by Ken Lussey
‘What is it?’
‘Look, sir.’ MacDonald gestured towards a wooden boat of perhaps 20 to 25 feet in length. ‘It’s been covered by a tarpaulin to keep the rain out, which I pulled back at the stern to give access to the engine controls and tiller. As I was getting back out of the boat, I saw this, under that seat running across the boat.’ He held up an army officer’s cap.
‘And if you look down there, you can see what might be a patch of blood on the jetty itself, staining the cement between the stones.’ The petty officer pointed to a spot close to where they were standing.
Bob took the cap, then turned around as he heard the others approach. ‘Sergeant Potter, what cap badge did Captain Bell wear?’
‘The Hampshire Regiment, sir. That was his home regiment.’
‘Well this seems to confirm that Captain Bell was here last night.’ He held the cap for the others to see. ‘It is of course possible that another officer from the Hampshire Regiment lost his uniform cap in the boat recently, but I very much doubt it. Did it rain last night?’ Both Sergeant Potter and Captain Sanderson nodded.
‘That would explain why what appears to be a patch of blood can only be traced in the cement between the stones and in the sunken areas of the stones themselves. The rest has been washed away. It does look as if Petty Officer MacDonald has found the place where Captain Bell was killed. Well done, Andrew.’
Bob looked around. He suspected that he may not have been the only person present whose neck prickled at the thought. ‘That seems to be the “where” settled. Now we need to start looking at the “why”, in the hope that leads us to the “who”.’
‘Someone’s coming, sir,’ said Petty Officer MacDonald.
They had returned to the point at which the river flowed out of the loch, by the end of the White Bridge. Bob could see a car approaching along the track from the direction of Achnacarry Castle.
‘This track is used to get to a back gate which gives access to the road that heads off west along the north shore of Loch Arkaig,’ said Captain Sanderson. ‘I’m not sure who’d be heading that way today. We’ll need to stand back to give them room to pass.’
The car stopped just short of them and Bob saw the back door on the far side of the vehicle open. Monique Dubois got out. She stood to one side as the car turned then headed off back the way it had come, towards the castle.
‘Hello Bob,’ said Monique.
Bob could scarcely believe his eyes – eye, he corrected himself.
She smiled, warily. ‘Are you going to introduce me?’
‘Gentlemen, can I present Madame Monique Dubois, who is with the Security Service, MI5 if you prefer.’ Bob went on to introduce his team, and Captain Sanderson. Before he could stop himself, he went on, ‘You nearly met Lieutenant Dixon earlier today.’
Bob could see that Monique was very unsure of herself, in a way that seemed totally out of character. He desperately wanted to know what she was doing at Achnacarry, but was equally concerned not to lose face in front of his men and the captain.
‘We think we’ve found where Cecil Bell was killed,’ he said. ‘Over on the stone pier in the loch. I’ll take you to look, if you like. The others can walk back to the castle. We’ll catch up.’
‘Do you want one of the Sten guns, sir?’ asked Lieutenant Dixon.
‘No, thanks, Michael. I’ve got my pistol, and I’m sure Madame Dubois is also armed.’
‘I’ll take it, if you like, lieutenant,’ said Monique.
‘It would mean both groups had one, ma’am.’ He passed the weapon over.
It was obvious to everyone from the way she held the submachine gun that Monique needed no guidance on how to use it.
They paused at the landward end of the pier and Bob watched as the others disappeared out of sight along the track.
‘What the hell are you doing here, Monique?’
‘Helping you, apparently. And before you say anything else, please believe me that this wasn’t my idea. I had things to do in Hillington today, as you know. Coming here was the very last thing I wanted.’
‘So how come you are here?’
‘After you left this morning I checked out of the hotel and drove to the safe house we’ve got near Glasgow. I then telephoned my department head, Matthew Sloan, to discuss arrangements for today. In passing, and only in passing, I told him that MI11 had lost one of your officers up here. He asked what I knew, and I mentioned what you’d said about the victim being Belgian and there being German trainees here.’
Bob could see where this was going. ‘But Monique, that was something I told you between friends.’
‘I’m sorry, Bob, it was just a bit of gossip, really, before we got on to the real subject of the discussion. I didn’t expect the response I got.’
‘What response did you get?’
‘I knew I’d made a mistake as soon as he started asking more questions, which I couldn’t answer. Then he said he’d get back to me. We hadn’t started to discuss Hillington at this point. Half an hour later he rang back. He said he’d talked to Commodore Cunningham in MI11, and they’d agreed that I should come and join your investigation here. I need this like an extra hole in the head, Bob, and when I protested I was needed in Glasgow, he made it clear that he was giving me an order. It seems the two of them felt that my knowledge of German might be of help. That’s a pretext, obviously. Sloan just wanted to find a way of infiltrating me into your investigation, and for reasons that escape me, your Commodore Cunningham let him. I’m left as an unwanted appendage here, while trying to keep on top of my own operation at a distance, using dodgy phone connections.’
