The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  ‘You’re to wait here,’ he said, crisply. ‘The governor is sending someone.’

  The detectives looked through the bars. Built over seventy years earlier, Pentonville followed the standard Victorian design. It had a central hall with five radiating wings. It had originally held over five hundred inmates, each with a separate cell. Numbers had grown substantially since then and two-man cells were the norm. Although they had merely come through the main entrance, Keedy felt a keen sense of oppression. Marmion noted his unease.

  ‘How would you like to be banged up in here for twenty years, Joe?’

  ‘Twenty minutes is long enough for me,’ replied Keedy. ‘Look at the place, Harv. How on earth did Hubbard manage to escape?’

  ‘That’s not the question I’m asking,’ said Marmion.

  ‘Then what is?’

  ‘Where the hell is he?’

  Maisie Rogers was a short, buxom woman in her early forties with blonde hair trailing down to her shoulders and large blue eyes. Having slept until late, she awoke and dragged herself upright to test the temperature. When she realised how cold it was, she grabbed the dressing gown that was lying across the bed and put it on. After a protracted yawn, she got out of bed, stretched herself then reached for the curtains. When she pulled them back, she was startled to see a man crawling towards her on the roof of the shed below. Her first instinct was to scream but she then recognised him. Unlocking the sash window, she heaved it up and put her hands on her hips.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here, Wally?’ she asked in amazement.

  ‘I’m freezing to death,’ he replied, scrambling up to her. ‘Get back into bed and warm me up a little. I’ll explain everything afterwards.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Geoffrey Wilson-Smith, the prison governor, was a big, broad-shouldered man in his fifties with a large paunch cunningly disguised by expensive tailoring. His bald head gleamed and his eyes blazed. Seated in a high-backed chair, he told his visitors what had happened, punctuating his tale by tapping on the desk with his knuckles as if using a secret Morse code. They listened patiently. When the recitation finally reached its conclusion, Marmion was ready with the first question.

  ‘So you’re not absolutely sure how Hubbard escaped, are you?’

  ‘There are various possibilities, Inspector,’ said the governor. ‘The most likely one is that he mingled with the other officers when they came off duty and slipped out in the crowd.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he be recognised?’

  ‘Not necessarily. He was wearing a uniform. At the end of a long day on duty, all that my officers wish to do is to get back home to a hot meal and to enjoy the luxury of putting their feet up. Also, of course, it was dark. Hubbard deliberately waited until evening.’

  ‘Why was he out of his cell in the first place?’

  ‘He was being moved to another wing.’

  ‘There is another explanation,’ suggested Keedy.

  The governor turned to him. ‘I’d be interested to hear it.’

  ‘You mentioned a delivery van that brought in food supplies.’

  ‘That’s right. It comes every day at the same time. The diet here is not exactly enticing but we’re duty-bound to feed the inmates.’

  Keedy snapped his fingers. ‘There’s your answer then.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Hubbard could have concealed himself in the van and been driven out.’

  ‘Give us some credit, Sergeant,’ said the governor, loftily. ‘We’re not that stupid. Every vehicle is searched before it’s allowed in or out of the prison.’

  ‘I’m sure that they looked inside the van, sir, but did they go to the trouble of looking underneath?’

  The other man began to bluster. Marmion jumped in quickly.

  ‘I see what the sergeant is getting at, sir,’ he said. ‘We had a case last year where a prisoner on remand escaped by clinging to the underside of a lorry that had made a delivery. As soon as it stopped at a junction, he let go and made a run for it.’

  Wilson-Smith lifted an eyebrow. ‘Was he recaptured?’

  ‘No, sir – he was knocked down by a car, but the point is that he did actually enjoy a brief moment of freedom. Only a strong and determined man would dare to choose that means of escape. Hubbard, I can assure you, is both.’

  ‘It’s a possibility, I grant you,’ said the governor, huffily, ‘but I incline towards my earlier theory. He used his disguise to walk out of here. Hubbard was clever. When he picked on Pearce, he chose an officer with the same height and build as himself. The uniform fitted perfectly.’

  ‘Right,’ said Marmion, jotting something in his notebook, ‘there are lots of other questions I have, sir, but I’d like to ask a favour before I do that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Could the sergeant please have permission to speak to Hubbard’s cellmate?’

  ‘Waste of time.’

  ‘Why do you say that, sir?’

  ‘I’ve already grilled the fellow myself and got nothing from him.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Barter – Vincent Barter. He’s an incorrigible burglar. This is his fifth stay with us in Pentonville.’

  ‘I’d still like to talk to him, sir,’ said Keedy. ‘What harm could it do?’

  ‘You never know,’ added Marmion. ‘The sergeant might be able to elicit something from Barter. If he’s a regular customer of yours, he’ll have known the routine here inside out. That information would have been valuable to Hubbard.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he was an accessory to some degree,’ said the governor, ‘but you’ll never get him to admit it. Speak to him, if you must, Sergeant, but you’ll come up against a brick wall.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Keedy, exchanging a glance with Marmion.

