It felt good to be out of prison, back on his own territory. More in hope than anything, he lifted a couple of boards from the cabin floor. Below, in the bilge, were rusty, slimy pigs of iron that constituted the ballast. These heavy weights helped keep the craft on an even keel. But it wasn’t these that held his interest. Lying on the floor, to one side of the hole, he pushed his arm up into the void between the back of the locker and the hull of the boat. He smiled as his fingers touched a waxed linen package. He wriggled closer and straining, managed to grasp it and pull it free. Sitting up on the cabin floor he undid the carefully tied knots and opened the package. Still crisp and untarnished were several bundles of banknotes in different currencies – German, French and English, along with his faithful Luger pistol. The Gardaí, as thorough as they had been, had failed to uncover his secret cache. He took a number of notes out, replaced the rest and after retying the package he wedged it back in its hiding place, re-laid the floorboards and dusted himself off.
Everything - mugs, plates, cutlery, glasses - was covered with a thin film of mould. His clothes too all needed washing so, over the next few days, numerous kettles were boiled and the sink was constantly filled with hot soapy water. He rigged up a couple of washing lines between the stubby foremast and wheelhouse and managed to get clothes partially dried in the weak sunshine and gentle breeze, finishing them off by the stove. He did his best to clean the topsides of the boat and reckoned the hull would become cleaner when he next went to sea. When supplies of food and coal grew low, he ventured out and found a nearby farm. The farmer was surprisingly friendly and happy to supply him with milk, eggs, bread and ham as well as delivering a load of peat for his stove. When he turned up on his tractor, he took time to look round the grounded boat, stranded above the tideline. ‘Were you thinking of putting out to sea at some time?’ he asked.
‘I would like to, but I don’t see how I can get the boat down to the water.’
‘Ah, well, I might be able to help you there,’ the farmer said, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘Oh, and I’ve got a flat battery too. Could you possibly do anything about that?’
-0-
The next day, after the previous night’s new moon, the man returned with the fully charged battery and two young burly lads whom he introduced as his sons. In no time at all they had set to with spades, digging a channel from the stern of the boat towards the watery edge of the creek. Wolfgang kept them supplied with drinks and sandwiches. Later, as the tide rose and started to fill the ditch they had carved out, they began digging out the sand and mud around the hull. As the strength of the tide gathered, the water moved steadily up the channel then crept around the boat, creating muddy eddies that swirled on the surface of the water. The spring tide continued to rise and, with the force of the water, the boat began to strain and shudder until, with a series of loud sucking noises, like giant corks being eased from giant bottles, the hull lifted, to loud cheers from the farmer and his sons. Putting their shoulders to stempost, they grunted and heaved and slowly the boat slid and slithered down the newly created channel and into the water of the creek. Wolfgang was elated. ‘How can I ever thank you?’ he asked, leaning over the gunwale.
The farmer climbed the ladder, which was still slung over the bow and came and stood close to Wolfgang. ‘I’ll let you into a little secret,’ he said, eyes sparkling. ‘When I was a boy, growing up in Cork City, my best friend was called Eamon O’Donovan. We did everything together – we were like brothers. We had lots of adventures, got into lots of scrapes, chased girls; did all the things that lads and young men do. Then we turned 19 and things changed. He decided he wanted to be a soldier. But… did he want to join the Irish Army? Oh no – he wanted to be a squaddie - join the British Army. You can imagine how that went down round here.
‘He took himself off to London and joined up. When he came back to see his old ma, he had to wait until after dark and make his way to her house through the back gardens, jumping over the walls and fences. If he’d been spotted he would have been lynched. We met up in secret a couple of times but it wasn’t the same – he’d changed. I guess it was inevitable, Cork was always too small for him; the bright lights of London were too much of a draw. But… you know where he ended up...’
‘I do?’
‘You do,’ he chuckled. Wolfgang looked blank. ‘You know him as Paddy – Paddy Dickens, boatyard proprietor of Newhaven.’
