The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  ‘Good morning, Maisie. I needed to see you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you knock on the front door?’

  ‘I didn’t wish to hang about,’ he explained. ‘I was followed yesterday. The police obviously think I’m going to lead them to Wally. Another car trailed me today but I managed to shake it off.’

  ‘I’m glad they didn’t follow me yesterday evening. They’d have caught the pair of us together.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Keep away from Wally.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous, Maisie.’

  ‘I like to see him.’

  ‘I know – and Wally’s desperate to see you. I don’t blame him.’

  ‘Without you and me, he’d be struggling.’

  ‘I’m only helping from a distance,’ said Browne, ‘so that nobody ever sees us together. If he makes a mistake and gets caught on one of my properties, I’ll say that he must have broken in.’

  ‘He’s very grateful for the key and for the money.’

  ‘Wally’s a friend. I couldn’t let him down. That said, he’s not going to get me into trouble. Friendship only goes so far.’

  ‘He appreciates that, Mr Browne.’

  ‘When have you arranged to see him again?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Tell him it’s the last time.’

  Maisie hesitated. ‘That would be difficult …’

  ‘You’ve got to put yourself first,’ he urged. ‘Let’s be realistic. We both know where this is going to end. Wally is too clever to be recaptured so he’ll beaver away until he eventually finds Ben Croft. What happens then?’

  ‘Wally will kill him.’

  ‘And Maisie Rogers will be an accessory to murder. Do you really want to end your life with a rope around your neck and a black bag over your head?’

  ‘No,’ she said, nervously fingering her throat.

  ‘Then don’t let Wally drag you down with him.’

  ‘It may not come to that, Mr Browne.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you seem to think that he’ll get his revenge on Croft then be captured by the police. It’s not what Wally is planning. He told me that, whatever happens, he’s not going back to prison again. They’ll be waiting for him in Pentonville.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they will, Maisie. They hate someone escaping. Wally will get a very hostile reception.’

  ‘Once he’s done what he needs to do, he’s talking about leaving London altogether and changing his identity. He wants to start afresh somewhere else.’ She swallowed hard. ‘He asked me to go with him.’

  ‘You’d be a fool to agree,’ said Browne, sharply.

  ‘I haven’t committed myself either way.’

  ‘Do you want to spend the rest of your life on the run?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Then do some serious thinking.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I know you feel obliged to Wally.’

  ‘It’s true, Mr Browne, I do.’

  ‘But you must feel even more obliged to Maisie Rogers. She has a real future ahead of her. Wally Hubbard doesn’t.’

  Though she hadn’t noticed, he’d been driving in a wide circle so that he eventually came back to the exact place where he’d picked her up. Browne waited until she got out and closed the door behind her. He gave her a farewell wave and drove off. Able to begin her walk at last, Maisie had a lot to think about. She was beginning to regret that Wally had escaped from prison in the first place. If he’d stayed behind bars, her life would have been far less complicated. On the other hand, it would also have been bereft of the thrill and excitement he’d given her.

  Sunday was the one day of the week when she usually managed to spend time with Joe Keedy but she was out of luck on this occasion. Since she was deprived of one pleasure, Alice Marmion sought another by catching a bus and going to call on her mother. Delighted to see her, Ellen told her daughter the news.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to your Aunt Lily,’ she said. ‘There’s been a murder at their hostel. A man they rescued from the streets was killed there this morning.’

  ‘Do they know who did it?’

  ‘Your father has only just started his investigation.’

  ‘But Daddy is already involved in another case.’

  ‘He thinks it may be related to the murder somehow,’ said Ellen. ‘According to his identity papers, the victim’s name was Ben Croft.’

  ‘Isn’t that the man whose house was burnt down?’

  ‘That’s what your father thought, Alice. When he actually saw him, however, he said that it wasn’t Croft at all.’

  ‘So who was he?’

  ‘They’re still trying to find out.’

  ‘I suppose it could be a coincidence,’ said Alice. ‘Ben Croft is not an unusual name. There could be two of them. In fact, there are probably several more.’

  ‘According to Lily, the victim had papers with the name of the man whose house was burnt to the ground. That was the address given.’

  ‘How bizarre!’

  ‘Your father is going to be busier than ever now.’

  Alice pulled a face. ‘And so is Joe.’

  ‘That’s one of the penalties of marrying a policeman.’

  ‘I can live with it.’

  ‘You still haven’t set a date, have you?’ said Ellen, probing gently.

  ‘We never seem to be together long enough to do so.’

  ‘The church will have to be booked well ahead, Alice, and the banns will need to be read. In fact, when I was in church this morning, the vicar was asking me if you were starting to make plans for the wedding.’

  ‘We’ve made the decision that matters, Mummy – there will be a wedding.’

  Ellen made a pot of tea and they settled down in the kitchen. Inevitably, the talk turned to Paul and the drawing of Sally Redwood was produced. Alice was shocked at what her brother had done.

  ‘He was throwing darts at her?’

  ‘That’s why he drew the portrait in the first place, Alice.’

  ‘It’s a terrible thing to do.’

  ‘I told him that.’