  Picking up the telephone, the governor made a quick call. In less than a minute, an officer arrived to escort Keedy out of the office. Marmion was left alone with the governor.

  ‘You’ve told us about his exemplary conduct here,’ he said, ‘and how he won the confidence of this particular officer. Have you considered the notion that he might have had an accomplice?’

  The governor bristled with indignation. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that one of my officers helped him? That’s out of the question.’

  ‘I was thinking of someone who could have thrown a rope ladder over the wall at a prearranged time. Hubbard knew the date when he’d be moved to another wing and seized his chance.’

  ‘How could he get word to this phantom accomplice?’

  ‘Quite easily, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘You allow visitors. Have you checked to see if anyone came here recently for Hubbard?’ The governor looked embarrassed. ‘Perhaps you’d do so, sir. Our starting point will be the friends and associates of the escaped man. The likelihood is that he’ll have gone to ground with one of them.’

  Getting up, the governor crossed to a filing cabinet and opened a drawer. He took out a thick ledger and put it on his desk, slapping it with a palm.

  ‘I’ve got all the details you need in here, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You will find him, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m certain of it,’ said Marmion, cheerfully. ‘We caught him once before and we can do so again. I’m looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with Mr Hubbard. He led us a merry dance last time. We won’t let him do that again.’

  Maisie Rogers flopped back on the pillow and let out a full-throated laugh. Hubbard enjoyed watching the way that her breasts wobbled. She was the one person who’d have taken him in without a qualm. In the days when he’d run a pub in Brixton, Maisie had been one of his barmaids. She was loyal, efficient and straightforward. He liked that. Having told her in detail how he’d escaped from Pentonville, he warned her that he wouldn’t be able to stay there long.

  ‘Why ever not?’ she asked, peevishly.

  ‘I don’t want to put you in danger, darling. Before too long, the coppers
will be knocking on your door.’

  ‘I’ll get rid of them, don’t you worry.’

  ‘You’re a close friend, Maisie. They’ll guess that I might come here.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t come earlier. Where did you spend the night?’

  ‘I was on the move,’ he told her. ‘I couldn’t stay in that uniform so I broke into a second-hand shop and helped myself to some old clothes and a big hat. In any case,’ he went on, nudging her, ‘it would have been rude to disturb a lady in the middle of the night. You might have had company.’

  ‘Not me, Wally – I’m keeping myself pure for you.’

  He cackled. ‘What about that landlord who was making eyes at you?’

  ‘Oh, he’s harmless. Eric flirts with me but he does that with all the barmaids. The truth is that he prefers boys. He’s never laid a finger on me.’

  ‘Good – are you pleased to see me?’

  ‘I was thrilled – once I got over the shock of spotting you on that roof.’

  He pulled her close. ‘This is what I missed most when I was locked up.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to break out?’ she asked. ‘When I visited you in prison, you didn’t even give me a hint.’

  ‘I didn’t dare, Maisie. Somebody’s always listening.’

  ‘What happens next?’

  ‘This does,’ he said, kissing her and fondling a breast.

  She responded willingly and they were soon entwined but their pleasure was short-lived. There was a loud knock on the front door. Hubbard sat up.

  ‘That sounds like the coppers.’

  ‘Calm down, Wally. There’s no need for alarm.’

  ‘Yes, there is. I’ve heard that knock before.’

  ‘Leave them to me,’ she said, hopping out of bed and putting on her dressing gown. ‘I’ll send them on their way.’

  After stepping into her slippers, she opened the door and went quickly downstairs, running a hand through her hair. As she went along the passageway, the frail voice of her landlady came from the front room.

  ‘Will you see who that is, Maisie?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Donovan. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Maisie pulled back the bolt and opened the door. Bracing herself for the sight of a policeman on the doorstep, she was instead looking at a small, bird-like woman in her sixties who peered at her through wire-framed spectacles. She was clutching a pot in both hands.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rogers,’ she said, sweetly.

  ‘And the same to you, Mrs Abberley.’

  ‘I’ve brought some more broth.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you,’ said Maisie, standing back to let her in. ‘Mrs Donovan will be very grateful. Why don’t you come in and give it to her?’

  ‘I’ll heat it up when she’s ready for it.’

  ‘You know where the kitchen is.’

  ‘I should do.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘How is she this morning?’

  ‘You’ll be able to ask her.’

  After closing the door, Maisie showed the visitor into the front room. Her landlady was virtually bedridden and relied on neighbours like Mrs Abberley for companionship and for occasional treats such as hot broth. Maisie was relieved that it had not been the police and pleased that she would not have to spend any time doing chores for her landlady. Since she’d been taken ill, Mrs Donovan needed more and more help and her lodger had become an unpaid carer as well. Maisie was now off duty. The visitor would take care of everything now. The two old ladies would talk happily for hours. Running back up the stairs, Maisie went to her room to pass on the good news to Hubbard and to climb back into bed with him.

  There was, however, a problem. He was no longer there.

