The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Tempers flared up and they hurled abuse at each other.’

  ‘Alice should have known better than to get drawn into a dogfight,’ he said. ‘It’s part of police training that you don’t let an argument get out of control by joining in. You try to pacify. You take the heat out of a row. Alice should have known that.’

  ‘She told him that it was time he behaved like an adult and Paul started to tease her about being engaged to a man who was much older and had had a lot of other girlfriends before her.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marmion, ‘in fairness to Paul, I had those reservations as well.’

  ‘But you never used them to goad Alice.’

  ‘No, I held my peace and hoped that I was wrong about the match.’

  ‘You were, Harvey. They’re ideal for each other.’

  ‘I know, love, and I couldn’t be happier.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about Paul?’

  ‘The best thing I could do is to find him an alternative father, one who’s actually here to set him right when he kicks over the traces. Seriously,’ he went on, raising a palm to cover a yawn, ‘we ought to get some medical advice. It’s not normal for a young man to throw darts at a picture he’s drawn of someone whose only crime was to come here for tea. On top of everything else, it makes things so uncomfortable for you.’

  ‘Yes, it was an ordeal in church this morning.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mrs Redwood about what happened?’

  ‘No, I’ve deliberately kept out of her way and, as it happens, she’s avoided the sewing group. There’s a message in that for me.’

  Marmion felt the usual surge of guilt and he blamed himself for being an absentee father. The demands of his job gave him no chance of a proper family life. He couldn’t remember the last time that he, his wife and the two children sat down for a meal together. Because he’d been on duty so much, he’d never managed to forge a real bond with Paul and that made him sad. He put an arm around Ellen.

  ‘Do you forgive me?’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Harvey.’

  ‘I feel that it is somehow.’

  ‘You can’t take the blame for what happened to Paul,’ she said. ‘It was the war that turned him into the person he is. It’s made him coarse and horribly selfish. And he thinks it’s funny to hurt people’s feelings.’

  ‘That’s got to stop.’

  ‘Let’s go to bed.’ She got up from the sofa. ‘We’re both dropping.’

  He rose to his feet. ‘I may not have the strength to climb the stairs.’

  ‘I haven’t even asked how the investigation is going.’

  ‘There are two investigations now, Ellen,’ he said, wearily, ‘and we’ve got absolutely nowhere with either of them. That’s the truth. If it goes on like this, they’ll be bringing me home on a stretcher.’

  Putting an arm around her, he took her slowly off to bed.

  The stable was down an alleyway that few people used. Ordinarily, policemen on night duty would walk past it without giving it a second glance. It was different that night. As two of them approached the alleyway on their beat, they heard a strange sound. It was as if someone was trying to blow into a mouthpiece without quite managing it. Interest aroused, they used torches to guide their footsteps through the gloom. The noises were coming from inside the stable. One of them unlocked it and opened the door wide. Their torches illumined a startling sight: arms and legs bound tight, a man in his shirt and underwear was squirming in the sawdust. Having managed to bite through the gag, he’d tried to raise the alarm by shouting till he was hoarse, then blowing the cornet that lay beside him. His face lit up with relief.

  ‘Thank God you’ve come!’ he said. ‘This place stinks of manure.’

  ‘I’ll have to go,’ she said.

  ‘Why not stay the night?’

  ‘Mrs Donovan will miss me.’

  ‘Are you saying you prefer that old duck over me?’

  ‘Of course, I don’t.’

  ‘That’s not very flattering, Maisie.’

  ‘She relies on me.’

  ‘And so do I,’ said Hubbard, nestling against her. ‘She hasn’t got the whole of the Metropolitan Police on her tail.’

  He rolled over and kissed her but made no objection when she got out of bed. As she began to put on her clothes, he enjoyed looking at the contours of her body. For her part, Maisie Rogers was doing her best to find the courage to give him an ultimatum. There’d been no chance to do so when she’d first arrived because he’d lifted her bodily and carried her upstairs.

  ‘Thanks for coming, darling,’ he said. ‘I needed you.’

  ‘You made no bones about that.’

  ‘I’ve had a depressing day. When I got some names out of Croft’s missus, I thought I was on the right trail at last. One by one, they let me down. Croft hadn’t been anywhere near them for six months or more and they were angry with him.’

  ‘Why don’t you accept that you’ll never find him, Wally?’

  ‘Oh, yes I will!’ he vowed, sitting up in bed.

  ‘Everyone has said the same thing. Croft has disappeared.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘He was afraid you’d come after him.’

  ‘I had to get out of prison first and that took some doing. Croft had no idea if and when I’d break out. Mrs Graydon said that he vanished a month ago and she took it personally.’

  ‘You might never find him.’

  ‘That won’t stop me looking.’

  She stepped into her skirt and zipped it up. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, Wally.’

  ‘Then why not say it?’

  ‘You don’t make it very easy for me.’ He put both hands over his mouth and made her laugh. ‘I can’t do this again.’

  The hands came down. ‘Have you gone off me or something?’

  ‘No, it’s not like that.’

  ‘Then what is it like?’