‘Well, Cunningham’s reasons don’t escape me,’ said Bob. ‘Before I left, he tried to talk me into having the investigation taken over by a team he offered to fly up from London. He even offered to come up himself. Your Mr Sloan’s efforts to get you involved obviously struck a chord, and he decided it was too good an opportunity to refuse. If this all goes wrong, he can now share the blame with MI5. My new boss seems to have a shortage of confidence in his deputy, me, and you’ve allowed him to demonstrate that to anyone who might be interested.’
‘Look, I said I’m sorry, Bob. It wasn’t deliberate. Now I’m here, can you tell me what you’ve found? If I’m to help, then you need to keep me involved.’
Bob showed Monique the boat and told her the conclusions they’d drawn.
As they walked back to the castle Bob found himself cursing Monique, and Cunningham.
He tried to keep his feelings concealed behind the most civil front he could manage. ‘How did you actually get here? It seemed to me that the train services aren’t wonderful on a Saturday.’
‘One of my people drove me up. We came via Glen Coe, which may be about the only good thing to have happened today. Lieutenant Colonel White was surprised by my arrival, but after he’d checked who I was, he found me a room in the castle and a car to drive me up to where I met you.’
‘You must have covered ground more quickly than us, to have arrived when you did.’
‘I don’t know, Bob. I just sat in the back of the car, kicking myself for my stupidity and cursing you for giving my boss an excuse to divert me from my real job.’
Chapter Eleven
When Bob and Monique returned to Achnacarry Castle, Bob sought out and thanked Captain Sanderson for his help and promised to call in on Lieutenant Colonel White as soon as he could. They then joined the others in the tiny room in which Sergeant Potter and the late Captain Bell had based their investigation. This was in the complex of wooden huts a short distance to the south east of the castle itself, beyond the parade ground, which housed the camp administration and headquarters.
‘I know it’s a bit cramped,’ said Bob, ‘but I hope we won’t be spending much of our time in here.’ He turned to Petty Officer MacDonald. ‘Andrew, can you and Taffy go and fi
nd the medical officer and pass on my request he accompanies you immediately to the pier on Loch Arkaig, to confirm whether what we found is blood, and if so whether it is the same blood type as Captain Bell’s?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said MacDonald.
‘Remember,’ he said, ‘I don’t want anyone going anywhere on their own while we’re here. I don’t know about everyone else, but I got a very uneasy feeling standing on that pier a little earlier. Almost as if I could feel someone’s sights lined up on me.’
‘You’re not the only one, sir,’ said Lieutenant Dixon.
‘Make sure you take the rifle and a Sten gun with you,’ he said to the petty officer. ‘Everyone else around here seems to carry heavy weaponry, so you won’t stand out. Once the medical officer has got what he needs, could you take another close look at the pier and the boat, to see if we missed anything? It would be helpful to know how deep the water is there, and whether there is any chance of checking the floor of the lake by the jetty. We know the hat was dropped in the attack. It would be helpful to know if the captain or his attacker dropped anything else in the water.’
Lieutenant Dixon said, ‘Sir, you may not know about it, but there’s a naval base at Fort William. It’s known as HMS St Christopher and they train the crews of motor torpedo boats and motor gun boats. I’d be surprised if they didn’t have some divers on the establishment, if only for sorting out torpedoes that have gone astray during test firings or training. I can telephone them and see if we can get some divers up here, if you like? Petty Officer MacDonald and I paid them a visit a few months ago and found some big holes in their security. I think they’ll like the idea of us owing them a favour next time we visit. Not, of course, that that will make any difference to our assessment.’
‘Thanks, Michael, could you do that?’ Bob looked at his watch. ‘It’s a bit late in the day now, but perhaps they could come tomorrow morning? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind working on a Sunday as it is genuinely urgent. It will just make it a slightly bigger favour they think you owe them.’
When Lieutenant Dixon had gone to make the call, Bob turned his attention back to the petty officer. ‘When you’ve finished at the pier, Andrew, could the two of you see if you can find anyone who saw Captain Bell heading up that way last night? Now we know where he went, it makes things a little easier. The military police at the gate out there must have seen something, and there have to be other people who were around at the time.’
Having set everyone else going, Bob went to find a phone he could use, ideally in a private office with a door that closed. Monique also set off in search of, she said, a way of discovering how things were progressing in Glasgow in her absence.
‘Hello, Bob, I’ve been expecting your call.’
Bob thought that Commodore Cunningham sounded weary.
‘Sir, if you really don’t have any faith in me, why did you choose me for this job?’
‘Rest assured that I do have faith in you, Bob. But please remember that I’ve got Major General Sir Peter Maitland breathing down my neck. With all the ructions in the military intelligence community just recently, largely thanks to you, I must be seen to be open and cooperative. That’s true even when I think that MI5 are responding to our misfortune in an opportunistic and predatory way. Which I do, incidentally. You’ve worked with Vera Duval, Monique Dubois if you prefer, very successfully before. It seemed better to accept an offer of help that meant her joining the investigation than having something less acceptable imposed on us from on high. You are well aware that we are trying to get the various arms of military intelligence to work better together. Look on this as an opportunity to show how we put that into practice.’
