by Mark Ellis
Suddenly, the whistle of the approaching train blew. It now occurred to the breathless Beecham that his best tactic would be to cross over to the platform opposite just before the train arrived. The engine was coming into sight at the far end of the platform. He had to act quickly. Beecham didn’t waste time climbing down on to the tracks but jumped. It was a fair drop and, as he landed, he twisted an ankle. He grimaced with pain as he tried to lift his foot but found it was trapped under a rail. He tried to move it again. And again. He was trapped.
By now, Merlin was above him on the platform and could see the panic-stricken terror in Beecham’s eyes as he looked up. The train continued its slow but relentless approach. Merlin reached out a hand and grasped Beecham’s but, soaked in sweat, it slipped from the detective’s grip. Bridges arrived, assessed the situation and ran towards the train, waving and shouting for the driver to stop. The driver didn’t or couldn’t understand and the train carried on. Merlin reached down again, this time managing to grab the sleeve of Beecham’s coat but it was too late. The train was almost on them and he had to let go. The policeman watched in horror as, with a hideous scream, Peregrine Beecham was torn to pieces by the wheels of the engine.
CHAPTER 16
Friday 20 June
London
Merlin paced back and forth around his room. The adrenaline was still pumping. Goldberg and Robinson were seated at the desk, he with a bandage on his cheek and she with a sticking-plaster on her neck.
“I don’t think I’m going to forget this day in a hurry.”
“It’s a pity we lost Beecham, Frank. He could have cleared up a lot of things.”
“If Dumont cooperates we should get what we need, Bernie. And we have Beecham’s men. What do we have on them, Constable?”
“Charlie Miller and Vincent Carson… Quite long criminal records for such young men. Violent assault, robbery, burglary and so on. They were both in prison until nine months ago and were let out after volunteering to join up. Both were given postings but never made it. Went AWOL.”
“No surprise there. They are downstairs in the cells?”
“Yes, sir. Next to Vorster.”
Merlin looked closely at Robinson. “Are you sure you don’t want to see the doc? Just to double-check you’re all right?”
Robinson was back in uniform and looking little the worse for her ordeal. “No, sir. This nick on my neck is nothing and I’m fine otherwise.”
“You were very brave.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You too, Bernie.”
“Come off it, Frank. You and Robinson were the true heroes.”
“Not me.” Merlin sat down at last. “I’m not going to be very popular with the AC when he finds out what happened, Constable.”
“He’ll not find out from me, sir.”
Merlin smiled. “He’ll find out from someone. Is that the gun report you have there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And does it confirm what we thought it might?”
“It does. The gun Dumont dropped at the station was a Modèle 1935A.”
“Ballistics?”
“We’ll get the full report tomorrow.”
“Let’s hope there’s a match.”
“Bound to be.”
“Yes, Bernie.” Merlin looked at Goldberg’s cheek. “You’re going to have a nice little scar there as a souvenir of London.”
“Might make me look more fearsome to the New York villains.”
“I’m sure you can handle the job without looking like Lon Chaney.” Merlin winked. “So, back to Dumont. If he murdered de Metz, was it because he feared the doctor was going to expose him as a spy or because of the botched abortion? If it was the first reason, where does the photograph come in? Dumont is too young to be one of the people in that picture. Perhaps it’s a red herring?” Merlin scratched his head.
“If he killed for the second reason… well, for what it’s worth, Vorster still insists he doesn’t believe Dumont was the father of Bridget’s baby. Says he would have known if Dumont had a girlfriend. We obviously need another session with Vorster.” Merlin pondered for a moment. “In fact, why don’t you two go down and see him now? Tell him we’ve got Dumont and more evidence. See what he says.”
The telephone rang. “Sergeant. You’re still at the hospital? They’ve told you. Good. Bring Dumont back straightaway and put him in one of the interview rooms. We’ll see you in 20 minutes.” Merlin looked up. “Dumont is apparently fit to come out of St Thomas’s. Must have a skull of iron.”
“Will the MI5 people want to sit in on our interview with Dumont, sir?”
“I had a word with Harold Swanton, Constable. He said we could have first shot at him on the criminal matters and then he’d take over. Meanwhile, his men are about to pull in Auguste Angers to see if he’s the other chap in the photograph.”
Goldberg shaded his eyes from the bright sunshine now pouring into the room. “If he is, what does it mean?”
“That he was Dumont’s accomplice in espionage? I don’t know, Bernie, but I hope we’re about to find out.”
* * *
Robinson led Detective Goldberg down the gloomy, narrow corridor giving access to the cells in the basement of Scotland Yard.
“This is where Beecham’s men are, Detective.” Robinson pulled open the viewing grille in the second door they came to. The moustachioed Miller was sitting on the bed, looking morosely into space. He ignored the sound of the grille opening. Carson was pacing back and forth in the small space not occupied by the bed. He turned to bare his teeth at the door and Robinson slammed the grille shut.
“Our man’s next door, Detective.”
An unshaven, hollow-eyed Vorster jumped up excitedly when they entered his cell. “Have you come to let me go? You know I didn’t kill that chap. Surely you can’t keep me in here much longer? My father will provide a surety if that’s what you need. The…” The officers shook their heads and his face fell. The young man slumped back down on the bed.
