by Mark Ellis
Swanton nodded. “Very interesting, Commandant. Of course, our line of investigation may indeed be absurd but nevertheless…” The telephone rang and Swanton picked it up. “Frank, hello… is that so? That’s very interesting. Very interesting indeed.” He sat back and stroked his chin, a strange smile on his lips. “I have also learned something very interesting. Just now. What? Oh, I’ll explain when I see you. I’m heading over to you now.”
* * *
Merlin had poured himself a whisky from his office stock. He felt he deserved one. It was nearly nine o’clock. Goldberg appeared in the doorway.
“Fancy a drink, Bernie?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Merlin poured out a glass. “Salud!”
“L’chayim!”
“Bridges has gone home to Iris. Where’s Robinson?”
“Gone on a date with her boyfriend.”
“Pity. I’d like to have congratulated her. What a day!”
“So, Swanton has taken Dumont away?”
“Yes. They’ve gone to Blenheim Palace, one of MI5’s nicer outposts. Angers too. And Aubertin. Harold’s view, quite rightly, was that security matters must now take priority over our criminal matters. He also believes the more robust MI5 interrogation methods will produce quicker results than our more pedestrian ones.”
“They’re going to rough them up, you mean?”
Merlin shrugged and drank some whisky. “We’ll be in on the kill though, as Harold put it. The moment he feels the whole story is going to break open, he’s sending a car for me. I’m just hoping that’s not going to be three in the morning – I need my sleep.”
Goldberg sighed. “You realise I’ll be gone tomorrow, Frank?”
“I know, Bernie. I’m going to miss you. At least you’re leaving with a major success under your belt. I’ll make sure your superiors know. Tell me again how it happened.”
“Really, Frank, it’s your girl, Robinson, who deserves the credit. I played only a minor role. The moment Vorster told us about the cologne, she got Reeves to split Carson and Miller, removing Miller to another cell. We interviewed Carson first. It was his cologne. We put Vorster’s evidence to him. He was a hard nut. Wouldn’t say anything.
“Then we went to see Miller. Told him what was what. Robinson did a subtle song and dance about how, if he didn’t play ball, he would be charged as an accomplice to murder for keeping watch for Carson. Banged on about how the penalty for an accomplice would be the same as for the principal – the rope. Said if he came clean we’d do our best to press a lesser charge. Eventually, after an hour or two of this, Miller capitulated and confessed everything. When we went back to Carson he went berserk. Started hitting his head on any available surface. Said he’d make Miller pay for being a snitch. Still won’t admit anything but, anyway, with Miller and Vorster’s evidence, you have him.”
“I’m sure you had more of a hand to play than you say, Bernie. Thank you – it’s been good working with you.”
“Likewise, Frank.”
“Vorster’s been released, I presume?”
“Yes, his father picked him up an hour ago. He even seemed happy to see his son.”
“Perhaps they’ll turn over a new leaf?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Merlin refilled their glasses and the two men sat in silence for a while until Goldberg got to his feet. “Reckon you ought to get back to that beautiful girl of yours, Frank.”
Merlin nodded. “Yes. I’ll go in a minute but erm… wait a moment. I’ve got something to tell you, Bernie. You’re the first to know. Sonia’s pregnant.”
Goldberg immediately shot out a hand. “That’s wonderful, Frank. Well, as long as you’re happy about it. Are you?”
“Yes, I’m happy. It’s a bit of a shock but…”
“If you’re happy then so am I. Go on, you’d better get home pronto. I wish you all the very best. Maybe one day you’ll get out my way. It would be good to tackle some American bad guys together.” The two men shook hands again. There was still a little whisky in their glasses and Goldberg raised his. “A toast to Frank Merlin Junior!”
Merlin looked coy. “Or maybe Francesca?”
