by Ken Lussey
‘An honest answer? I don’t know. Your believing I would go behind your back within MI5 was hurtful. I’ve been hurt enough times in the past not to want to go back for seconds.’
‘We’re both sorry then. How are we going to make it up to one another?’
‘Have you anything in mind?’
Bob reached out in the darkness and felt her arm. She was lying on her back. He gently trailed his fingertips up to her shoulder, before moving them down her body. ‘Perhaps.’
Monique rolled over and embraced him.
Bob’s watch told him it was still early. He lay back, thinking that there could be few better places to find himself at this time on a Saturday morning. He could hear from Monique’s breathing that she was still soundly asleep in the darkness beside him.
That changed instantly when there was a loud double knock on the door. Bob walked over to the door, switching on the room light as he got there and putting on a dressing gown that had been hanging on the back of the door. He glanced round to see Monique sitting up in bed with the bedding modestly pulled up around her and a gun in her hand. He made a mental note to ask how she managed the trick of having a gun quite so readily available in bed, a trick he’d seen her perform at least twice before. Now he had a gun of his own, it was perhaps something he should learn. He also tried to remember whether, during the few nights they had spent together, there had ever been an occasion when they hadn’t been awakened by a knock on the door.
The knock was repeated.
Bob opened the door a little, standing so as to obscure the view of the interior from the visitor. ‘Oh, hello Lieutenant Dixon. This had better be really good.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the lieutenant. ‘It’s not good at all. I took a call from Sergeant Potter a little while ago. It seems that Captain Bell has been found dead at Achnacarry. Sergeant Potter rang me because my telephone number at HMS Lochinvar is on his emergency contact list. He asked me to let you know.’
Bob made a mental note to ensure his teams knew his out-of-hours contact number, then remembered that it wouldn’t have been of much use on this occasion.
‘Dead? What do you mean?’
‘Apparently the sergeant last saw the captain early yesterday evening. Then his body was found in the early hours of this morning. It seems someone had bashed his head in with something hard and heavy.’
‘Look, wait for me in the lobby, will you, I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.’
Bob walked back over to the bed.
‘Let me guess,’ said Monique, ‘something’s come up?’
‘The leader of my army team has been attacked and killed at Achnacarry.’
‘I’m sorry, Bob.’
‘It means I’m going to have to go up there myself. Please don’t take it as showing any lack of interest if I don’t come with you to Hillington today. And I’ve no idea how long I’ll be gone. Can I contact you here at the hotel?’
‘No, I’m moving over to Glasgow today. If you need to get in touch, try one of these numbers.’ Monique passed him a card on which she had written a Glasgow number and a Whitehall number.
‘Thanks,’ said Bob, moving to kiss her.
Monique held up a hand to prevent him. ‘Don’t you have someone waiting for you in the lobby?’ she asked.
‘How did you find me?’ asked Bob. He was in the back of the staff car with Lieutenant Dixon. It was 7.30 a.m. and just beginning to get light despite the rain that was still falling.
Dixon waved towards the driver. ‘Private Jenkins here told me where he had dropped you yesterday evening, sir. When I couldn’t find you at the officers’ mess at Turnhouse this morning, the hotel seemed the obvious place to look. The drivers are billeted at Craigiehall, so it was easy enough to raise Jenkins once I’d spoken to Sergeant Potter.’
Bob sat back and watched a dismal Saturday morning Edinburgh slide damply past the window of the car. ‘Michael, have we ever lost anyone before?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, sir, not anyone based in Edinburgh at least.’
Joyce Stuart had locked all Bob’s papers in his secure cabinet after he had left the previous afternoon, and as a result his office was the tidiest he had yet seen it. He was able to reach Sergeant Gilbert Potter on the telephone at Achnacarry Castle without too much delay. ‘Hello Sergeant, it’s Group Captain Sutherland here. I understand Captain Bell has been killed?’