‘Do you really believe her presence will help, sir?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I believe, Bob, or what you believe for that matter. We just need to track down Captain Bell’s killer. Is there any progress to report on that, by the way?’
Bob told his boss of the results of their first afternoon’s work.
Lieutenant Dixon came back with the news that the Royal Navy in Fort William would be delighted to provide two divers the following morning. He had also, in passing, accepted an offer from Captain Sanderson to lay on some tea and biscuits for them. Bob realised that he had missed lunch entirely, though the late breakfast in Pitlochry had been good.
Monique returned from making her phone call. Bob got the impression she wasn’t happy about what she’d heard.
‘Right,’ said Bob to Sergeant Potter. ‘What we would like to do now is talk through how far you and Captain Bell got with the investigation into the first murder, the one that took place on Wednesday night. We want to make sure that there’s no duplication as we move forward. It also seems to me possible that something Captain Bell said or did led the murderer to feel sufficiently threatened to kill him. I know that’s an assumption right now, but the idea of there being two separate and unrelated murderers, or two completely unconnected motives, does seem very unlikely.’
‘I’ve got my notebook here, sir,’ said Sergeant Potter, holding it up. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘We can discuss the first victim in more detail shortly. Let’s start with the actual murder. What do we know about it?’ asked Bob.
‘It seems they go in for competitive sports at Achnacarry, sir, though not as you might normally recognise them. There are a series of competitions that pit one troop against another. I’m not sure why, but the commandos appear to have adopted the cavalry convention of organising themselves into troops. On Wednesday night they held what they call the ‘milling’ competition. As I understand it, it’s a bit like boxing, but more manic, with ten men from each troop going into the ring at one-minute intervals and each fighting for that minute.’
‘It sounds like quite a spectator sport,’ said Bob.
‘Apparently it is, sir, and that’s the point in a way. They’ve got what they call the “big hut”. It’s a sort of greatly enlarged Nissen hut. I think the technical term is a Romney hut. In summer they hold the event outside, but at this time of year the milling takes place in the big hut. There’s a boxing ring in the centre, with rows of seats surrounding it, but for the most part it’s standing room only, and everyone we spoke to commented on how crowded it was on Wednesday night. The victim’s name was Private Hannes Lambrechts. A little before 8.30 p.m. the medical officer, who was supervising the contest in the ring, was called to one end of the hut where a man had collapsed. When the medical officer examined him, it became clear that he had been stabbed in the back. Several men who had been close to the victim at the time came forward when we made a request for them to do so. But none of them saw anything they regarded as suspicious, and none saw the actual attack. One problem may be that the place was so crowded it’s been suggested that the victim might not have collapsed immediately, effectively being held up by the men around him, so giving his attacker time to distance himself without anyone noticing immediately.’
‘Any sign of a murder weapon?’
‘The cause of death was a single deep stab wound in the back that penetrated the heart. It was made by a narrow-bladed knife. The medical officer had no hesitation identifying the weapon that killed Lambrechts as a Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife.’
‘A what?’
‘It was a new one on me too, sir. But I understand that it’s the standard fighting knife issued to the commandos. Apparently, it was designed by the two men it’s named after, who served as officers in the Shanghai police in China in the 1920s and 1930s. They came to Britain at the outbreak of war and served as instructors at the Special Training Centre opened by the War Office out at Lochailort, south west of here, in 1940. The unarmed and knife combat skills they taught there have influenced the training that takes place here now. And the knife they designed is now issued to all commandos.’
‘Which means that everyone at Achnacarry has been issued with a knife th
at could have been the murder weapon?’
‘Well, not really, sir. You see, the idea is that each new commando gets issued with his F-S knife, as they call them, at the parade at the end of his course. It’s apparently quite a ceremony.’
‘I’m confused,’ said Bob. ‘Does that mean that the men here don’t have access to the type of knife that killed the victim?’
‘All the training staff have passed the course, so have been issued with the knives. But the F-S knife is also widely used in training. I think it would be fair to say that pretty much everyone here could lay his hands on one if he wanted to, even if he had not been personally issued with one.’
‘That doesn’t narrow things down far, does it?’ said Monique.
‘No, ma’am. Captain Bell and I felt that wasn’t likely to be a productive line of enquiry.’
‘Did the medical officer say anything specific about the stab wounds inflicted on Captain Bell?’ asked Bob. ‘Could they have been caused by the same weapon?’
‘It seems almost certain they were caused by the same type of knife, sir,’ said Sergeant Potter. ‘But while that gives a strong link between the two murders, it gets us no nearer to finding who the murderer is.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Bob. ‘What can you tell me about the man who was killed on Wednesday, Private Hannes Lambrechts?’
‘He was Belgian, sir,’ said Sergeant Potter, ‘and as with many men who came over from the continent in 1940, or have done so since, there’s a sense that we only know as much as the individual has chosen to tell people about themselves. It’s not really possible to do a background check on someone from a German-occupied country, or even know for certain that information such as their date of birth or even their name is correct.’
‘No, I understand that,’ said Bob, thinking of Sergeant Winograd. ‘But what do we think we know?’