* * *
Blenheim Palace, Saturday 21 June
Swanton’s car picked up Merlin at his flat at nine, just after Sonia had left for work. The journey to Blenheim took just over two hours. As the car motored up the driveway Merlin, like any first-time visitor to the country seat of the Duke of Marlborough, was overwhelmed by the beauty and size of the palace before them. A home more fit for a king than a duke, he thought. The car pulled up to a door at the rear of the building and the taciturn young driver uttered his first words of the journey. “In there, sir.” Merlin found Peters waiting for him in the doorway.
“How’s the hand, Mr Peters?”
“Had to have a few stitches. They’ll be out in a day or two. All in a good cause, Chief Inspector. Come. The boss is waiting downstairs.”
Merlin followed Peters down a flight of stairs then along a warren of corridors until they reached a large oak door. They entered and found Swanton attempting to make his huge frame comfortable in a raddled old armchair beside a stone fireplace in which, despite the warm weather outside, a fire was lit.
“Frank, welcome. Take a pew.” Merlin sat down in another equally decrepit armchair and looked curiously at the fire. “Place is draughty as hell, Frank. You’ll appreciate the fire. Trust me.”
“If you say so, Harold.”
Peters disappeared.
“This room is normally the cubby-hole of one of the senior manservants. The senior under-butler or the junior over-butler or something like that. I’m not sure how many butlers a duke is meant to have. In any event, it seems a nice little retreat for a man when seeking relief from the onerous duties of pouring out Krug and Château Lafite for his masters.”
Swanton found his best position and sank back into the chair. Merlin could see that despite the cheery bonhomie, he was exhausted.
Swanton rubbed his eyes. “You’re no doubt thinking how knackered I look?”
“Well…”
“I’m looking knackered because I am knackered. I’m getting too old for these all-nighters. Our French friends have been very hard work. And I’m not just talking about our friends along the corridor. The Free French command in London has been up in arms about our pulling in their officers. De Gaulle has been on the blower from Cairo. The Foreign Office has been at the receiving end all night. The PM himself once or twice, too, I understand.”
“What have they been saying?”
“Initially they were in denial. The chaps we have are excellent fellows and can’t have done any wrong. We stupid English must have made a terrible mistake. When it was explained that, in the case of Dumont, he was caught red-handed and had admitted his treachery, the complaint changed. If a French officer was a traitor he should be handed over immediately to the French for interrogation and punishment. His treason was no matter for the British.
“Of course, with Aubertin we couldn’t tell them we had anything yet so there was more palaver. Angers too. Thus it was made clear to me by the FO that I’d better get a move on in getting to the bottom of things.”
“And have you? Got to the bottom of things?”
“I think we’re almost there. That’s why I got you here now, Frank. When we started out, as you know, Dumont had named Aubertin the father of Bridget Healy’s baby. This pointed to him as the murderer of de Metz. If that were the case, was the botched abortion the only motive or was there something else? What was the relevance of the photograph? Were the initials Aubertin’s, the commandant’s or someone else’s?”
Swanton paused to pack tobacco into a small pipe. “Do you want to smoke a cigarette, Frank?”
“No thanks, Harold.”
Swanton lit the pipe and drew on it a few times. “You know, Frank, we have methods of interrogation not open to you. I’m afraid to say that we have had to make u
se of these methods with regard to Aubertin. They served us well. We were also helped by the gun.”
“The gun?”
“Yes, when…”
There was a knock at the door.
“That’s Peters with Aubertin. We can hear the whole story from him now. He promised to be cooperative and tell us everything. Let’s hope he lives up to his promise.”
There was a second knock.
“Come in!”
Aubertin looked a very different man from the one Merlin had met with Goldberg 12 days before. As he shuffled into the room, handcuffed and stooped, it was hard to reconcile this figure with the elegant and assured officer who presided over Dorset Square. He was wearing a sweat-stained collarless shirt and trousers that, without belt or braces, he struggled to keep up with his handcuffed hands.
Peters brought a third chair up to the fire and pushed Aubertin firmly into it before withdrawing to a seat by the door.