‘Oh.’
‘Quite. Not exactly the bright lights of the metropolis, is it? But that’s where he put down roots. I didn’t find this out until last year when he got in touch. Anyway, I don’t think I need to explain what occurred after that. I’m just sorry – and I know that he is - for how you were treated, prison and all.’
‘What happened to him,’ Wolfgang asked, ‘when the police turned up?’
‘I can’t exactly say. All I know is that he got away, him and his cousin.’
‘And you don’t know where he is now?’
‘It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t, but then I got a postcard a few weeks ago. You won’t believe it but he’s back in his boatyard, in Newhaven. So it looks like you’ve a got a berth for your fine craft, if you’re heading back to England.’
Wolfgang looked puzzled. ‘But the guns. What happened to them?’
‘Ah, now, there’s a question. It’s said that they found their way up north, possibly over the border – who knows?’ His concerned expression lightened. ‘Anyway, that’s not your problem. I suggest you point your boat east and make your way back to familiar territory.’
-0-
So that is what Wolfgang did. His period of incarceration had only heightened his determination to somehow get his brother out of prison. Particularly now he knew something of what he must be going through. All through his term in Cork gaol he was aware that the evidence against him was pretty thin and that sooner or later he would be released. But Ludwig was in a much more perilous position. Because of what he had done – killing three men – it was quite probable he would be given a death sentence. As far as Wolfgang knew, the only reason that it had not been carried out already was that the victims were ex-Nazis, thus Ludwig remained in prison while the lawyers argued his case. So Wolfgang set off for England with a sense of urgency.
This time he was able to stop at various harbours to refuel and rest. Still he was discreet. Although nearly a year had passed since he had gone on the run there might well be people on the look-out for a small man with a gammy leg, but with his passport and papers giving him a new identity, he hoped to avoid notice. It took him nearly a week of hopping along the coast until he finally entered the familiar waters of the river Ouse. Motoring up the creek he saw that his old berth was still vacant so he nosed Moonshine alongside the jetty, tied off the mooring lines and shut off the engine. It almost felt like coming home.
No sooner had he gone down into the cabin to put on the kettle than there was an all too familiar step on the deck, an ‘Ahoy Shipmate!’ and Dickens’s grubby, beaming face appeared.
Momentarily forgetting the trials of the past few months Wolfgang grinned and held out his hand. ‘Coffee?’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Dickens said, settling down on the bunk. ‘And if there’s a drop of that brandy…’ he added, winking. The two sat and chatted for some time. Wolfgang knew that the other man still had a hold over him but, after the gun-running incident, he didn’t feel the hold was so strong. Now he had something on Dickens. ‘What’s your plan, shipmate?’
Wolfgang stared into his empty cup. He was well aware that Dickens was well versed in what he and his brother had done the previous year. He had also probably guessed why he had returned to the boatyard so thought there was no reason why he shouldn’t share his plans with him. ‘I need to find out where my brother, Ludwig, is being held.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘And then I have to work out if I can get him out of prison.’ He paused, contemplating. �
��No, not if I can but how I can.’
Dickens lifted his mug in a toast. ‘That’s the spirit. I don’t like the idea of a fella’s brother being locked up. Especially as it was for murdering Nazis. Hate the bastards.’
‘Have you any idea how I can find out?’
‘Well, you can’t go into a police station and ask, that’s for sure.’
‘No, I cannot. Even with my new papers, I know I’d look suspicious.’
‘True. I’d help you out if I could, but I don’t think I’d be welcome in the cop shop either. I suspect the Gardaí might have talked to their cousins over here.’
‘Then what do I do?’
‘Let me think…’ Dickens cupped his hand round his cheek, his brow furrowed and was quiet for a while. The only sound was the falling tide, lapping against the hull of the boat, the cry of a herring gull and the tap-tap of a halliard against a mast. He moved his hands away from his face and stroked his wispy beard. ‘The newspapers made a big thing of it at the time. I remember there were pictures of him being put in the back of a Paddy wagon, a blanket covering his head.’
