The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  ‘It’s much easier to protect someone if you actually like them.’ Croft turned away sulkily. ‘Look at me,’ said Keedy, taking him by the shoulder and turning him back. ‘And give me a straight answer to the next question. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Can’t you see, man? I was interned.’

  ‘Oh, no, you weren’t. Had the authorities had any worries about you, they’d have sent you here, or to one of the other civilian camps, years ago. But they didn’t, did they? It was because of your father’s work, I suspect.’

  ‘My father was a civil servant and proud to serve this country.’

  ‘He worked as a spy during the Boer War,’ said Keedy. ‘It’s the only way he could have earned a medal. He was the reason you were immune from arrest. So let me ask you again. Why are you here under a different name?’ He shook Croft. ‘Come on – who’s paying you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But you admit you were brought here for a reason?’

  ‘I might have been …’

  ‘You’re following in your father’s footsteps, aren’t you, Herr Bauernkate or whatever you call yourself? Hidden away in this mass of German manhood, there may well be the odd enemy agent. Your job is to dig him out.’

  ‘If you know so much,’ said Croft, churlishly, ‘why bother to ask?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure, that’s all. Now, then,’ said Keedy, ‘we have to decide the best way to keep you alive, don’t we?’

  ‘That’s easy. I stay right here while you go hunting for Hubbard.’

  ‘What if he gets inside the camp?’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ asserted Croft.

  Keedy was dubious. ‘Is it …?’

  Grace Tillman was surprised to find Marmion on the doorstep again and she told him that her husband was at work in Regent Street. He explained that he’d come to see her on this occasion. With some misgivings, she invited him in. They went into a high-ceilinged drawing room with tasteful furniture. Offering him a seat, she perched on the sofa opposite.

  ‘I’m not sure what I can tell you,’ she said.

  ‘How did you meet your husband?’

  ‘Oh, we’ve known each other for some time and belonged to the same tennis club. Peter has a passion for the game because it helps keep him fit. I was lucky enough to have him as my partner in a mixed-doubles tournament.’ She indicated the silver cup on the mantelpiece. ‘We won it, actually. There’s the proof.’

  ‘Were you aware of his political opinions?’

  ‘Oh, we never talked about things like that, Inspector.’

  ‘So he won’t have mentioned a David Ackley to you.’

  ‘No – who is he?’

  ‘He was once a close friend of your husband’s. The last time I came here, you talked about “those dreadful people” in Mr Tillman’s past. Ackley was one of them. You obviously did discuss politics at some point.’

  ‘It was only student politics,’ she said with disdain. ‘They don’t count. You expect students to be a bit rebellious. It’s a rite of passage. Peter is not a natural rebel and he never liked the people he had to associate with at those dreary meetings. He told me how blinkered and unpleasant they were. That’s why I called them dreadful.’

  Grace Tillman was sublimely unaware of her husband’s involvement in a subversive Communist group. Ackley’s name meant nothing to her and she had no idea that he was a murder victim. She was a dutiful wife, still in the early months of her marriage and enjoying the pampered life that it brought her. Peter Tillman had chosen someone who was the epitome of the patronising British bourgeoisie against whom he’d once railed in his speeches. Miraculously, she had tamed him.

  ‘Did you speak to Peter yesterday?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Then you must have realised he is an exceptionally honest man.’

  ‘You know him better than I do, Mrs Tillman.’

  ‘I just wondered why you felt the need to check up on him.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m doing,’ said Marmion, politely. ‘I was just struck by that phrase about “those dreadful people” and by the way you said it. I wondered if you were referring to people you’d actually met or were just repeating your husband’s views.’

  ‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ she said, dismissively. ‘When you’re lucky enough to find true happiness, as we have, it’s best to leave those mistakes buried in the past. That’s what Peter and I have done. We have everything we could wish for now.’

  ‘Then I’m very pleased for you, Mrs Tillman.’

  Marmion stood up to leave and she showed him to the front door. As she opened it, she remembered something.

  ‘Now I think of it, I have a vague recollection of hearing that name you mentioned. What was it?’

  ‘David Ackley.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I’m afraid that you’ll soon find out,’ he said, quietly.

  Deciding that Croft was more likely to be at the main internment camp, Hubbard had gleaned a large amount of useful information about Knockaloe and one overriding fact was clear. Security measures were extensive. He wouldn’t be able to get inside any of the four units easily, still less find Croft once he was there. On the other hand, he knew someone who did have authorised access. Keedy had come to the island specifically to make contact with Croft. It might well be that he intended to take him back to the mainland. If that were the case, Hubbard reasoned, he might get his chance, after all. What he had to do was to mount a vigil on Knockaloe. If he saw Keedy emerging from one of the sites, he’d at least know where Croft was located. He began to patrol the perimeter of the camps and study the local bird life while he was at it. Though he couldn’t reach his target yet, he could at least cause him alarm. Keedy would surely have warned Croft that Hubbard was heading for the island. That would make Croft sweat. It was the first part of his punishment.