  ‘What was Daddy’s reaction?’

  ‘I haven’t shown it to him and I don’t know that I will.’

  ‘You ought to, Mummy. He deserves to know what Paul gets up to. This is more than a case of making fun of the girl. It’s vicious.’

  ‘When I first found it in the bin, my blood ran cold.’

  ‘Let me speak to Paul.’

  ‘What good would that do?’

  ‘We can’t just let him carry on like this, Mummy. His mind is twisted. What he really needs to do is to talk to an army psychologist.’

  ‘When I suggested that, Paul flew off the handle.’

  ‘It’s all the more reason to report him. He’s getting out of control, Mummy.’

  ‘Most of the time I don’t even see him, so in that sense, he’s no trouble and he keeps his bedroom clean and tidy. There is that. His behaviour scares me sometimes but then I look at some of the other lads invalided out of the army. Mrs Harris’s son, who lost a leg, was arrested for throwing stones through people’s windows and Ian Cotter, who went to school with Paul, became so violent that they’ve put him in a mental hospital.’

  ‘That’s where Paul is heading if he goes on like this.’

  ‘Perhaps we should stand back, Alice, and give him more breathing space.’

  ‘And what’s he going to do with it?’ asked her daughter. ‘Draw pictures of somebody else and throw darts at it? He’s got to be challenged.’

  It was a paradox. A man who specialised in being an amiable host was now being forced to frighten people. Wally Hubbard had been a popular pub landlord with a gift for spreading goodwill among his patrons. Even when he’d gone on to own some hostelries, he’d enjoyed popping into them from time to time and helping behind the bar. Mine host was now taking on a different role. Unable to find Ben Croft, he’d ambus
hed the man’s former employer in a park and bullied a list of names and addresses out of him. He’d now begun a systematic search among Croft’s former colleagues, demanding information from them and threatening dire consequences if they dared to tell the police that he’d been in contact with them. Moving from one to the other, he left a trail of terror behind him.

  Yet there was still no hint of where Croft might have gone. Hubbard went back to the one person who might be able to help him. He called on Veronica Croft again and was reluctantly admitted to the house. Alone with him in the front room, she was very uneasy.

  ‘You promised not to come here again,’ she said.

  ‘I had no choice, Mrs Croft.’

  ‘There’s nothing else I can tell you.’

  ‘I believe that there is. You gave me useful information last time.’

  ‘Did you find that woman?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hubbard, ‘I found her, watched her and eventually spoke to her. Mrs Graydon was naturally upset that anybody knew about her friendship with your husband but she struck me as an honest woman who’d been bewitched.’

  ‘What did she tell you?’

  ‘She claimed that she hadn’t seen him for a month or so and she said it with a bit of steel in her voice. Mrs Graydon obviously thinks that she was cast aside without any explanation. It’s left her bitter.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ said Veronica, pursing her lips.

  ‘He’s either gone on to a new woman or he’s back with one of his old flames.’

  ‘I can’t help you with a new name. The last person I knew about was Helen Graydon because he boasted that he’d finally found someone he could really love. Ben let her name slip out and I remembered it.’

  ‘She’s an attractive woman, Mrs Croft,’ he told her, ‘but she’s not a patch on you. I promise you that.’

  The compliment drew a rare smile out of her and he had a glimpse of the woman she must have been before resentment had set in. Being forced to return to the family home had been a severe blow to her pride. Having to take a mundane job in a factory had inflicted further damage.

  ‘I need some names from you, Mrs Croft.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t have any.’

  ‘Yes, you do. I know you told me you didn’t keep a record of his old flames but, if a husband is going astray, most wives would want to know who the woman was. I’m sure that you’re no different.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, firmly, ‘I can’t help you.’

  ‘Don’t you want me to catch up with him?’

  ‘That’s not the point, Mr Hubbard.’

  ‘Then what is?’

  ‘It was wrong of me to talk to you the first time,’ she said, earnestly. ‘You’re a wanted man. If the police knew I’d helped you, they’d arrest me at once.’

  ‘But they don’t know, do they?’

  ‘Frankly, I’m panic-stricken.’

  ‘There’s no need to be,’ he said, gently. ‘People may have seen me knocking on your door but none of them recognised me. What I’m wearing is a pretty good disguise. I put it to the test yesterday by asking a policeman the way to Bond Street. He gave me very good directions,’ he went on with a chuckle. ‘You’re in no danger, Mrs Croft, I promise you. Now tell me some names.’

  She folded her arms. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘It’s important to me.’

  ‘I don’t want Ben’s murder on my conscience.’

  ‘You didn’t have a conscience the last time we met.’

  ‘Well, I do now and it’s troubling me. That doesn’t mean I’m going to report you to the police. I just don’t want anything to do with you again.’

  His eyelids narrowed. ‘It’s a bit late to decide that.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I’ve had sleepless nights thinking about it.’

  ‘Then let me give you something else to think about, Mrs Croft. If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll be reporting you to the police as my accomplice. How much sleep will you get then?’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that!’ she gasped.

  ‘I’ll do whatever’s necessary.’

  ‘That’s cruel!’

