by Hylton Smith
“It looks like we really did have nothing to lose, Inspector. We should check what happened to the local police records, now that we’ve been informed that there used to be a village constable. It would also help Maggie in her weighty task. I’ll make a call from that public phone box over there, there must be a section for such archives which ceased to exist because of the obsession with centralisation.”
“Ok, sir, I’ll keep knocking at doors until I find someone who was not only living here at the time, but has direct knowledge of the camp.”
Moss returned and Black recognised the triumphant smile.
“Did you strike lucky?”
“Not complete luck, Inspector Black, you’re not the only one who delves into the nitty-gritty. Our records man back in Newcastle knew all about these files, but quite rightly pointed out that I hadn’t asked for stuff from outlying villages which no longer have a dedicated police presence. The files for this village are apparently in Durham, by deed of implementation of new county boundaries at the very time the post of constable ceased to exist. I’ll go and retrieve them while you try to unearth your eye-witnesses regarding the P.O.W. camp.”
After three long hours, Black found someone who was credible. An ex-pupil of Hookergate Grammar school knew of the camp but had never visited it.
“But a boyhood friend of mine went there regularly. In fact, there was a lot of fuss about people trying to talk with the prisoners, but his grandmother wasn’t put off. His name is Harry Smyth.”
Black’s hopes soared. “Where can I find him?”
“He doesn’t live here now, and I lost touch with him some years ago, but I know he played local football until recently.”
“Do you know which team?”
“Oh, lots of them. Highfield, Crawcrook, North Shields, but I think he ended up at West Wylam or Prudhoe. Just a minute.” He called for his mother. An elderly lady came to the door and was asked about Harry Smyth.
“Oh, yes, now I do know that he and his father bought some land to build themselves a house apiece. I’m sure it was in Prudhoe, they bought the land from the council a few years ago. I remember his grandma being quite upset that they were all going to move away from High Spen.”
“Thank you for your help, most appreciated.”
Black immediately used the village call box to contact Prudhoe council. He punched the air when he got the name of the estate, and the number of the plot which Harry had purchased. He shot over to Prudhoe, a small but thriving town virtually on the border of Northumberland and Durham. He knocked at the door of 16 Paddock Wood, but there was no answer. A neighbour, James Hall, came over and asked if he could help. Black was then told that Harry’s mother, Hilda lived two doors down at number 18. He rang the doorbell a couple of times but there was no response. About to give up, he started to write a note for the occupant to contact him. Hilda had been hanging some towels out to dry, and she’d come around the house from the rear garden. Once Black had explained why he was there, he was invited in, and soon had a cup of tea, as he sat on the cosy living room sofa.
Moss drove directly back to Newcastle with his booty, and gave the files to Maggie. He was astonished by what she’d already noted. There were missing numbers in the report sequences and no reason was given.
“All of the reports should have a reference number even if the report has been logged out or transferred to another force. There are many instances of this having been done correctly, for all kind of reasons, but there are a few gaps in the actual reference numbers and there is no corresponding file, so it’s not just a clerical error when there is duplication of one particular number and then the next one is skipped. There aren’t even empty files without numbers. It isn’t right, sir.”
“Brilliant, Maggie. Leave that for now, just give me the missing numbers and start checking these files from Durham which cover the village of High Spen, where there was a P.O.W. camp. We need to look at anything out of the ordinary. Have yourself a coffee break and then see what pops out at you.”
Moss wasted no time in calling the Met. He eventually got through to someone he recognised and could trust. He explained the situation and asked if their files could be checked to see if there had been transfers from Newcastle which matched up. He didn’t ask for priority treatment of his request, as that always threw up a bit of a red flag. He hinted that there was a clear up in progress and he wanted to enforce internal discipline at the station.
“You know how it is, your own people will close ranks when old files are moved about or put on to disk.”
As soon as he put the phone down he reprimanded himself.
“You absolute oaf Moss - moving old files!! Some of the buggers are upstairs, from when we cleared out the ground floor room for Marion.”
He wandered up to the attic and was horrified when he saw the decorators at work, but no files.
*
Prague
Hajek’s bravado had worked on Marion, and as she fastened her seatbelt for landing, she saw him approaching her. He hadn’t really convinced himself what to do. He wanted to talk again. She invited him to sit and buckle up.
“Listen, I have reconsidered and I believe your plan might work. If I can convince this contact whose name I do not know, that I have been asked to examine the ring again, but this time with the purpose of identifying the engraver, it could be believable. You already know that it has suffered some distortion, and I could tell him that there is a small area of pitting. This would not be perceived as unusual if the ring is gold-plated rather than the pure metal. I can then examine it again, now that I know it is a fake, but it would result in some damage in order to prove it. The pitted area can be explained as the engraver’s mark, a breach point for the soil attack over a period of forty years. If my contact in Cologne accepts this, I will tell him the police want to find the man whose initials are M.V. It doesn’t matter whether he actually knows this person, or believes I do, as long as he thinks the police don’t. He may then be happy to come to Newcastle. I don’t really want to get involved with an obviously transparent lie with this contact I had in Cologne, and that worries me, I just want to get back to my business. If you can arrest him, then I may be left alone once more. I remind you that he wasn’t the person I was told would meet me. I can only agree to this if I can be protected until this is all over. Is this of interest to you?”