Aubertin raised his head for the first time and looked at Merlin. The Frenchman was red-eyed and had three days of growth on his chin. His face was deathly pale but showed no signs of violence. His hands also seemed undamaged. The marks or scars of whatever had been done to Aubertin must have been hidden beneath his clothes. Merlin decided not to speculate on what they might be.
“You remember Detective Chief Inspector Merlin, Colonel?”
Aubertin muttered something inaudible.
“Speak up, Colonel!”
“I have had the pleasure, yes.”
“He visited you to enquire about Armand de Metz, did he not?”
“He did.”
“And you told him a pack of lies, didn’t you? Said you didn’t know the man.”
The colonel’s lips moved but no answer came.
“Didn’t you?”
“You know I did, Mr Swanton. I…” Aubertin started to cough and was only able to stop with the help of a glass of water.
“Better? Good. Would you now care to tell us about yourself and de Metz? The whole story, please.”
Aubertin sighed. “I knew Armand de Metz. I knew him very well. We were childhood friends. We grew up together in the country. In the Auvergne. Not so far from Vichy. We are the two boys in your famous photograph. I am in the cadet uniform of the military-run school I attended. The two girls are his cousins. I married one of them.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. “She is still your wife?”
“Yes.”
“So you have a Jewish wife?”
“I do.”
“And she is still in France?”
“Yes.”
“A dangerous place for a Jew to be at the moment.”
Aubertin made a throaty noise that sounded vaguely like a chuckle. “It is. And ‘therein lies the rub’ as Mr Shakespeare puts it. Her situation is at the heart of my predicament, as I have told Mr Swanton.”
“So you have, Colonel, although I’m not sure I believe you.”
Aubertin looked coldly at Swanton before continuing. “So, yes, Armand and I were childhood friends. We carried on being friends into adulthood, when we were young ambitious men in Paris. By then, of course, we were also relatives by marriage. However, our different political persuasions drove us apart. He was a man of the left, I, like many military men, of the right. He was very active in the Socialist Party. A great friend of Léon Blum. I joined an anti-socialist organisation run by a man called de la Roque. Colonel de la Roque. It was called the Croix de Feu. The Cross of Fire. This organisation was beyond the pale for Armand.”
“I have heard of it. Wasn’t it violently anti-Semitic?”
“I wouldn’t say that, Mr Merlin, but it held the view that many of France’s problems – and indeed the world’s – were the responsibility of Jewish financiers and businessmen.”
“And you subscribed to that view, even though your wife is a Jew?”
“I have nothing against Jews as Jews. I love my wife. She is not to blame for the errors of the more powerful members of her race.”
“Did de la Roque and his people know about your wife?”
“They did not, but, in any event, I took measures to protect her.”
Merlin leaned forward. “What measures?”
“I took them not just because of my political activities. It was becoming increasingly clear that it was not a great thing to be a Jew in 30s Europe. I had a friend high up in the Ministry of the Interior. He procured new papers for my wife. She was the only child of a Catholic father and a Jewish mother, both deceased. The papers gave her a dead Catholic mother instead.”
“Wouldn’t there still be people around who knew she was Jewish?”
“She had no close living relatives except for Armand, whom we now never saw. Her Jewishness had never been discussed with our friends. Jeanette is blonde with a fair complexion. She doesn’t look Jewish.”
Merlin glanced at Swanton, who was giving Aubertin a sceptical look. “Interesting, Colonel, but going back to de Metz and you. You fell out politically in the 30s and were no longer friends. You were still married to his cousin. What next?”
“I was stationed in north Africa when Hitler invaded my country. I was under orders to remain at my post so had no opportunity to go and get my wife. Then I got called to England by de Gaulle and took up my position here in London. Some weeks after my arrival, I was approached by someone. An agent of Pierre Laval in Vichy. My first thought was to have him arrested but I decided to listen to what he had to say. He spouted the usual Vichy propaganda – resistance against the Germans is futile, Britain will fall soon, it is the duty of all Frenchmen to pull together in unity. Then he came to the point.