“We’ve got Dumont now, Mr Vorster. We are going to see what light he can cast on events. Meanwhile, Detective Goldberg and I would like to go over your story one more time. Let’s start at the beginning. Did you…?”
Robinson stopped as they heard voices at the door. The grille went back and Sergeant Reeves’ face appeared.
“Sorry about this, Constable, Mr Goldberg. It’s just that this cell is quite a bit larger than the one next door in which we’re holding those two brutes of Beecham’s. I thought it would be sensible to switch them into this cell and put this fellow into theirs.” Reeves leaned forward to whisper. “Sergeant Bridges told me he’d prefer them to continue to share a cell so they can get on each other’s nerves. Might make them more amenable to turning on each other, he said.”
“That’s fine, Sergeant. All right, Detective?” Goldberg nodded as he helped Vorster to his feet and they all went out into the corridor. Reeves and another constable held the handcuffed Carson and Miller back as the detectives led Vorster to their former cell. The young man did not seem to appreciate the change of scene and fell with a groan on to his new bunk. He closed his eyes, sighed and leaned back against the wall. Then, all of a sudden, he jerked to attention with a strange, quizzical look on his face. Vorster sniffed the air. His eyes widened and his lips opened into a broad smile. “That’s it!”
“That’s what, Mr Vorster?”
“Didn’t you smell it, Constable? Can’t you smell it? It’s still lingering in here.”
Goldberg sniffed. “Some sort of perfume?”
“It’s cologne, Detective.” Robinson concentrated. “Quite an unusual one, I think.”
“It’s his cologne. The man I saw go into Powell’s flat. He was wearing that aftershave and he’s just left this cell.” Vorster banged the bed for emphasis. “There is your murderer of Edgar Powell. One door away.” He started to laugh.
* * *
They were in the same interview room as before. Dumont
looked utterly drained but Merlin sensed that he was not yet broken. Merlin showed the Frenchman the letter they had found on Beecham’s mangled body. It contained chapter and verse on a forthcoming SOE operation in France. Dumont gave it a cursory glance.
“So, Merlin, what do you want me to say? That I know nothing of this? That Peregrine Beecham and I were just enjoying a friendly coffee? That this letter must be a plant? Well, you can relax. I don’t deny that I used my privileged position in Carlton Gardens to acquire secret information about SOE and other military activities and pass it on to Vichy. I don’t deny that I believe in Marshal Pétain and the deal he has done to save France. I am a patriot, Merlin. It is just that my idea of patriotism does not coincide with yours or that of your masters.”
“Nor of General de Gaulle’s obviously. And your patriotism has already resulted in the deaths of several of your compatriots, Lieutenant. How do you feel about that?”
Dumont looked at Merlin with disdain. “You are stupid if you think the situation in France is black and white, Chief Inspector. There are many shades of grey. I, and millions of my countrymen, believe that reaching the accommodation we did with the Nazis was the best solution to our national predicament. For having a limited version of liberty and independence, there is obviously a price to pay. Recognising Great Britain and de Gaulle’s organisation as enemies is part of that price.”
“It is not my job to take moral positions, Lieutenant. Just to ascertain facts. Did you act alone or were there accomplices?”
“Obviously, Beecham was an accomplice. Before him there was another but he is safely back in France now. I had no others.”
“No other Free French officers helping you out?”
“None.”
Merlin looked across at Bridges then down at the letter Dumont had passed to Beecham. “Your spying activities are not my principal concern, Lieutenant. I’m going to leave it to MI5 to discuss such matters with you in detail. My interests are more mundane. Such as the murder of Armand de Metz.
“Our scientists have examined the gun you dropped at Waterloo Station. It is a Modèle 1935A. A shell casing from such a gun was found in de Metz’s bedroom. De Metz was responsible for the death of Bridget Healy in the hotel bedroom you were seen in. It was he who hung around Carlton Gardens trying to wheedle money out of the Free French and threatening to expose espionage in your midst. Come now. Be as forthcoming as you’ve been regarding your espionage. You have little to lose now. It was your gun that killed de Metz, wasn’t it?”
Dumont sat back in his chair, a look of disgust on his face. “In war people die. If people die because of my intelligence activities, they are as warriors fallen on the battlefield. I regret it but have no shame. I have just been doing my duty as a combatant officer.
“However, to commit a cold-blooded murder of an innocent old man, disgusting drunk though he may have been, for this I would feel shame. I am not a cold-blooded murderer, Merlin. Whatever your forensic people say, I did not kill de Metz.”
“Then who did? If you didn’t kill him because he posed a threat to your spying activities, you shot him because he killed your mistress and child. If you were not the father of the child then, logically, if I were to believe your story, the likeliest killer is that father. If you are telling the truth, you must know who that man is. Now is the time to tell us. Otherwise, you are going to carry the can.”
Dumont looked off into the distance. After a long silence he nodded. “Very well. I’ll tell you about the girl. I believe you are wrong in thinking that the father killed de Metz. I am certain he would have not been capable of such an act. Distasteful as it is to break a confidence, it seems I must if I am to preserve my own honour.”