“It could be, but we are about to land, so it’s you who has the decision to make. I can’t mess these Czech officials about. They would have to be sure that you were trying to make amends for what they see as your cowardice during the war, and that they may, like my people, be able to put this ring stuff to bed once and for all. I agree that this will only be achieved by apprehending your contact from Cologne, who will also be looking for closure, but maybe not the same closure.”
“Very well, then I will do as you say.”
“Fine, in that case, you must not contradict anything I say to the two Czech officers when I tell them I need to take you back to play your part in the lure to flush out this chap in Cologne. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
The rubber tyres squealed as they hit the tarmac and the attendant puff of fumes dissipated quickly. The plane decelerated and swung around ninety degrees, heading for the terminal. They all disembarked as a group, and it was time to talk to the two hulks. Marion had expected to get this over and done with in the airport, and was not expecting a third Czech intelligence presence to be awaiting them. She reminded Hajek to agree with whatever she might have to say.
“Talking, isn’t necessarily doing, Mr Hajek, keep that in the front of your mind.”
The welcoming smile from the Czech official in the arrival concourse was quickly partnered with the declaration that there was a car ready to take them to ‘an appropriate place’ where they could discuss arrangements.
There was a firmness in his voice which was confirmed by his brusque order to his two obviously junior colleagues, that there was a s
eparate channel for Hajek to pass through customs.
Marion had hoped that they could have boarded a flight to London within the hour. She needed to make a private call as soon as possible. The senior Czech official replayed his sickly smile and disagreed
“In good time, Madam. We have to speak to this man Hajek first and you need to be there. We have booked a hotel for you. Everything can’t be done over a cup of English tea. It will be good use of your time, of that you can be sure, and maybe a nice surprise for you, but not for this collaborator. You may want to stay longer in our beautiful city, let us see.”
Chapter 33
Lemington Village 1945
Vogt stared down the barrel of the silencer. Devlin stared at his watch. He burst into German again.
‘Don’t think I won’t do it, Max, your treachery has put all of our lives at risk. As I said a few minutes ago, the only trade you have left for your life is what was on the film. Even that might not save us, it’s down to you.’
Vogt saw Karl returning and began to tremble. Devlin disengaged the safety catch.
‘Ok, ok, I gained my employment in Britain through a recommendation from a tutor in the University of Aachen, and I was soon acquainted with a serving German intelligence man, who was actually English. I was young and naïve. He told me that I had to support the needs of my country or I would soon go back there in a box. For a while, during my time in Crawley, I was given the task of getting information on paint research. This was, in retrospect, to check if I was up to the job, and whether my cover had been established. I was then told it was a dummy run and the information I obtained was of no value.
‘Then I was put forward for a position in the National Coal Board. The travelling remit was to enable me to gather the desired information. It was all to do with creating new fuels. I got very scared when I was told the real reason for this. They had been testing me again, and now had to explain the highly specific research work they needed access to.’
He seemed to hyperventilate, but recovered his poise, and then he swallowed repeatedly as he continued.
‘You know of the employment of the German V Rockets toward the end of the war. Well, they were introduced prematurely to soften the defences of this country prior to any plan to invade. The Reich was researching more devastating weapons at the same time, but there were technical roadblocks. They were identified as being able to create the necessary type of fuel, and to somehow speed up the slow advance of electronics. In terms of aeronautic technology they already had an enormous projectile ready to go into production, but were continually frustrated by these two drawbacks. Now that the war is over, I expect the prototypes to be destroyed. The information on the microfilm was all in this field of research. And now you say that the theft of this data is known to your people. So how did you not know what it was?’
‘Because it must have been decided that I might jeopardise the deception in some way. Your people in Germany must have been given bogus information.’
‘No, all of the data was valuable and highly pertinent to the projectile development. I am an expert in this field and I could get access to every source in this country.’
‘I don’t doubt that, Max, but we’re dealing in sophisticated deception here. I was told the data was intercepted before allowing it to continue on its way to the Fatherland. That kind of deception has obviously worked, not just on your people, but on me. The fact that the cease-fire hasn’t ended the horse-trading on this project can only mean it isn’t going to be stood down just yet. When the victors sit around the table to carve up the map of Europe again, there will be new alliances up for grabs, which will in itself create foes from former friends. We have to think about how to avoid becoming an anti-lubricant to this process. I am inclined to let you go, Max.’
‘You really mean that?’
‘I do, go if you think that’s in your best interest.’
He certainly didn’t need a second invitation.
‘But we need your car, Max, it’s a small price for not blowing your brains out.’
Max walked away, without daring to look back, and then slowly gathered pace until he was running at full speed toward Scotswood Bridge. Devlin and a mesmerised Karl took off in the car.