‘Yes, sir. You probably know that we drove up on Thursday, sir. We didn’t arrive until late afternoon and set to work talking to men who might have known something about the murder that took place the previous evening. We carried on with interviews yesterday. At around 5 p.m. Captain Bell said he was going to take a walk to get a better feel for the area before it got dark, which gave him over an hour as the weather was good. He’s a keen ornithologist and took his binoculars with him. I worked through notes and statements for a while, then went for a drink in the sergeant’s mess. I expected to find Captain Bell back in the office we are using when I returned but didn’t. I suppose I wasn’t too surprised, it had been a long day and I thought he might have headed off to the officers’ mess.’
‘Did you see him at all last night?’ asked Bob.
‘No, sir. Then in the early hours of this morning they found his body in the river here, during a night exercise. He was caught up in a net they hang for safety reasons downstream from a rope bridge used for training. His body appears to have been bashed about by the river a bit, sir. We initially thought he’d died because of an obvious head injury, but the medical officer now says that was caused after death. Apparently, he died because he was stabbed, like the first victim.’
‘How are you doing, Sergeant?’ asked Bob.
‘It’s a bit of a shock, of course, sir. I’ve lost friends before, in France and at Dunkirk. But there you expected it. I didn’t expect anything like this here, even though there had already been a murder.’
‘I expect Major Miller to be in the office shortly, Sergeant, and will leave a message to ask him to contact you about arrangements for Captain Bell’s body, and to inform his next of kin. I will be leaving shortly with Lieutenant Dixon, Petty Officer MacDonald and Private Jenkins to come up and join you at Achnacarry. Which way did you drive up?’
‘We came up via Stirling and Crianlarich, sir. It’s a bloody long way on not very good roads, and it was worse because there was a problem with the Ballachulish Ferry and we had to take a twenty-mile detour. It may be a little shorter and more straightforward to come up through Perth and cut across from Dalwhinnie, though that means taking the ferry over the Queensferry Passage.’
‘Sergeant, could you do some asking around today to see if you can find anyone who saw Captain Bell after you did? Don’t take any chances, though. I’d prefer it if you kept to public places.’
The sergeant laughed. ‘Thank you, sir, but right now there’s nothing I’d like more than the chance to grapple with whoever killed Captain Bell!’
Bob had only met Sergeant Potter briefly on Monday and remembered a formidably large man. ‘Seriously, Sergeant, I don’t want to lose two members of my unit in my first week here. It sounds to me as if whoever we are dealing with isn’t going to think twice about killing again. Take care, and that’s a direct order. On a separate note, could you let the commanding officer there know we are coming, please, and find suitable accommodation? And can you make whatever arrangements are necessary to ensure we have access to anywhere we might want to go?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Potter.
The next call was one that Bob had never imagined having to make. It took MI11’s duty officer in Whitehall what seemed an age to put him through to his boss’s home telephone.
Commodore Maurice Cunningham picked up the phone himself. Bob realised he had no idea if the commodore had a wife or children at home.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you at home over the weekend
, sir.’
‘I’m sure this isn’t a social call, Bob. What’s happened?’
Bob quickly told Cunningham about Captain Bell’s death and outlined the circumstance as far as he knew them.
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘I’m going up to Achnacarry this morning. Once I’m there I’m going to find out who killed Cecil Bell. I have to admit I barely knew the man, but I owe it to him to do everything possible to bring his killer to justice.’
‘Are you sure you feel up to this, Bob? You’ve not been in post a week yet and this is a big ask. I can fly some of my team up from London to conduct the investigation, if that helps. Given the circumstances, I can come up myself if you prefer.’
‘Thank you for the offer, sir, but I most certainly feel up to it. Unless you’re about to relieve me of my duties then I will be leading the search for Captain Bell’s killer.’
‘Take it easy, Bob. I wasn’t trying to question your ability, simply to offer any support you think you might need.’
‘Sorry, sir. You’ll have gathered that I take the captain’s loss very personally. Look, I need to get moving.’