  ‘No,’ he growled. ‘What your husband did to my daughter was cruel. That’s why I’ll move mountains to get to him. If you won’t help me, you can have the pleasure of explaining to the police why you talked to an escaped prisoner and failed to mention it to them.’ He put his face close to hers. ‘What are you going to do, Mrs Croft? Make a decision now.’

  Claude Chatfield examined the briefcase at some length. After looking at the papers found inside, he turned the object over and ran a finger along its edge. Joe Keedy watched him. He’d been sent back to Scotland Yard with the murder victim’s briefcase so that he could bring the superintendent up-to-date with the investigation.

  ‘This has seen better times,’ decided Chatfield, putting it down on his desk. ‘It’s high-quality leather. When it was new, it would have cost a pretty penny. What was it doing in the hands of a down-and-out?’

  ‘That’s not what he was, sir. He didn’t belong with the others.’

  ‘So why was he sleeping on the streets?’

  ‘That’s still a matter of speculation,’ said Keedy. ‘Might I ask what you said at the press conference?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You obviously stirred up the reporters. They descended on the hostel like a pack of ravening wolves. The inspector is still fending them off.’

  ‘I told them enough to give them a story but held back certain details. It’s important that we always know that little bit more than the press in any investigation. The utmost discretion is called for when dealing with them.’

  ‘Did they ask why Inspector Marmion was not there?’

  ‘I explained that.’

  ‘What did you say about the search for Wally Hubbard?’

  ‘I told them it would continue with renewed vigour. Now,’ he said, settling back in his chair, ‘there’s something I must ask you. Has the inspector – or his brother, for that matter – established how someone could enter a Salvation Army hostel and commit a murder without being seen by anyone?’

  ‘He was seen, Superintendent.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That’s what the inspector believes, anyway, and I agree. He feels that the killer put on a Salvationist’s uniform and became, in effect, invisible. It’s the same with the police, sir. People look at our uniform rather than at our faces.’

  Chatfield was dubious. ‘That could be the answer, I suppose.’

  ‘The inspector’s guesses are uncannily accurate.’

  ‘I dispute that.’

  ‘I work alongside him, sir. I’ve seen it happen so many times.’

  ‘Can he explain where the Salvationist’s uniform came from?’ asked Chatfield, ‘or is he assuming that the killer is in fact a member of the Army – the Salvation Army, that is?’ Light sarcasm came into his voice. ‘Murder is in direct contravention to everything it stands for.’

  ‘The uniform could have been stolen from the place that supplies them.’

  ‘It would surely be closed on a Sunday?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that it would,’ admitted Keedy.

  ‘Then we can eliminate that possibility.’

  ‘Inspector Marmion favours another theory, sir.’

  ‘I’d be interested to hear it, Sergeant.’

  ‘He thinks that it was taken – by force, probably – from a Salvationist with the same build as the killer.’

  ‘That’s a rather fanciful notion, if you ask me.’

  ‘There is some evidence to support it.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘When they assembled this morning, a member of the band was missing. It’s one of their cornet players.’

  Bound and gagged, the man lay on the floor and winced as cramp set in again. He was lying on the straw in an empty stable, wondering how he’d been stupid enough to be tricked into looking into it by a stranger. His head was
still pounding from the blow he’d received. His cornet lay in the straw beside him.

  No matter how late he was going to be, Ellen was determined to wait up for her husband. She sat on the sofa with her latest library book and was soon deep into a story of whirling romance. She managed to fight off fatigue for hour after hour but it eventually got the better of her. When he finally got back, she was fast asleep with the book open in her lap. Marmion picked it up gently, folded it before putting it aside, then bent over to give his wife a kiss on her forehead. Ellen blinked.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Harvey!’

  ‘Who were you expecting?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s well past midnight.’

  She sat up. ‘Lily rang me earlier.’

  ‘That was my suggestion.’

  ‘She said that the whole place was in turmoil.’

  ‘It was, Ellen. It was hours before everything settled down again.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What have you been doing all day?’

  ‘Well,’ she replied, ‘first of all, I went to church then I had the call from Lily and, soon afterwards, I had a lovely surprise.’

  ‘Paul behaved like a human being for a change?’

  ‘If only he had,’ she said with a hollow laugh.

  Marmion sighed. ‘Has he been upsetting you again?’

  ‘I don’t want to go into that now, Harvey. It’s very late and you’re exhausted.’

  ‘It’s never too late to talk about our son.’

  ‘Leave it until the morning.’

  ‘I’ll be rushing off to work then,’ he said. ‘Tell me now and explain what you meant by a lovely surprise.’

  He sat beside her and held her hand. Ellen took a moment to gather her thoughts. When she was ready, she told him everything and even got Paul’s drawing of Sally Redwood from her handbag to show him. Marmion was dismayed that their son had been so unpleasant towards visitors.

  ‘Pat Redwood won’t ever forgive him,’ said Ellen. ‘I saw her in church this morning with Sally. They avoided catching my eyes and I was very grateful.’

  ‘Paul must make amends somehow.’

  ‘That was Alice’s idea. She insisted on tackling him again.’