by Jim Eldridge
Anton Drexler. Politician. Born June 1884. Founded German Workers Party DAP (later known as National Socialist German Workers Party – NSDAP). After Adolf Hitler replaced him as leader in 1921, Drexler became Honorary President of NSDAP.
Stark returned the file to the clerk, then returned to his office and Danvers.
‘Well, I’ve learned a little more about this Adolf Hitler, but not much more than I’d already discovered from Mr Churchill.’
‘Does it help us in this case, sir?’ asked Danvers.
‘To be honest, I don’t see how it does,’ admitted Stark. ‘Herr Hitler is banned from entering Britain, so the only possible link between him and Cavendish is if Cavendish goes to Germany. And, as far as we know, that’s not on his agenda.’ He sighed. ‘Another dead end in a whole lot of dead ends. Suspicions, we have plenty of. And likely culprits. But no hard evidence.’
Stark and Danvers spent the next hour going over everything in the files – witness statements, pathology reports, double- and triple-checking for something they might have missed – but they came up with nothing to indicate why Carl Adams and Lord Fairfax had been killed. Finally, Stark told Danvers to go home.
‘It’s your first day back. You don’t want to overdo it.’
‘With respect, sir, you might consider heading off yourself. There’ll be … arrangements to be made.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant. The funeral is fixed for next week. The undertakers are doing most of the arrangements.’ Then he nodded. ‘But you’re right. I should go home and check how my family are.’
After Danvers had gone, Stark took one last look through the papers, then reached for his coat. He was heading for the door when his telephone rang. ‘DCI Stark.’
‘Chief Inspector, I’m terribly sorry to bother you. It’s Mrs Walker at Lady Amelia’s. I wonder if I can trouble you to call here.’
The worried tone in Mrs Walker’s voice alarmed Stark. ‘Is Lady Amelia all right?’ he asked.
‘To be honest, sir, I’d rather not talk about it over the telephone.’
Something was very wrong.
‘I’ll be there straight away.’
THIRTY
Amelia’s housekeeper was obviously in distress from the way she paced about her kitchen, nervously clenching and unclenching her hands.
‘I’m sure you’ll think I’m being very silly, sir …’
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ Stark reassured her. ‘Just tell me what’s concerned you. Where is Lady Amelia?’
‘Well, that’s the thing, sir: I’m not really sure. I had the strangest phone call from Mrs Johnson, Lady Ambleton’s housekeeper. Said she was informing me that Lady Amelia is staying for a few days with Lady Ambleton.’
‘Lady Ambleton?’ echoed Stark. ‘I never got the impression they were friends.’
‘The exact opposite, sir, though I’m not sure if it’s my place to say it.’
‘When was this phone call?’
‘Just before I telephoned you, sir.’
‘There must have been something else besides the telephone call to make you suspicious. Otherwise, surely you’d wait and see what happens.’
Mrs Walker nodded. ‘Exactly, sir. That’s the thing. I went out late this morning to order some provisions – groceries and the like – as I always do. Lady Amelia was here when I left, but when I came home she was gone. And there was no note. Now that’s not like her, sir. She always lets me know if she’s going to be anywhere, in case there’s a message for her. She’ll say, “I shall be at the Party offices all afternoon” or “I’m meeting Lady Francome at Claridges” or whatever.’
‘Yes, I get the picture,’ nodded Stark.
‘Also, I could swear there’d been a disturbance.’
‘A disturbance? Where?’
‘In the hall by the front door. The hall table looked like it had been moved. And some of the coats were on the wrong hooks. It was as if things had been knocked about and then put back, but not in the right places.’ She looked apologetically at Stark. ‘I’m sorry if this all sounds a bit hysterical, sir …’
‘Not at all,’ said Stark. He knew Mrs Walker enough to be sure that she was level-headed and exceedingly efficient and organized. If she said there had been a disturbance, then there had been. And the mention of Amelia staying at Lady Ambleton’s merely added suspicion.
He dialled the number he had for Lady Ambleton, and recognized the voice of the housekeeper, Mrs Johnson, when it answered.