‘Make sure you take a good team with you and be careful. Keep me in touch, will you, Bob?’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’
Bob’s predecessor had shared the compulsion that army officers seemed to have for very large wall maps, and Bob walked over and ran his finger along the route Sergeant Potter had just suggested. Bob had considered alternatives to the long drive, but none had anything to commend them. The office had a current edition of Bradshaw’s Guide, which revealed that a train from Glasgow to Spean Bridge was a theoretical option, but not an attractive one. Bob had even wondered whether he might be able to fly from Turnhouse to RAF Connel, north of Oban, before deciding that was also highly impractical. He looked at his watch.
Lieutenant Dixon had taken one of the cars to collect his kit and Petty Officer Macdonald from HMS Lochinvar. Bob had sent Private Jenkins to his quarters in one of the hutted areas at Craigiehall to pack a bag and get the car they’d take with them fuelled up. As soon as he was back, Bob would get Jenkins to run him for a quick shower and shave in the officers’ mess at RAF Turnhouse, where he could also pack a bag.
With the four men and their belongings, plus the rifle and two Sten submachine guns and ammunition that Bob had instructed should be issued, the car looked as if it might be a little crowded.
Before leaving, Bob remembered to leave a note for Flight Lieutenant Buchan, suggesting that he ask RAF Leuchars whether a Mosquito could fly to the Soviet Union, and check with Major Kaminski whether the Polish security people had found any Soviet links in Sergeant Winograd’s background.
Chapter Nine
As a child, Bob had always loved it when his parents took him and his younger sister, Pearl, to Fife on the old ferry that plied its trade across the Queensferry Passage. The ferry Bob remembered was a ship called the Dundee, a paddle steamer which to his boyhood eyes offered the promise of romance and adventure in equal measure. In 1934, after Bob had moved to Glasgow to join the police, the service across the Queensferry Passage had been transformed with the arrival on the route of two large new vehicle ferries, Robert the Bruce and Queen Margaret.
This was Bob’s first crossing on one of the now eight-year-old ‘new’ ferries. The Robert the Bruce was a fine vessel capable of carrying cars and other vehicles on the main deck, plus large numbers of passengers. It was operated from a high-level bridge, set as if on stilts above the main deck. After they had boarded, Bob found himself thinking that progress was all very well, but while the newer vessels certainly seemed to operate a more effective service, he still felt a faint tinge of regret that he wasn’t standing on the deck of the Dundee, now kept as a standby vessel for the crossing.
Private Jenkins had driven straight to the head of the short queue of vehicles on the slipway in Queensferry, claiming military priority, and they had been the first to drive over the ramp onto the side of the ferry. This had allowed them to position in a way that ensured they would also be first ashore on the other side.
The weather was so miserable it was barely possible to see from one side of the river to the other, and the top of the Forth Bridge, just to the east, disappeared into the cloud. Bob shivered and went back to sit in the car. When they reached the slipway on the far side, Private Jenkins headed north along the A90, guided by the map reading of Petty Officer MacDonald, who was sitting in the front passenger seat.
It was Lieutenant Dixon who voiced the thought in Bob’s head. ‘Removing all the road signs must have seemed a good idea when there was a real chance of a German invasion back in 1940. But it must cause huge problems for our own people.’
‘That’s true, sir,’ said Petty Officer MacDonald. ‘I know the area a little but think how confusing this is to the Polish Army in Scotland, although by now they will know the place pretty well too. And if the US Army start turning up in large numbers, it will be total chaos.’
‘Speaking as a foreigner in Scotland myself, sir,’ said Private Jenkins, ‘a few road signs wouldn’t go amiss. Though this place looks very much like home, apart from not being in a valley. Where are we?’
They were travelling through an area that Bob thought probably looked grim on a nice day, and today was a long way from being a nice day. Rows of smoking chimneys darkened the skies even further, while in the background, just about visible through the smoke, was the unmistakable sight of colliery winding gear.
