any changes with him or vice-versa.
“To be honest, I don’t really care as long as my boss is in the loop. So, I hope that makes us all feel comfortable working together now. In reality I don’t see it making much difference; we keep you informed on everything, and if you have concerns, we either thrash them out or delegate upwards. It helps us to be completely open with you on how we’re doing, and if we don’t understand anything you propose, we have recourse to an official challenge. I do recognise there may be things you can’t tell us, and if we are instructed by our boss to go with the flow, then we will.”
Stone and Wentworth looked at each other but said nothing. Moss continued.
“In order to keep everyone on track, Inspector Black has this written update for you, with some of what we think we know about this ring, so it would be nice if you can tell us what, if any part of this information, has to be on a need to know basis. The ring is a perfect example of how we should handle evidence, as there is an assertion that it may not have legally belonged to our skeleton man after all. As simple policemen we tried to determine if there was any direct connection to the remains. This seems to worry you. Perhaps D.I. Black should tell you the rest.”
The apprehension was tangible as Black cleared his throat.
“Apparently the ring may have been originally in the possession of someone in Prague. Our friend who was buried in the coke works may have purchased it there, or at least obtained it there. On the other hand, it may not have been in his possession at all, and therefore there has to be some other explanation.”
The dynamic duo asked for a couple of minutes of privacy. After conferring, nodding and shaking of heads, Charles Stone announced he would be leaving to head back to London.
“If this information is reliable, it should be pursued by the Foreign Office. Things may change and Marion can always get hold of me if they do.”
He left looking l
ike a relieved man, with warm handshakes for Moss and Black.
Moss got back into his stride immediately.
“Well, that was an unexpected twist. I get the feeling you weren’t surprised at the possibility of the ring having exchanged hands somewhere along the way Marion.”
“That all depends on whether what you say can be substantiated. Charles will do a few checks on this issue when he gets back to London.”
“Excellent, will he be able to shed any light on the engraving on the inside of the ring?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Can you be more specific on where you obtained your assertion that it could have come from Prague?”
“Absolutely, we were going to do that anyway, the chap is waiting downstairs. But before we bring him up, does the prospect of that being true worry you? I’m not asking why that might be the case, but if you need us to back off, we need to give our boss a reason.”
“I’d prefer to speak with your man first.”
“I thought you would. I’m a bit disappointed, but there we are. We talk – you don’t, not a recipe for a happy marriage. We could do with a modicum of mutual trust. Right, bring our man upstairs, Inspector.”
Milan Hajek was acquainted with names but not Marion Wentworth’s function. The potential purpose of the ring and its possible link to the Luftwaffe was explored, stressing the need for Hajek to keep this discussion to himself, until he was told otherwise.
Before he could challenge this, Marion Wentworth served him with notice of this secrecy being official, as from that moment.
“You are now a British citizen, and as such you can be prosecuted under the relevant act if any of our discussion is leaked in any way, not just here, but in your original homeland. You’ll receive this caution in writing before you leave.”
Black took up the questioning.
“How can you be sure that this ring belonged to a person in the nobility in Prague?”
“Because I am an expert in the field of jewels, precious metal artefacts, and pearls. As I studied my trade in Czechoslovakia, I have first-hand knowledge of rare and valuable items from my own country. I also know quite a lot about stolen valuables which have never been recovered.”
Marion intruded.
“Would you be prepared to test out your claims of the history of this piece against an expert of our choice?”
Hajek burst out laughing as he began to explain.
“Madam, any true expert in the western world would tell you the same as I have. If you would like to make a wager to accompany your test of my veracity, I would accept on one condition.”
“And what would that be?” said Marion.
“That your expert is not a German.”
Moss was about to ask why he would disqualify a German when Marion cut across him.
“We can leave that for now, Mr Hajek, I’m inclined to believe you. It’s been very helpful to talk to you.”
“But you have not asked me about the inscription.”
Again Marion got in first, glancing at Moss.
“I will, but at another time, I promise. Thank you for your time.”
She tried to see him back downstairs alone but was frustrated by Moss tagging along with an affable expression on his face. It turned to thunder when Hajek was gone.
“Marion, I want to know why you stopped him from saying more about the initials or I’m going to ring my boss right now.”
“That would only complicate matters, Superintendent. I will share with you what I can when we’re alone.”
Moss wasn’t happy about excluding Black, but fortuitously there was an incoming call. Freda had taken it, and now sought out her boss on the top floor. What she had to say bewildered Black.
“Sir, there’s an irate Eric Paisley on the line and I think you should read the evening edition of the local paper.”
“Shit, Freda, I clean forgot to meet with Paisley, and it was at my request. Ok, I’ll come downstairs to take it.”
He began with a profuse apology to Paisley but was stopped in mid-sentence.