  For her own sake, Ellen had to get out of the house. It was pointless to wait for a telephone call that would never come or a letter that would never be delivered. In the manner of his departure, Paul had indicated that he was making a complete break from family life. All links had been severed. He would not be in touch. Ellen forced herself to do some shopping and get some fresh air at the same time. Her footsteps took her insensibly towards the high street and it was only when she was passing a jewellery shop that she remembered that Sally Redwood worked there. She paused to look through the window and saw the girl serving a customer.

  Without understanding why, she watched for some minutes. Her concentration was only broken when someone spoke sharply to her.

  ‘You’re doing it as well, are you?’ said Patricia Redwood, truculently. ‘It’s not enough to have your son peering at Sally. You have to do it as well.’

  ‘I meant no harm.’

  ‘Well, Paul certainly did.’

  ‘You can forget about him. He won’t trouble your daughter again.’

  ‘He’d better not.’

  ‘He’s run away, Patricia. We don’t know where he is.’

  ‘You mean that he’s … left home?’

  ‘Yes, he just packed some things and sneaked out. It’s very worrying. We’re afraid that he might not come back.’

  ‘Good riddance,’ said the other woman. ‘I hope that he never does.’

  Claude Chatfield had gone to the commissioner’s office to give him the latest news about the two investigations. He was unable to report progress on either of them.

  ‘Sergeant Keedy has gone to Knockaloe to interview Ben Croft,’ said the superintendent, ‘but there’s an unexpected snag.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Hubbard has found out that Croft is there.’

  ‘How the devil did he do that?’ asked Sir Edward.

  ‘He’s very guileful. The sergeant had left before we discovered what Hubbard was up to. I sent a message immediately. Sergeant Keedy will have received it before boarding at Liverpool. He’ll be on the lookout for Hubbard.’

&n
bsp; ‘What about the inspector?’

  ‘He’s pursuing a line of enquiry that he forgot to tell me about. I haven’t seen him all morning. I can only hope he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Marmion usually does.’

  ‘These two linked investigations have tested him to the limit, Sir Edward. The cracks are starting to show, alas. Part of the problem is that he’s under great stress on the domestic front. It pains me to say this,’ continued Chatfield, ‘but the inspector seems to be losing his grip. He’s getting nowhere.’

  The car dropped Marmion outside the furrier’s shop in Regent Street. Before going in, he looked through the window and saw Peter Tillman talking to a young male assistant in a smart suit. The latter nodded obediently then went off to the rear of the premises. Tillman crossed to a large mirror, using it to adjust his shirt cuffs and to flick back a few stray hairs from his forehead. He then straightened his coat. When Marmion entered, he beamed hospitably as if he was delighted to see him.

  ‘So you’ve changed your mind, have you?’ he asked, genially. ‘You’re going to buy your wife that new fur coat, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. It’s not my wife I’ve come to talk about, you see, it’s your own. I’ve just been chatting to Mrs Tillman.’

  Tillman frowned. ‘What reason did you have for bothering her?’

  ‘It was idle curiosity. You’ve been leading a double life, haven’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘While you were dabbling in revolutionary politics, you kept one foot in the solid, reactionary, middle-class world into which you were born. You were both a Marxist hothead and a leading light at the local tennis club. Mrs Tillman told me what store you set on physical fitness.’

  Tillman tensed slightly. ‘What are you insinuating?’

  ‘You wanted the freedom of raging against the evils of British life and the comfort of belonging to it. In the end – aided by the lady who became your wife – you opted for comfort and cut your ties with the past.’

  ‘Are you intending to write my biography, Inspector?’

  ‘It’s already reached the last chapter, sir. We both know why.’

  ‘You may do so. I don’t. Enlighten me, I pray.’

  ‘It concerns the contents of a battered briefcase,’ said Marmion. ‘They were stolen by the man who murdered David Ackley. I believe that man to be you.’

  Tillman laughed. ‘That’s absurd. Why should I want to kill David?’

  ‘It was because he belonged to a world you wanted to wipe out of your existence. This is nothing to do with politics. It’s something much more personal. Ackley’s father told me that you had far too much influence over his son. I don’t think he fully understood why. Academics can be unworldly at times. All that Mr Ackley and his wife saw was something they didn’t like.’

  ‘What, in God’s name, are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about a man who suddenly gets married in order to obliterate his past, a man who finds an old friend so embarrassing that he has to murder him. David Ackley wrote to you, didn’t he?’ asked Marmion. ‘You were the only person to whom he could turn in a crisis. He told you where he was and when you could pick him up but you decided to kill him instead. You wanted what was in that briefcase, didn’t you? I thought at first it might be a diary but I fancy that it was something even more intimate. Am I right?’

  ‘No, Inspector,’ said Tillman, coolly, ‘you are insultingly wrong.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  ‘Where’s your evidence?’

  ‘Some of it was gathered moments before I came into the shop. I saw the way you and that handsome young assistant of yours looked at each other. You were not discussing the way to run this business. Then I watched you preening in the mirror. It’s something you do a great deal, I fancy. In addition to that, I’ve met the beautiful wife you acquired as a convenient screen to hide behind. You’re not the first man to do that, by a long chalk.’ He lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Need I put it into words, sir?’