*
High Spen
Bella’s letter to Harrogate had crossed in the post with one coming in the opposite direction. It wasn’t from the spa medical staff, and she put it down before reading it all the way through. Once she’d stopped shuddering with grief, she picked it up again. It read:
‘Royal Bath Hospital, Harrogate.
To My Dear Family,
This I think will be my last love letter to you all.
And this is the end of a Perfect Day. Couple it with Harry Lauder’s famous song, Keep right on to the end of the Road.
Also, I hope the friendships of Florence Hilda and Lillian and Jack….This is a fine morning and it takes me back to us getting the children to the pleasure trips.’
It was unsigned, and Bella couldn’t quite work out why the hospital hadn’t contacted her if the end was so near, apart from which, the constable hadn’t been sent to tell her Cappy had passed away. She rushed to the village phone box and made the call to the hospital to say she was making preparations to leave for Harrogate.
She was told that Cappy had descended into a coma the previous day and the doctors were trying to return him to consciousness, but had failed so far. Bella contacted Hilda via her school secretary, and when she read the letter there was no hesitation. She asked for and was given compassionate leave of absence. When Hilda read the letter for a second time, she knew this wasn’t her father’s normal style of writing. He was fastidiously pedantic about grammar and punctuation, yet it was his handwriting even though it was wobbly in parts. She knew he must have been already losing the ability to concentrate when he had written the letter.
Jack had to cut back his working hours, pledging that he’d make them up, so that he could look after Harry while the others made the trip. It wasn’t thought to be proper to ask anyone outside the family to step in.
*
Harrrogate
Bella and Hilda sat at opposite sides of the bed, holding his hands, as Cappy Henderson passed away peacefully, without ever regaining consciousness. The letter had indeed been his farewell to all of his loved ones. Bella could not forgive herself for failing to get him home, where he’d have dearly wanted to be. It wasn’t that his passing was unexpected, it had even been predicted.
The utter frustration of not being able to turn the clock back gnawed away at her, eclipsing the consolatory support of Hilda and her brother Andy. The ruthless need for arrangements to be made so quickly after the moment of that last intake of breath was so cruel. Seeing the transition from a person struggling to inhale oxygen, to a corpse with a fixed motionless form, was a shock of immense effect, which would live in the memory for the rest of one’s own life.
*
High Spen
Harry was walking to school, humming some popular tune. As he passed Robert Terrace, not far from the school gates, he could see two women on the path. They were both talking at the same time, as was often the case, he thought. When he was within a few yards, he noticed that one of them stopped talking. The other, known by his grandma as Gobby Lizzie, turned, saw him, and raised her voice.
“They say Cappy Henderson got away then. It was to be expected. I don’t think many of our men or apprentice boys will miss him.”
As Harry passed by them, he replayed these words in his immature little mind. ‘Cappy Henderson got away then.’ It surely meant that his granddad had escaped from that funny-smelling bath place. He must be coming home for good. He could see more bedtime stories becoming the order of things. He radiated with excitement and ran eagerly through the school gates. The devastation which awaited him when he got home turned to anger when his dad explained what Gobby Lizzie had really meant with her well-chosen words. Harry began to hate this woman with a ve
ngeance.
*
Hull, East Coast of England
Devlin and Karl headed down the eastern coastal route from Newcastle to Hull. The Humber estuary offered the opportunity of small boats for hire. These craft could easily move amongst the thriving mass of fishing vessels spread across the North Sea. Devlin had anticipated the need to leave the shores of his country, and had brought his entire liquid assets with him.
He hadn’t bargained for the extent of duplicity within his own organisation. Nevertheless, he was philosophical about it, he had often employed such tactics himself. He could probably have returned to base with Karl, claiming he’d recaptured the German, but by exposing Max Vogt he had changed the bigger picture. He’d grown to respect Karl, but he also put that out of his mind for now. He scented the value of what he had stumbled upon, the other side of the coin. The value of all this to the new West German governing body could allow him early retirement in some kinder climate.
He knew a trustworthy man in Rotterdam, a former resistance leader during the occupation. If he could get there from Hull, he was almost guaranteed a safe domicile until the hunt died down. This would also give time to plan their route to Germany, and in particular to the remnants of its intelligence organisation. Karl would be crucial in this respect, a loyal servant of the Fatherland, even more important – carrier of the seal of the ring, who was rescued by none other than a former intelligence officer of His Majesty.
It needed a lot of haggling to close the deal for the boat. The owner had to be familiar with the Dutch coast, and how to avoid immigration controls, by disembarking at night. Eventually he settled for someone who claimed to have participated in the Dunkirk evacuation.
Horace Pattinson had the experience of concentrating while riddled with fear because of shells raining from the sky. He also had his sons as crew, which limited the ‘loose tongue’ risk. A necessary precaution was to avoid Karl being introduced as himself, he was Devlin’s deaf-mute son, with learning difficulties. The ruse was rooted in a new educational approach for such people, which had been developed in the Netherlands, and the red tape in getting the British government to issue a passport for the boy, so soon after the war.