* * *
It was lunchtime and Commandant Angers’ stomach was rumbling. He had just been about to enjoy an aperitif in his office when Peters and Walters had burst in and invited him – with a menace that brooked no refusal – to accompany them to their car.
Twenty-five minutes later, the Frenchman found himself at a table in a bare, windowless room somewhere in St James’s. Harold Swanton sat opposite, flanked by Peters and Walters. Swanton waited patiently as Angers exhausted his lengthy list of complaints. Finally, the soldier fell silent and Swanton got down to business.
“You told the police you knew nothing about Armand de Metz, didn’t you? That was a lie. Why did you lie?”
“I did not lie. At the time of the interview I knew nothing but later I learned that some fellow officers had met him.”
“This photograph was found among Mr de Metz’s possessions. Do you recognise it or the people portrayed?”
“No. I have never seen it before in my life and I have no idea who these people are.”
“Do you see these initials on the back, sir? AA – your initials. How do you account for them?”
“Indeed, they are my initials. As they are of the Automobile Association. Perhaps the photographer was a member of that fine organisation?” Angers attempted a laugh in appreciation of his wit but it sounded more like a strangled croak.
“If you think this is an occasion for levity, sir, you are very much mistaken. We have become aware of breaches of security in your organisation. Classified information on SOE operations in France has been passed to Vichy and thence to the Germans. We caught someone red-handed doing this yesterday.”
Angers’ face managed to conjure up looks of surprise, curiosity, innocence and indignation in quick succession. “We have ourselves been investigating such matters, Mr Swanton. If you have beaten us to the gun, then very well done and I look forward with interest to learning the name of the culprit.
“However, if you are interviewing me in the belief that I have anything to do with this crime, you are mistaken. I can only assume that you are founding your suspicion on the unfortunate coincidence that you have found my initials on an old photograph in de Metz’s possession. This is flimsy indeed!”
“De Metz was certainly aware of treachery in your organisation. It is clear from his behaviour that he thought the photograph, on which your initials feature, somehow pointed to the traitor. You are the only person in your organisation with those initials.”
“That is both stupid and incorrect! Straightaway I can think of someone else who has those initials.”
* * *
Dumont relaxed as he told his story. “You were right, Chief Inspector, about the relevance of the Ritz bar. It was there that Bridget Healy met her lover. She was a pretty, young and vivacious girl. If my friend had not moved on her, then I might have.
“She was, however, as you say, smitten with this man from the outset. He is an intelligent, well bred man of the world. It was all just a bit of fun to him. Bridget was staying with her sister when they first met but, after a while, he organised a little flat for her off Oxford Street, where he could visit her. He took her to good restaurants, the theatre and so on. After their initial meeting, he stayed away from the Ritz as he wanted to be discreet. She did still go there occasionally on her own.
“Then Bridget fell pregnant. The moment she told him, his first thought was to procure an abortion. She was taken aback, devastated, but there it was. The girl had romantic notions of marriage and of keeping the child. He confided in me. Someone told me that this fellow de Metz, who’d been hanging around our office, was in the abortion business. I knew of his claims to have secret information but, like everyone else, I thought he was just off his head.
“I learned of his eminence as a surgeon before the war. I suggested de Metz to my friend, who said he had heard of him in Paris. He agreed but made it clear he could not meet him personally for some reason. He asked me to handle the arrangements. I did, going so far as to attend the operation.
“Bridget brought a male friend, a chauffeur. I thought it unwise to have too many people witnessing what was, after all, an illegal arrangement and I got rid of him. The rest you know. Poor girl. My friend was upset, of course, when I told him what had happened but as I sa
y, he was a man of the world.”
Bridges scoffed. “Some might say you’ve made up this story to deflect us from the truth and save your bacon.”
Dumont managed a hoarse laugh. “Sergeant, please. How much of my bacon will be left to save after your friends at MI5 have finished with me? I have my reasons for what I have done for Vichy. You and MI5 may not appreciate them but they are honourable ones. As I said before, I am not a cold-blooded murderer and will not carry the can, as you say, for de Metz. I am sorry to betray a friend but, if that is the only way to assert my innocence, so be it.”
Merlin stared hard at Dumont. “So then, Lieutenant. Please be so good as to tell the sergeant and me the name of this friend of yours.”
* * *
Angers swept a hand through his hair. “I’m sure if you look more closely, you’ll find several people with such initials but, as I say, I can think of one immediately, although I’m sure it won’t be of any use to you.”
Swanton raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to share that person’s name with us?”
“Why, the colonel himself has these initials.”
“But his first initial is B.”
“B for Bertrand, yes. That’s what may be listed but I know for a fact that his Christian name is Alphonse. He couldn’t stand his first name so he changed it later to Bertrand. But the name on his birth certificate, as I know from his own lips when in wine, is Alphonse. Alphonse Aubertin. Of course, the colonel had nothing to do with de Metz – and this information is useless for your purpose – but I mention it to show the absurdity of your line of investigation.”