  Tillman tried to brazen it out by threatening to sue him but Marmion stuck to his guns. He stared accusingly at the other man until his confidence slowly began to falter. In the end, Tillman could hold out no longer. He resorted to cold anger.

  ‘You’re a poor biographer, Inspector,’ he said, bitterly. ‘You should double-check your facts before stating them so boldly. Yes, I admit, David did write to me from the hostel but it was not to ask for a place of refuge. What he needed was money and plenty of it. There was only one way he could think of getting it.’

  ‘So that was it. He blackmailed you.’

  ‘That’s what he tried to do, anyway.’

  ‘He threatened to tell your wife.’

  ‘It was worse than that,’ confessed Tillman, lowering his head. ‘There was a diary in that briefcase but there was also a sheaf of letters. They were … foolishly explicit.’

  ‘So in order to get hold of them, you killed a man you’d once loved.’

  ‘What would you have done in my position?’

  Marmion ignored the question. ‘I’m afraid that I must ask you to accompany me to Scotland Yard, sir,’ he said. ‘Your days of selling fur coats are over.’

  There was a long, considered pause. ‘Very well,’ said Tillman at length. ‘May I speak to my staff first? Someone will have to take charge.’

  ‘I’ve no objection to that.’

  ‘I’ll also need to get some things from my office.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘There’s no need, Inspector.’

  ‘I insist.’

  ‘You’re making this very awkward for me.’

  ‘That’s my intention.’

  Tillman gave a defeatist shrug. ‘So be it.’

  As he moved towards the door at the rear of the shop, he passed a rack of fur coats. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed one and threw it in Marmion’s face. Before he could be stopped, Tillman darted off at speed. Casting the fur coat aside, Marmion went after him. By the time he reached the office, however, the door had been slammed shut and locked from the inside. Pounding on the timber, the inspector ordered him to come out.

  The sound of the gunshot reverberated throughout the whole building.

  When he finally spotted his quarry, Hubbard was almost fifty yards away. He saw Keedy emerging through the main gate of Camp IV and smiled in triumph. Thanks to Keedy, he at last knew where Ben Croft was being kept. Hubbard had survived recapture for so long because of his ability to think on his feet and change his plans at the drop of a hat. Having thought the camp too well fortified, he now saw that there might, after all, be a way of getting inside it. He needed to get possession of Keedy’s warrant card and return to the camp much later when the guards who’d admitted the sergeant that morning had gone off duty and been replaced by a new team. They’d have no idea what the real Joe Keedy looked like.

  Hubbard followed him from a safe distance but his pursuit was short-lived. A police car arrived to pick up Keedy. He got in and was driven away, yet Hubbard was not deterred. Knowing that the sergeant would be back, he was prepared to wait. Every day he spent in prison, he’d been thinking obsessively about catching and killing Ben Croft. That obsession remained. As a result, he was prepared to wait indefinitely for his chance to get inside the camp. He laughed as he thought about the absurdity of his situation. Having broken out of a prison, he was now determined to get into one.

  ‘You deserve heartiest congratulations,’ said the commissioner, shaking his hand. ‘Well done, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Edward,’ said Marmion.

  ‘I was beginning to think that the murder would never be solved.’

  ‘Frankly, so was I.’

  ‘It’s a tribute to your tenacity,’ said Chatfield. ‘I was right to let you take on the investigation. However, I’d have preferred it if you’d made an arrest so that Tillman could face justice.’

  ‘I’m not sure that
I agree,’ said the commissioner. ‘Tillman not only saved the cost of a trial, his suicide means that there won’t be the same chance for the press to print unsavoury details about his private life. We’ll be able to suppress far more than we’d otherwise have been able to do.’

  ‘The details are not merely unsavoury, they are truly scandalous.’

  They were in Chatfield’s office. Pleased that the hunt for the killer was finally over, the superintendent was appalled by the revelation about the relationship between David Ackley and Peter Tillman. It was beyond his comprehension how such an unnatural relationship, as he saw it, could ever have taken place.

  ‘Your brother will be especially grateful to you, Inspector,’ he said.

  ‘Raymond deserves a share in our success,’ explained Marmion. ‘It was only because I went back to the scene of the crime and went over the problem with him that I began to see the way forward.’

  ‘One case over,’ said the commissioner, ‘and one case left.’

  ‘There won’t be a suicide next time, Sir Edward. That’s for certain. Hubbard would never take his own life. He’d see that as cowardly.’

  ‘I feel sorry for Tillman’s young wife. It will come as a shattering blow.’

  ‘My sympathy goes out to his father,’ said Marmion. ‘He’s already struggling to stay alive in hospital. This could well finish him off. Then, of course, we must remember David Ackley’s parents. They’ll be shocked by what happened but – thank God – they’ll be spared endless lurid stories in the newspapers about their son. I’m not sure that they could have weathered that.’

  ‘Sergeant Keedy needs to be apprised of what we achieved,’ said Chatfield, staking a claim to some of the glory. ‘I’ll send a telegram to the Isle of Man.’

  ‘I can save you the trouble, sir.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘I’ll deliver the message in person. With your permission,’ said Marmion. ‘I’d like to be on the next train to Liverpool.’