‘Excuse me. A Paddy wagon. What is that?’
Dickens chortled. ‘Oh, you probably know it as a Black Maria – a sort of armoured police van, with blacked-out windows. Anyway, I think I’m right in recalling that this all took place in London. The case caused something of a sensation at the time. So, I’m guessing it all happened at the Old Bailey.’
‘Could we find out there what happened to Ludwig?’
‘I suppose so,’ Dickens said, thoughtfully. ‘It might be a starting point. I’m sure they’ll have the trial records there. We would just have to be careful.’
‘We?’ Wolfgang asked slowly
‘You don’t think I’m going to let you do this on your own, do you? Anway, if there’s no more of this,’ he held up the empty brandy bottle, ‘I suggest we adjourn to the pub. I’ll introduce you to my local.’
Chapter 21
A railway detonator is a coin-sized device that is used as a warning signal to train drivers. It is placed on the top of the rail, usually secured with two lead straps, one on each side. When the wheel of the train passes over, it explodes emitting a loud bang.
Weeks was too shocked to speak. Helen’s presence not only confirmed his suspicion that she was definitely tied up with Atkins but far worse, brought the dread realisation that he had been rumbled. It explained also why Atkins had been acting so strangely ever since he had marched into the Queen’s Head earlier in the evening. Which made it even more imperative that he got a message to his DI. But how?
‘Come on Johnny, time to get a move on.’ Atkins nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. Weeks blinked and pushed the gear lever into reverse. There was a nasty crunching sound from the gearbox. ‘Careful!’ Atkins said. ‘Not nervous, are we?’
‘N-no,’ Weeks stammered, ‘I just didn’t push the clutch down hard enough.’
Once they were out of the station car-park the young DC drove on, following Atkins’s directions, although the route was familiar from his earlier visit to the area. The other two carried on a quiet conversation. Weeks was able to catch only the odd word which made no sense out of context. However, when they pulled up outside the farmhouse he was further puzzled. ‘Home sweet home – for now,’ Atkins chuckled. Weeks was less surprised though when the round figure of Butcher Bates appeared in the lorry’s headlights and opened the gate.
After Helen had climbed out and slammed the door shut, Atkins said: ‘Right, drive in. Go round to the back of the house.’ Weeks did as he was asked and the lights picked up the open doors of the larger barn. ‘Drive in – carefully.’ It was tight but the truck just fitted. The driver’s door was hard against a post so Weeks had to shuffle across the seats and follow Atkins out of the passenger side, where there was just enough room to squeeze out through the door. With Atkins behind him and Bates in front he had no alternative but to go with them through the open back door of the farmhouse. Waiting inside the kitchen were the familiar figures of Sammy Screwdriver and Laurie Baker. Neither smiled – the atmosphere was distinctly frosty, despite the fire burning merrily in the range.
‘Welcome to your new home,’ Atkins said expansively. Weeks stood self-consciously in the centre of the room, the four men and one woman all staring at him. ‘You led us a merry dance, Constable Weeks. Now what are we going to do with you?’ Weeks felt his insides turn to water. Atkins looked towards the others.
‘I’m afraid I can’t drive the lorry,’ Helen said.
‘And we’ve all got jobs to do,’ Baker added, frowning under his fringe. ‘Me and you,’ he nodded at Atkins, ‘have got to deal with the driver and fireman; Butcher’s going to handle the guard; Sammy’s got to be ready to open up the van. So that only leaves him,’ he said, disdainfully, pointing at Weeks.
‘Tommy, don’t you think you’d better tell them about the changes?’ Helen said.
‘Ah, I was just coming to that.’ Atkins’s grin was a little forced.
Bates spoke, his fleshy brow furrowed. ‘What changes, Tommy?’