‘May I speak to Lady Amelia Fairfax, please?’
‘Who, sir?’
‘Lady Amelia Fairfax. I understand she’s staying there for a few days with Lady Ambleton.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, you must be mistaken. There’s no Lady Amelia Fairfax here.’
Stark hesitated, then said, ‘Would you hold, on for one moment.’ He put his hand over the receiver and said to Mrs Walker, ‘Have a word with her, and listen to her voice.’
Mrs Walker took the receiver and Stark bent his head forward to eavesdrop as Mrs Walker said, ‘Hello. Is that Mrs Johnson?’
‘Yes. Who am I speaking to?’
‘This is Mrs Walker, Lady Amelia Fairfax’s housekeeper. I’m calling because I had a telephone call informing me that Lady Amelia Fairfax was staying with Lady Ambleton.’
‘I’m sorry, but as I said to the gentleman just now, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Lady Amelia Fairfax isn’t here. And, as far as I know, there are no arrangements for her to stay here.’
Stark nodded for Mrs Walker to end the call, and as the receiver was replaced on the cradle, asked, ‘Was that the person who telephoned you?’
‘No, sir,’ said Mrs Walker firmly. ‘The woman who telephoned before had a Scottish accent.’
‘She could have been putting it on.’
‘But if so, why would she deny it now? And her voice was very different.’ She looked appealingly at Stark. ‘I’m not imagining it, am I, sir? Something has happened to her.’
‘It does look … suspicious,’ said Stark carefully. ‘Did she say anything before you went out to suggest she was worried about anything?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Any unusual telephone calls? Strangers calling?’
‘No, sir. Nothing.’
‘Leave it to me, Mrs Walker. I’ll deal with it at once. You can rest assured, I’ll get to the bottom of this.’
If some bastard has done anything to Amelia, I’ll kill them, he vowed.
He left the house and was surprised to see that his car was gone. In its place, parked outside Amelia’s home, was a large crimson Rolls-Royce. The door of the car opened and two men got out. Both wore long overcoats, and as they approached Stark, one flicked his coat back so that Stark could see the revolver concealed beneath it.
Instinctively, Stark looked around for cover, but there was none. There was no one else in the street. No place to hide.
‘Rest easy, Inspector,’ said one of the men, stopping a short distance away from Stark, the other man also staying at a safe distance. ‘We’ve got orders to take you to meet someone. Nice and quiet and there’ll be no trouble.’
‘Where’s my car?’ demanded Stark.
‘Gone back to the Yard,’ said the man. He gestured towards the Rolls-Royce.
Stark weighed up his options. If he tried to run, he’d be shot down. If he got into the car, what then? Would someone really send a Rolls-Royce on an errand that could end up with a fight inside it, with the upholstery – the car itself – being wrecked? Unlikely: the owners of Rolls-Royces were notoriously proud of their cars.
There was always the possibility that, at the end of the journey, they would take him to some secluded spot and shoot him. But the journey would give him time to work out his strategy of attack.
He climbed into the back of the car. There was one man already there, holding a revolver which he pointed at Stark. Stark was joined by another of the men from the pavement, while the other took his place in the passenger seat
next to the driver.
The doors closed, and the car moved off.
THIRTY-ONE
Stark studied the men. Unlike Herbert Jolly, they showed no obvious stress or discomfort. The confidence with which they handled their revolvers showed they were familiar with the weapons and not afraid to use them.
The car headed further into the built-up areas of town, towards the City. Stark wondered about the river. The Thames was a notorious repository for bodies, weighed down and made to vanish. But it still seemed strange to use a very noticeable car like a crimson Rolls-Royce for such a purpose. If a body was discovered and witnesses questioned, someone would surely remember it.
So where was he being taken? And why?
The answer dawned as the car drove along Fleet Street and then, as it reached the offices of the Daily Target, turned off the main street into a narrow lane, and then down a ramp that led beneath the building into an underground car park.
So, Lord Glenavon wasn’t taking Stark’s refusal to talk to his newspaper lightly.