  ‘I’m frightened, Wally. Every time I see you, I risk being arrested.’

  ‘But you haven’t been, have you? We’re in the clear.’

  ‘Our luck is bound to run out in time.’

  ‘Well, I mean to find and kill Ben Croft before it does.’

  ‘If you do that, you’ll be putting a noose around my neck.’

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, getting out of bed and crossing to her. ‘I never thought you’d get cold feet, Maisie. In the old days, you were game for anything.’

  ‘The stakes weren’t quite so high then.’

  ‘We talked about going off together afterwards.’

  ‘No,’ she asserted, ‘that’s what you talked about. I didn’t say yes or no. It was sort of left in the air.’

  ‘So tell me what you’ve decided.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to do.’

  He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Someone’s been getting at you, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No, this is my decision.’

  ‘But it was prompted by Felix. I can hear his voice in what you’re saying.’ He grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘He spoke to you, didn’t he?’

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ she bleated.

  ‘Tell me the truth!’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  She wrested herself free and took a cautionary pace backwards. Putting on her blouse, she began to do up the buttons. He regarded her for a few moments.

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Maisie,’ he said, softly.

  ‘You’ll be claiming next that you didn’t mean to burn down Ben Croft’s house,’ she said, ‘but you did. You mean everything you do, Wally. That’s your nature. Your needs always come first. It’s not fair.’

  When she turned away, he got between her and the door.

  ‘Look, please don’t go like this. All right, I know I make demands, very big demands, but there are rewards. When I asked you to run off with me, it was no joke. It’s what I want. I need to become someone else, Maisie, someone who’s a bit kinde
r and more considerate. Come with me,’ he implored. ‘The police will never find us in a hundred years. Come with me and we’ll start a new life together.’ He produced a disarming smile. ‘What do you say?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  For a period of several weeks, Helen Graydon’s life had veered between exhilaration and shame. Ben Croft had been a revelation. Until she met him, she hadn’t realised what a clumsy lover her husband had been. He’d groped, fumbled and, as he took his pleasure, paid little attention to hers. Croft was very different – gentle, considerate and inventive. Even though they were followed by a sense of apprehension, the times they’d spent together were magical. Hoping that they’d continue, Helen had been cut to the quick when he’d apparently just walked away from her without warning or explanation. As she ate her breakfast that morning, she looked back on their relationship and realised just how clever he’d been. After picking her out, Croft had contrived a meeting with her and started the slow, patient process of seducing her. He’d told her that they were, to some extent, in the same position. She had a husband fighting abroad and he, allegedly, had a sick wife who slept alone. He persuaded her that they should give each other comfort.

  Croft never made excessive demands and kept well away from her house during daylight hours. Her reputation was never in danger. Helen had been grateful for that. To the neighbours, she was an attractive, lonely woman pining for the return of her soldier-hero. In reality, however, it was Croft’s return for which she pined. Helen did her best to despise him but warm memories of his touch and his purring voice kept breaking in. He’d given her an experience she’d never get elsewhere. In any case, his disappearance might be nothing to do with a rejection of her. If the police were searching for him, then he might have had a legitimate reason to go somewhere and had not had the time to forewarn her. Helen came round to the view that Ben Croft should be given the benefit of the doubt.

  On the way to work, she recalled some of the special moments they’d shared together. While she’d never dare to wear the ring he’d given her, she kept it unseen around her neck on a chain. It was a keepsake she would treasure for that morning at least. On other days, it had been hurled contemptuously aside as she reviled her faithless lover. Today, he was back in favour.

  Work as a secretary in a paint factory had its disadvantages. There was always a strong whiff in the air and intrusive noise from the factory floor. But the job was not irksome and she liked her colleagues. As she arrived that morning, she went through the usual routine, walking into the reception area and collecting her boss’s mail and his newspapers. When she got to his office, she discovered he’d not yet arrived so she took the things through and set them down on the desk. It was only when she put the newspapers there that she glanced at the front page of the one on top. There was a headline about a murder at a Salvation Army hostel. The investigation was being led by Inspector Marmion and a stock photograph of him was on display. Helen was about to walk away when she took a second look at the inspector.

  It made her shudder.

  ‘The most popular items are in the window,’ said the manager, a short, fussy man in a dark suit and sober tie. ‘We keep our more expensive stock in the safe.’

  ‘I see, Mr Lycett.’

  ‘You won’t be handling any of that, of course.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘What you’ll probably be selling are watches and clocks. There’s always a demand for them. You’ll be taught how best to present them to a customer.’

  Sally Redwood was enjoying her first morning at work. Her colleagues were very welcoming and she felt that it was a feather in her cap to secure a position in such a well-known jeweller’s shop. She lapped up everything that Lycett told her. Following instructions, she’d put on a smart black dress and borrowed a gold brooch from her mother. It had been bought from the shop for Patricia Redwood’s wedding anniversary and Lycett recalled serving her husband. Sally was glad to wear it. The new job was a far cry from working in Woolworth’s and facing the daily tumult. At Newsome’s, there was a more refined atmosphere altogether.