“Inspector, I have no interest in your regrets, genuine or otherwise. I merely want to inform you that I went to the old coke works site and I can confirm that the landslide was where the engineering block used to be. One other thing did come to mind while I was there. It may mean nothing, but while I was standing on the precipice I was looking at my predecessor’s notes, which were made at the time the concrete was poured. It was June the fifteenth 1945, because this date appeared at the top of the page. And below was one word in capitals – FOUNDATION!
“At the bottom of the page however, he’d made another note that I must have personally checked years later. He seemed to have been curious as to whether the estimated volume of concrete proved to be accurate, for cost purposes, probably to keep tabs on the budget for the new building. I flicked ahead a few pages and there it was, he had expressed his concern.
“The initial quote was exceeded by more than seventeen percent. As nobody had mentioned this, he duly demanded an explanation. The contracted surveyor apparently placated him by stating that the soil report had been late coming in and it had produced a need for alteration of the specification.
“Last minute amendments were therefore made to increase the area of the slab, and include metal piles before pouring. I clearly remember the exchange of memos in the file. My predecessor was incandescent with the surveyor about not being informed about this, but was quickly assured that it was a cost which would be absorbed by the construction company, and it would give everyone peace of mind. He also said that there would be minimal delay to the project. I thought at the time, even years after the event occurred, that something improper had transpired, backhanders in cash, or some such grubby behaviour.
“So, after closing my notebook, I looked again at the dislocated slab and I couldn’t see any evidence of piles, but the area did seem to be larger than the original plan specified.
“I asked the security men on the site to make a proper measurement, as I was not dressed for such a romp in the mud. They reluctantly agreed and the slab is indeed considerably bigger than the original plan had called for. As far as I know, there was no amended plan submitted, which is strange, because the building regulations would have required it. I hope this is helpful and that you won’t darken my door again.” The line went dead.
Black was still mentally entangled in what this could mean when Freda pushed the evening edition under his nose. His jaw dropped when the headline had been assimilated.
‘Remains of Luftwaffe P.O.W. found at Northeast Industrial Site’.
The journalist’s name was familiar – Sophie Redwood. It was another slip up, Black had failed to respond to her request to speak with him. The rest of the story was just as worrying. As usual with journalists, they were prepared to suggest certain things, and then leave the denials to those who were actually involved, and their own subsequent account of events.
The dog tag was mentioned, and the possibility that the case may end up as a suspicious death, citing the fact that the police were still investigating what was initially thought to be a forty year-old accident, and despite requests to speak with the investigating officer, there had been no reply.
It was an extract from a national publication which had been pasted into the local edition, and Black’s first conclusion was a no-brainer. The shit was heading directly for the fan. He was in for an interesting discussion with Moss.
Chapter 15
High Spen 1945
Despite the continuing scarcity of life’s comforts, their spirits were high. Bella was busy frying produce from Mr Wilson’s latest slaughtered pig. The pan was heaped and sizzling away on the open coal fire, Hilda was ironing near the door to the scullery, and the two men were sat at opposite sides of the glowing coals, talking about going to see the local football team play. Spen Black and White was a name which was both respected and feared by other local teams. Harry was on his dad’s knee and wanted to go t
o the match.
“Will you promise to be a good boy and not run on to the pitch?” said Jack.
An enthusiastic nod was followed by Harry’s grandfather mentioning that they could go to Bella’s sister’s house for a cup of tea at half-time. Florence-Hilda lived right next to the ground.
“What’s half-time, Granddad?”
There was no immediate reply as Bella asked everyone to sit up, because the lunch was ready. Harry still wanted an answer and ran over to his granddad just as Bella turned with the frying pan. Harry’s face and shoulder hit it head-on. His screams could be heard quite a way up the street, as the sizzling fat seared the side of his face and penetrated the shoulder area of his vest.
There was panic. Hilda rushed to the kitchen sink and turned on the cold tap. Jack yelled that she should definitely not pour water on the affected areas, and demanded to know where the tub of Vaseline, which seemed to be essential in every household, could be found. He had helped to treat burns on the battlefield on many occasions. He’d been told that preventing air from getting to the affected area as soon as possible was important in reducing scarring of the skin. Bella was transfixed, glued to the spot, and seemed unable to function for the first time in her life. Her husband, Cappy, told Jack where to look, and then told Hilda to go for the doctor. Jack smeared on a thin layer of Vaseline and tried desperately to comfort his son, but the best he could achieve was to reduce the piercing squeals to a slightly muted wailing.
Doctor Mary Livingstone lived above her surgery about half a mile away, and although this wasn’t open on Saturday, she would attend emergencies. Lucky then that she hadn’t gone out on that particular day. Hilda pleaded with her to examine her son.
Her first action on seeing Harry was to explain what she was about to do.
“His face is already badly blistered, we must attend to that immediately, but while I get on with that, please cut away his vest carefully from his skin. It will be painful, but you must not let that stop you.”