The car pulled up, and the two men in the back with Stark gestured with their guns for him to get out. He did so, and came face to face with the man from the front passenger seat. Flanked tightly on either side, Stark was marched towards a lift door, the third man following. So far nothing offered any chance of escape.
The lift door was opened, and Stark and the three men crammed into the tight space. Buttons were pressed, hidden levers clanked, and the lift rode upwards. When it stopped, Stark was pushed out and marched across a short hallway into a large room. A window with a panoramic view over London ran the whole length of one wall. Two men were standing by the window and they turned as Stark was pushed towards them. One was Edgar Cavendish; the other Stark recognized from photographs as Lord Glenavon.
‘Welcome, Chief Inspector,’ said Glenavon. ‘I’m glad you could join us. Please accept my condolences on the death of your late father.’
‘I’ll be missed,’ said Stark curtly.
‘No, you won’t,’ said Cavendish. ‘A note has gone to your home saying you’ve had to go out on a case.’
‘Please, sit down,’ said Glenavon. ‘There’s no reason we shouldn’t be comfortable while we talk.’
‘That depends on your definition of comfort,’ said Stark. ‘Personally, I find having a gun pointed at me takes the edge off it.’
‘I’d have thought you’d have been used to it after four years in the trenches,’ said Glenavon. ‘I’m Lord Glenavon, by the way. We haven’t been formally introduced.’
‘I think I deduced that,’ said Stark. ‘Certain clues, such as this being the executive office of the Daily Target, rather gave the game away.’
Glenavon looked at the three men who were standing with Stark and said, ‘Ted, Walter, you can go. Brian, please take a seat in the corner.’ As two of the men left and the man with the revolver walked to a chair in the corner of the room, Glenavon added, ‘I’m sure you understand the need for some protection here, in case you decide to cut up rough.’
Stark selected a wooden chair pushed back against a wall as a precaution against anyone attacking him from behind.
‘Are you sure you’re comfortable there?’ asked Glenavon. He gestured towards the expensive-looking armchairs.
‘I’m fine here,’ said Stark. The wooden chair would make a handy weapon, if it came to it.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Glenavon. ‘I expect you’re wondering why we’ve gone to all this trouble?’
‘At first I thought it was to kill me, but then I realized if that was your intention, your men would have done it in your underground motor bay, once we were out of the car. Where is Lady Amelia?’
Glenavon nodded. ‘You worked that out, did you?’
‘It wasn’t difficult,’ said Stark.
‘She’s safe,’ said Glenavon.
He looked towards Cavendish, who added, ‘I can assure you that no harm will come to her if this discussion between us reaches an amicable agreement.’
‘In the same way that no harm came to Sergeant Danvers, or Lord Fairfax, or Carl Adams?’ asked Stark.
‘What happened to Sergeant Danvers was … unfortunate,’ said Glenavon. ‘It was not intended. Unfortunately, some of our people overreacted.’
‘And Lord Fairfax and Carl Adams?’
‘Collateral damage,’ said Cavendish.
‘So, a confession,’ said Stark.
‘Hardly necessary, I’d have thought, Chief Inspector. You’ve been on my tail even before our friend, Agent Noble, started to poke his interfering nose in. Why are you so interested in Adolf Hitler?’
‘Who says I am?’ asked Stark.
‘We understand you got a file about him from your records department,’ said Cavendish.
So, they really do have their tentacles everywhere, thought Stark. The clerk in the records department.
‘We would strongly advise you to forget all about Herr Hitler,’ said Glenavon. ‘Also, slow down your investigations into the murders of Lord Fairfax and Carl Adams.’
‘Which also means pulling Agent Noble off my tail,’ snapped Cavendish.
‘Three days,’ said Glenavon. ‘That’s all we ask. At the end of that time, we’ll provide you with the person who killed Lord Fairfax and the American. Sadly, they’ll be dead. They will have committed suicide, but they’ll leave a signed confession.’
‘A convenient scapegoat,’ responded Stark sourly.