  ‘Needless to say,’ said Lycett, ‘we’ve had a surge in the sales of wedding rings. It’s a product of the war. Soldiers and sailors have been desperate to get married before they go back into battle again. That’s understandable, I suppose. Some of them know that they’ll never come back again. It’s tragic.’ He adjusted his tie in a mirror. ‘Enough of that – we’ve a business to run. Well, Miss Redwood, I hope that you’ll soon settle in. We don’t bite and we’re always ready to lend you a hand. Now, then, what would you like to ask me first?’

  When he went into the superintendent’s office that morning, Marmion had some news to pass on to him. Though his face was motionless, he was smiling inwardly.

  ‘My brother has been in touch to say that the missing bandsman has been found. Discovered during the night, he’d been stripped of his uniform and was trussed up in a stable.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Chatfield, discomfited, ‘that’s interesting.’

  ‘I was right, after all, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose you were.’

  ‘The sergeant said that you described my theory as fanciful but I couldn’t see how else the killer could get inside the hostel. The bandsman in question is a cornet player, by the way. As he passed an alleyway, he was struck over the head. Too dazed to resist, he was dragged along to the stable, divested of his uniform, then tied up. By the time his mind cleared, his attacker was putting on the uniform.’

  ‘Did he get a good look at the man?’

  ‘Not really, sir.’

  ‘Does he have any idea of his age, height, build?’

  ‘All he could say was that he was not young and of average height.’

  ‘What about the attacker’s own clothing? Did he leave any of that behind?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘What’s your brother’s view?’

  ‘Raymond is just grateful that the bandsman survived the ordeal. He thinks that the killer must have tracked his victim to the hostel then bided his time. Everyone knows that the band goes marching on a Sunday morning. It would be the best opportunity to acquire a Salvationist’s uniform.’

  ‘But how did the killer know where his target was?’

  ‘I’ve no answer to that, sir.’

  ‘And who, in the name of all that’s holy, is the deceased?’

  ‘He was someone posing as Ben Croft.’

  ‘Then where is the real Ben Croft?’ asked Chatfield with vexation. ‘The bandsman only lost a uniform. Croft lost his whole identity.’

  ‘Did he lose it,’ asked Marmion, ‘or did he exchange it?’

  ‘That’s absurd.’

  ‘You’re probably right, Superintendent. It’s absurd and … fanciful.’

  Chatfield glowered then took a moment to mull over what he’d just heard.

  ‘Do you see a connection here, Inspector?’ he asked.

  ‘A connection, sir?’

  ‘Yes – between the escape and the murder, of course. Both involve someone being knocked out, deprived of his uniform, then tied up and gagged. The only difference is that the bandsman didn’t end up in hospital.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that the ambush is the work of Wally Hubbard?’

  ‘The similarities are unmistakable.’

  ‘Only at first glance,’ said Marmion, warily.

  ‘According to the bandsman, his attacker was of average height and not young. That description fits Hubbard like a glove.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that it fits a vast number of men, sir.’

  ‘You have doubts, obviously.’

  ‘I do, Superintendent.’

  ‘Yet you must concede that it’s a possibility worth considering.’

  ‘In a case as baffling as this one,’ said Marmion, ‘I’m ready to consider any possibility. This one, however, does not hold water.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It assumes that Hubbard mistook the man at th
e hostel for the real Ben Croft. Is that conceivable? I don’t think so, sir. Hubbard has spent months thinking about how he’d kill Croft. He’s seen the man and would recognise him anywhere. He’d never mistake the murder victim as Croft – and, having met Croft, neither would I.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Chatfield, grumpily.

  ‘To begin with, the victim is somewhat younger.’

  ‘Then why wasn’t he in the army?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘And what was his relationship with Croft?’

  ‘We can’t be certain that there was one.’

  ‘Of course, there was – he had Croft’s papers.’

  ‘He had documents purporting to belong to Ben Croft,’ said Marmion, ‘but we don’t know if they are genuine. I’m having them checked to see if they’re forgeries. And even if they’re not,’ he continued, ‘they may not have been handed over. They could have been stolen from Croft. Since the war broke out, there’ve been a lot of mislaid identities. The first thing army deserters do is to change their name.’

  ‘We must find out who the victim is,’ declared Chatfield, ‘and we must recapture Hubbard soon. At the press conference yesterday, they tried to give me a roasting because he was still at large. Fortunately, I had the experience to cope with aggressive questioning. You might not have been so adept.’

  Marmion pretended to agree. ‘You may be right, sir.’

  ‘Have there been no sightings of Hubbard?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘What about that friend of his?’

  ‘I’m still having Felix Browne watched, sir, but it’s something of a challenge. He has a fast car and an excellent knowledge of London backstreets. My fear is that he may realise he’s being followed. The surveillance vehicle lost him yesterday.’

  ‘That’s worrying.’

  ‘I’ve asked Sergeant Keedy to have another word with Mr Browne.’

  ‘He needs to be leant on hard.’

  ‘The sergeant knows how to do that, sir.’

  ‘What about that woman friend of Hubbard’s?’