  The room was bare and featureless, with a naked light bulb and a barred window high up in the wall. A table and two chairs comprised the only furniture. It was like every other interview room that Keedy had been in when visiting a prison. It was resolutely depressing. He had a lengthy wait before a warder arrived with Vincent Barter in tow. The prisoner was told to sit on one side of the table. Keedy took the chair opposite him. Having locked the door, the warder stood in front of it.

  Barter was a short, skinny man in his fifties with close-cropped grey hair and a rat-like face. His ingratiating grin annoyed Keedy. For his part, the other man was weighing up the detective, wondering if he could wrest some small favour from him or gain some slight advantage. When Keedy introduced himself, Barter winked at him slyly.

  ‘Haven’t got a spare fag, have you, sir?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Pity – I’m gasping.’

  ‘You know why I’m here,’ said Keedy, brusquely. ‘Tell me about Hubbard.’

  ‘I already spoke to the governor.’

  ‘Well, I want to hear you now.’

  Barter shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell.’

  ‘When you share a cell with someone for months, you must get to know them pretty well. Do you agree?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Barter, sniggering. ‘You soon discover if they fart in their sleep.’

  ‘What was Hubbard like?’

  ‘He kept himself to himself.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘I was there, Sergeant. You weren’t.’

  ‘We arrested Wally Hubbard,’ said Keedy, ‘and he never stopped talking. He worked in the pub trade most of his life. There’s no such thing as a quiet landlord. So don’t try to fob me off by telling me he’d taken a vow of silence.’

  ‘He was an angry man,’ conceded Barter. ‘Deep down, that is. On the surface, he was all smiles but that didn’t fool me.’

  ‘Did he ever talk to you about escape?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did he ever ask you about the geography of the prison?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did you ever describe the routine here to him?’

  ‘Never,’ said the other, feigning innocence. ‘All he ever talked about was missing a woman and missing the smell of beer.’

  ‘Did you see any signs that he might be hoping to get out of here?’

  ‘None at all, Sergeant – and that’s the honest truth.’

  He smirked at Keedy as if he’d just scored a debating point. Having withstood an interrogation by the governor, Barter was confident to the point of being downright cocky. His manner irritated Keedy.

  ‘When did you start to go blind, Mr Barter?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my sight,’ protested the other.

  ‘When did deafness begin to set in?’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘I’m talking about your unfortunate deficiencies,’ said Keedy, looking around the room. ‘You spend the majority of each day in a cell no bigger than this and yet you neither see nor hear anything that arouses your suspicion. Criminals – even hopeless ones like you – usually have heightened senses. They read people for signs of danger or hints of weakness. You did that to Wally Hubbard.’

  ‘We never talked about escape,’ insisted the other.

  ‘Then what did you think he was going to do with that cosh?’

  ‘What cosh?’

  ‘The one used to knock Mr Pearce unconscious. It was discarded in the storeroom where the victim was left. According to the governor, Pearce was trussed up like a Christmas turkey. That means Hubbard had a gag and some rope hidden about him when he left here yesterday evening.’ Keedy leant across the table and fixed him with a stare. ‘Where did he get them?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘You must have seen them.’

  ‘I didn’t, I swear it.’

  ‘My guess is that you even told him how to get hold of them.’

  ‘That’s slander!’ howled Barter.

  ‘I’ve met dozens of people like you,’ said Keedy with disgust. ‘They know how to survive in prison. As soon as they’re jailed, they quickly get to know ever
yone and everything in there. They learn who to befriend and who to avoid. They lap up information like sponges because it could come in useful. That’s what happened with Wally Hubbard, isn’t it? You had information that he needed.’

  ‘I never told him a thing.’

  ‘How much did he pay you, Barter?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the other, defensively.

  ‘You’d have to be blind, deaf and half-witted not to realise what he was up to. And Hubbard obviously trusted you enough to turn to you.’

  ‘I was kept in the dark. I’d take my Bible oath on that.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Keedy, ‘I’ve seen the way it works. You can get almost anything in prison if you have money and Hubbard was more than smart enough to bring some in with him. You wouldn’t have helped him out of the kindness of your heart, would you? So you had to be bought. He had to pay you to get hold of the things he needed to escape.’

  Barter laughed wildly. ‘You’re making this up.’

  ‘You were his accomplice, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘You helped him work out every detail of his plan.’

  ‘It’s a rotten lie.’

  ‘It was you who told him to work on Pearce.’

  ‘I wasn’t involved in any way.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you warn the staff what Hubbard had in mind?’ asked Keedy, raising his voice. ‘You must have realised that it would be bad for you if he escaped. Everyone would assume that you were in league with him and add a few more years to your sentence. Do you actually like being caged in here?’

  ‘No,’ snarled Barter, ‘I hate every bleeding day. That’s why I did my best to talk Wally out of it. I knew I’d suffer as a result.’

  Keedy sat back in his chair and smiled. He’d got the confession he was after. Barter could no longer pretend that he had no intimation of what his cellmate had had in mind. The prisoner’s head had drooped. It was time to press home the advantage.