‘We’re skirting the edge of Cowdenbeath,’ said Petty Officer MacDonald. ‘We’re in the Fife coalfield, so, yes, I suppose it must look like a lot of places in south Wales.’
After passing through the equally dark and smoky village of Kelty, the scenery improved even if the weather didn’t. Bob must have dozed, sitting in the back of the car, because the next place he recognised was the town of Perth.
Lieutenant Dixon saw he was awake. ‘Sir, what do you want to do when we arrive?’
‘That’s a good question,’ said Bob. ‘I understand that Captain Bell’s body was found in the river. I think the most pressing priority is for us to try to work out where he was killed, which was presumably either where he was found or upstream of it.’ Bob pulled out the Ordnance Survey one-inch map of the Ben Nevis & Fort William area he had picked up in the office. ‘According to the map, the River Arkaig is only a mile and a half long, flowing from Loch Arkaig in the west to Loch Lochy in the east. While any evidence is still likely to be reasonably fresh, I would like us to start by walking up the banks of the river from where his body was found towards Loch Arkaig, to see what turns up.’
‘Can I see, sir?’ asked Lieutenant Dixon, reaching for the map. He braced himself in the corner of the back seat against the movement of the car. ‘Typical. I once heard an army officer define a battle as “an event that invariably takes place at a point on the ground at which four map sheets meet”. I was wondering how extensive Loch Arkaig is, but I see it falls off the northern edge of the map. It’s pretty big, though.’
Bob pulled another map out of his overnight bag. ‘You get more of a feel from the sheet to the north. The loch seems to be about a dozen miles long, with not much more than a pier and a school at the western end. But let’s remember that Captain Bell was out for an evening walk, so he couldn’t have gone very far.’
‘That’s true, sir.’
Bob continued, ‘Once we’ve done that, to my mind the highest priority will be for you and me to talk to Sergeant Potter, in as much detail as possible, about what he and Captain Bell had done and who they had spoken to since their arrival. There are two reasons for that. The first is to ensure we know what ground they covered, and what they didn’t cover, in their investigation of the first murder. That will allow us to pick up the threads and pursue that investigation with as little delay as possible. Perhaps more importantly, it seems reasonable to c
onsider the possibility that the two murders were committed by the same person, and equally reasonable to consider the possibility that Captain Bell was murdered because the killer thought that Bell had discovered something of value about the first murder. I know nothing about the first murder yet, and precious little about the second, so can’t really speculate beyond that. Assumptions can be dangerous, of course, so despite everything I’ve just said, I would like to try to keep an open mind.’
‘It would be quite a coincidence if the murders were unrelated, sir,’ said Dixon.
‘That’s very true, Lieutenant. While you and I are talking to Sergeant Potter, I’d be grateful if you two gentlemen in the front could try to find out whether anyone saw Captain Bell after he told Sergeant Gordon he was going for a walk at about 5 p.m. yesterday evening. I asked Sergeant Gordon to ask around carefully, but take no chances and stay in public areas. The two of you will be able to watch one-another’s backs so will have a better chance of doing a thorough job.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Petty Officer MacDonald.
‘While we are talking about personal security, I told Sergeant Potter that I didn’t want to lose any more members of my unit in my first week in the job, and it’s something I’d like to repeat here and now. I have no doubt that whoever killed Captain Bell and, perhaps, the earlier victim, will be prepared to kill again. Once we arrive, the four of us and Sergeant Potter are likely to be right at the top of the killer’s list of potential targets. That’s why I wanted the Sten guns and the rifle with us. I see the three of you are also wearing your service pistols, which is good, and I’ve got a concealed pistol. But from what I was told at lunch yesterday, the Commando Basic Training Centre goes through more live ammunition than any other army unit in Scotland, so we really do need to be careful.’
North of Perth they followed the Inverness road thorough a series of villages including Dunkeld and then Pitlochry, where they were able to find a cafe that was open for a late breakfast and a cup of tea. Further on, the landscape became wilder and, once off the A9 and onto the narrow road that headed west towards Spean Bridge, progress became even slower.