‘It will keep the top brass at Scotland Yard happy. And the public. You may even get a commendation. Perhaps a promotion for your brilliant work in bringing the guilty party to justice. And, provided you’ve done as we’ve asked, Lady Amelia will be released, unharmed.’
‘And what happens if I come after you with a warrant once she’s free?’
Cavendish smirked. ‘You can try, but I’ll be safely back home in Indiana by then, where I’ve got powerful political protection. You won’t be able to touch me.’
‘And I don’t need to tell you how well protected I am,’ said Glenavon. ‘The judiciary. The ruling elite. Government ministers. And, of course, many inside your own police force.’
‘I could still find enough honest officers and judges to ensure a prosecution,’ said Stark.
‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ said Glenavon. ‘For one thing, I had nothing to do with the deaths of Lord Fairfax and the American, Carl Adams. Your case will be unsupported supposition and will be thrown out with damages awarded to me. You would also be putting the lives of you, your family and Lady Amelia at risk.’
Cavendish chuckled. ‘I can see the newspaper headlines now: “Tragic accident kills family. A young boy and his grandmother died today when their house in Camden Town caught fire. The boy’s father, Detective Chief Inspector Stark, and Lady Amelia Fairfax – rumoured to be Inspector Stark’s mistress – also died as they battled to save them.”’
At these threats to the people he loved so deeply, Stark had to fight to stop himself getting out of the chair and launching himself at Cavendish. At all costs, he had to protect them. Instead, he replied as coolly and calmly as he could. ‘A bit wordy for the Daily Target. And no mention of Jews being responsible? Or blacks, or Chinese?’
Stung, Glenavon snapped back, ‘I’m disappointed in you, Stark. I’d have thought, with your history, your distinguished war record, the man who saved the life of the King, that you would see what we’re doing. We are defending this country against the enemy within. The mongrels. The people who seek to destroy everything this country stands for. The proud and strong traditions built up over the centuries!’
‘A country made up of immigrants,’ said Stark. ‘Saxons. Vikings. Romans. Normans.’
‘They are the stock we come from!’ thundered Glenavon, rising to his feet.
‘And don’t forget the Irish, without whom Britain would have no canals and no railways, because they built them,’ continued Stark. ‘The French, who gave us much of our language. Russian Jewish émigrés. The Chinese
, who—’
‘Enough!’ shouted Glenavon. He was trembling with rage now.
‘Easy, Hector,’ murmured Cavendish. ‘He’s only doing it to get to you.’
Stark sat calmly and looked at Glenavon, holding his stare. ‘I assume our business here is concluded?’ he said.
‘If you’re going to say, “You won’t get away with this!”’ smirked Cavendish, ‘I’d better remind you that we have, and we will. You’re too small to take on what’s happening here, Stark. You, Danvers and Noble may think you’re the Three Musketeers, but we can swat you like flies any time we want.’
‘Our business will be concluded if you do your part,’ hissed Glenavon. ‘Do nothing for three days. And make sure that your Sergeant Danvers and Special Agent Noble also stay away from this case during that time. If you don’t, you and Lady Amelia, and the others you care for so deeply, will die.’
THIRTY-TWO
As Stark walked into his home, Stephen ran to him from the living room, his face flushed with excitement. ‘Wow, Dad! Was that really a Rolls-Royce you came home in?’
‘It was,’ smiled Stark.
‘How?’
‘Someone at work. They offered to run me home.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s every bit as good as people say it is. Comfortable. Roomy. Engine as quiet as anything.’
Sarah appeared from the kitchen, looking suspiciously at Stark. ‘What’s this about a Rolls-Royce bringing you home?’
‘Just something to do with work, Mum.’ He gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve got to go out straight away again. More work.’
‘What about your dinner?’
‘I’ll have it when I get in.’
‘I wanted to hear about the car,’ complained Stephen.
‘I promise I’ll tell you all about it when I get in.’
‘He might be in bed by then,’ said Sarah.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ Stark said. ‘And if you are asleep, I’ll come and wake you up and tell you.’