‘Um, well, it’s like this…’
‘Come on Tommy, out with it.’ Baker was looking worried.
‘The job’s been brought forward.’
‘What?!’
‘Just by a day.’
‘Just!’
‘Now ’ang on…’ he held his hands up in surrender. ‘This is gonna work to our advantage.’
‘How so, Tommy?’ Sammy’s confusion had rendered his usual restless gaze to one of concentrated calm.
‘We don’t know who our friend ’ere,’ he jerked his thumb towards Weeks, ‘’as told about our little escapade. But if, as I suspect, ’e’s told ’is boss Russell, or some other rozzer, they’ll be expectin’ us to do the job on Tuesday.’
Baker smiled. ‘So they don’t know about the change of plan?’ He paused and the smile turned to a frown. ‘But what if the railway people have told the police?’
Helen spoke, ‘My contact, the one I met at Victoria station, says the police aren’t likely to know. The banks, whose money is being moved, want it kept secret. They’re worried that there might be a leak.’
‘Fair enough.’
Helen continued: ‘But you haven’t told them the other thing, Tommy…’
‘I was coming to that.’ The others listened intently. ‘Ah. Hmm. It seems there’s gonna be a coach attached to the train.’
‘What!’ Bates exploded. ‘A passenger carriage?’
Atkins nodded his head. ‘So it seems. Something to do with overcrowding or reschedulin’ or somethin’…’
‘Oh, that's just bleeding marvellous. Passengers to deal with as well. How the hell are we going to manage that?’ Bates put his head in his hands and groaned.
‘No, it’s all right Butch,’ Helen said, gently laying her hand on his arm. ‘My pal, Simon, has got a railway mate who works down in Brighton. He’s going to put reserved stickers on the windows in the carriage to make sure no one gets in.’
‘Why’s he going to do that then? Sammy asked.
‘I’m afraid we’re gonna ’ave to give ’im a cut.’ Atkins looked slightly bashful.
‘Bloody hell! I thought you said we had to stick to the plan, Tommy.’
‘I’ve tried to, believe me. But things ’ave changed beyond my control, ain’t they?’ He cocked his head to one side, the old confidence returning. ‘Any ’ow, there’s gonna be plenty of spare dosh to go round. ’Specially now Johnny’s agreed to give up his share. Eh, Johnny?’ He punched Weeks on the arm, none to gently.
Sammy nodded. ‘Fair enough. But it doesn’t answer the question: who’s going to drive the truck?’
‘Oh, Johnny can still do that. It’s too late to find another driver and besides, we don’t want to involve anyone else. There’s enough of us as it is,’ Helen said.
‘Yeah, but what’s to stop him doing a runner?’
‘I’ll be in the lorry with him,’ she said.
‘That’s all well and good,’ Bates said. ‘But what happens if he turns nasty, thumps you, kicks you out of the cab and roars off?’
‘Oh I don’t think that’s likely to happen,’ she said smoothly. ‘Not when he knows I’ve got this.’ With an elegant flourish she produced a Beretta 950 from her handbag.
-0-
Russell had reluctantly decided there was nothing he could do until the morning, so he drove home and parked outside his railway carriage. He used a torch to see his way along the stepping-stone path. Unlocking the front door he was greeted by Aggie, bouncing excitedly up and down like a rubber ball. It was too dark and too late to take her for a walk so she had to make do with a quick sniff around the garden. Russell promised her that he’d get up early and take her out along the beach in the morning.
-0-
That evening Wolfgang and Dickens were sitting in Moonshine’s cabin. The stove was ticking over nicely and the oil lamp on the bulkhead cast a warm glow. The remnants of a meal they had shared were still on the table, next to a bottle of brandy. Although the Courvoisier was long gone Dickens had replaced it with a cheaper brand. Even so, they had made substantial inroads into the contents.
Blood on the Shrine Page 17