“He told me the Vichy authorities had thoroughly investigated the backgrounds of all de Gaulle’s senior officers, including me. In my case they had discovered that my wife was a Jew. Laval’s man explained that, very shortly, the Vichy government would respond to German pressure and start rounding up Jews en masse and intern them in camps in France or abroad.” Aubertin looked down.
“The man told me that if I wanted to ensure my wife’s safety, I would have to perform a few tasks for Vichy. He said the marshal’s government was particularly interested in prospective British secret operations in France. An officer working secretly for Vichy was about to join us in London. An officer with excellent credentials, who had been approved to work in de Gaulle’s office. He required me to keep an eye on this man and do my best to ensure he had access to the desired intelligence information. If I did not comply, my wife…”
“The new officer was Dumont?”
“Yes. He would not know my identity but would be aware that someone senior was smoothing his path. For purposes of security and deniability. We had a few methods of communicating when necessary. Letter drops, a go-between and others.”
“Why did they need Dumont? Why not just rely on you?”
“They preferred to have someone with a lower profile than me doing the donkey work. If Dumont were to be compromised in some way, they could, if they wished, have a second bite at the cherry with me.”
“Didn’t quite work out that way, did it?”
Aubertin smiled bleakly. “No.”
“Wasn’t there some way you could get your wife out of France? Pull some strings? Get her to north Africa?”
“She is an invalid, Mr Merlin. She had a stroke not so long ago. That is one difficulty. The other is that she won’t budge, anyway. She is determined to be on the spot to look after our house and animals.”
“Don’t you have any children, who could persuade her of the dangers and get her out?”
“No.”
“So you did as the Vichy agent asked?”
“Yes.”
Swanton blew a cloud of pipe smoke up to the ceiling. “Yes, Frank. The colonel ensured Dumont’s safety as he passed over some very juicy stuff to Vichy and the Germans.”
“We seem to have lost sight of Armand de Metz. How does he fit into this part of the story?” asked Merlin.
“Ear
ly this year, I received a letter from Armand advising me of his arrival in the country. He said he was penniless. The letter was emotional. I think he was probably drunk when he wrote it. Armand relayed the dreadful news about his family and dwelt on his numerous misfortunes. He wanted money, naturally. To my regret, I chose to ignore the letter. I had enough on my mind as it was and he was nothing to me.”
“Couldn’t you have given him a little money for old times’ sake?”
There was a rasping noise as Aubertin scratched his stubbled chin. “I should have. I am not short of money. I was financially comfortable before the war and had the foresight to send a good sum of cash to England before 1939. I could have afforded it but I really didn’t want to have anything to do with the man. My mistake.”
“What happened next?”
“I received a second letter. In this, Armand made a point of mentioning my wife’s little secret.”
“He threatened to use his knowledge?”
“Yes. Subtly but yes.”
“Did you respond to this letter?”
“No.”
“And then?”
“He began, as you know, haunting the Free French office and bothering various officers. He made a point of keeping well away from me and Dorset Square but managed to speak to Meyer, Beaulieu and others at Carlton Gardens. He didn’t get any money out of them either but began following officers to pubs and cafés and eavesdropping on them. Then he began claiming he had important intelligence information he could divulge for a price.”
“And waving that photograph around.”
“Yes. That damned photograph. Then I got a third letter. You must realise that Armand had a brilliant brain. Fuddled with drink he may have been but his mind was still as sharp as a pin in many ways. Even before Fillon launched his investigation, there was occasional gossip about the possibility of leaks in the organisation. Armand must have heard some talk of that kind, which prompted him to give the matter some thought. He devised a theory. Unfortunately, he put two and two together and came up with four. He considered from what he knew who would be the likeliest candidate as a spy. He knew I had been in Croix de Feu, many of whose former members are prominent in Vichy and I would know well. He knew I had a Jewish wife to protect in Vichy France. I was exposed. What better candidate for a spy, he calculated, than I?”
