by V M Knox
Clement stared at Morris. 'What?'
Morris nodded. ‘I'm afraid so. When we picked up his body on the beach, we found that his hands were bound. And just like Stanley was framed for the death of his father, so Phillip was made to appear like the German infiltrator. It may be, Clement, that it was not you who killed Phillip. There are several bullets wounds in Doctor Haswell’s body, some at point-blank range. It is possible that they shot him but wanted you to think you were responsible. The Coroner’s report will confirm which shot killed Doctor Haswell.’
Clement fell back on the pillow. Could betrayal get any worse? The depth of it was confounding. It was as though someone had taken a cricket bat to his head. The door swung open and Johnny entered the room
‘Arthur has told me about Phillip Haswell,’ Clement said. ‘Is it possible...he...was another victim?’
Johnny shook his head, but it was Arthur who spoke. ‘We found the keys to Inspector Russell’s car in Peter Kempton's pocket. There’s no doubt, I’m afraid.’
Clement heard the words but he could no longer comprehend. Whether or not he had fired the fatal shot that had killed Phillip Haswell did not change what Clement had done. He had intended to kill the man he believed was a murderer and a traitor. Now he would have to live with that. But he had been betrayed by another. He felt the pain in his chest. ‘It tells me who, Arthur. But it doesn’t tell me why. Neither does it tell me why Peter kept Phillip with them. They disposed of Stanley without conscience, why not Phillip?’
Morris shrugged. ‘It may have been purely for insurance, in case Katarina was caught, Phillip could be traded. Or it could have been for his medical skills. Mr Kempton had a long gash to his leg. It would have been painful, and we suspect it was caused by a sharp edge or even the side of a boot being slammed into Mr Kempton’s leg, perhaps inflicted by Doctor Haswell himself, trying to escape. We shall never know the answer to that.’
'So it was Peter's car that went into the forest?'
'Yes. My Sergeant found the car in a side street near the hospital. The tyres had leaf matter stuck in the tyre treads.’
‘But his wife was Jewish?’
‘A lie, Clement,’ Johnny said. ‘Katarina is quite a handful but she eventually told us what we wanted to know. I suppose she is hopeful of a mitigated sentence. Unlikely. It appears that Peter Kempton’s wife Muriel is alive and well and working for the Abwehr. Of course, his name isn’t Kempton. It is Klausmann, Pieter Klausmann. The girl we were calling Jane, is his daughter by his first wife.’
‘That is why he waited,’ Clement muttered remembering the dinghy. ‘But Peter is English? Everything about him is English. Even his dog.’
Johnny shook his head. ‘Peter is German. He didn’t come to England until after he married Muriel. His daughter, Katarina, remained with her mother, Peter’s first wife, in Germany but Peter did stay in contact with his daughter. Katarina Klausmann came to England on holidays before the war, but Peter was careful never to bring his daughter to Fearnley Maughton. The Germans then sent Katarina to England the year before war broke out.’
‘The year Muriel was supposed to have died in Switzerland,’ Clement said. ‘What about Elsie Wainwright and the man from Eastbourne?’
Morris continued. ‘After you informed us that the real Elsie Wainwright was dead, we located her grave. She was buried alongside her parents in Eastbourne Cemetery. We exhumed her remains yesterday. The real Elizabeth Wainwright is dead, just as Anne Chambers said. All the Klausmanns had to do was locate a single, dead girl of the same age as Katarina. They would have researched her background, perhaps they found a photograph of the late Doctor and Mrs Wainwright and their daughter in local newspaper records. The fact that the girl was a nurse was a bonus with Katarina having trained in Germany. As long as she stayed away from Eastbourne and of course anyone who actually knew the Wainwrights, no-one would ever be the wiser.'
'Your chance meeting with Nurse Chambers in the underground shortened our search for the girl considerably,' Johnny added. 'Miss Bradwynn and her team would, I have no doubt, have arrived at the correct conclusion eventually, but by then it would have been too late and Katarina and her father would have been safely back in Germany.'
‘And the man in Elise’s life wasn’t Phillip Haswell?’ Clement asked.
Morris shook his head. ‘It appears not. The murders of
Inspector David Russell, George Evans, Stanley Russell, Constable Newson and Lieutenant Ellis and the kidnapping and possible murder of Phillip Haswell, were all by the hand of Pieter Klausmann.’
Clement stared at the foot of the bed, his mind reeling. It was as though they were talking about a stranger; a dead but unknown enemy agent. Not a man who had been his friend for twenty years. Clement couldn’t comprehend it now, but he knew he wouldn’t stop thinking about it. He would trawl in his memory twenty years of chats, of times spent walking the Downs, of philosophical debates, life ambitions, politics, the war, anything and everything that would help him to understand. But right now, today, all Clement felt was utter betrayal. Tomorrow it would be anger. Next week, he hoped it would not be hatred.
‘Ecclesiastes,’ he muttered. He shook his head and looked up at Morris. ‘How did,’ Clement paused, he couldn’t speak the name, ‘he find out about the list? I told no-one.’
‘It was a routine visit to Brighton Police Station to see a client arrested for theft,’ Morris answered. ‘According to Katarina, her father saw, while having tea with the Chief Superintendent in Brighton Police Station, an envelope on the man's desk with the Ministry of Home Security crest in the top left corner. When the Chief Superintendent left the room for a few minutes, Mr Kempton opened the letter and saw it contained a list of names. On return to Fearnley Maughton, he decided to check David Russell’s office to see if a similar list existed. When Mr Kempton saw the names, he knew what the lists were about and in view of the list in Brighton Police Station, it was a fairly safe assumption that there would be similar lists with other senior police officers around the country. He also realised that he would need an accomplice, so he arranged for his daughter to get a job in the village by talking Haswell into believing he needed a nurse and that he should advertise in The Times. Kempton then arranged for Katarina to visit David Russell in his office which she did, entering through the window. After Katarina rendered Inspector Russell unconscious, Mr Kempton entered the police station, also through the window, opened the safe and removed the list.
‘The odd thing is,’ Johnny interrupted, ‘that in every sector other than yours and Brighton, the local police chief personally vetted the selected men. The patrol leader in Brighton had reservations about their police chief, just as you did, Clement. This is why Gubbins so readily agreed to the sealed list idea. Of course, Peter had also attended the course at Coleshill and not only knew what was taught there, but also - and more importantly - the location. Perhaps he never intended to kill David Russell, just render the man unconscious, but whatever happened, Klausmann killed Russell, then had to devise a plan to implicate someone else and extricate himself from the scene. You might recall, Clement,’ Johnny added, ‘it was Peter you asked to assist the Royal Engineers to choose a suitable place for the Operational Base. Peter had been meeting with Lieutenant Ellis for some time in Maughton Forest, so he did not want the Auxiliary Unit group stumbling on his rendezvous with the naval lieutenant. So Peter made the Operational Base location convenient for his purposes. However, when George stumbled on Peter receiving information from Lieutenant Ellis, both George and Lieutenant Ellis were doomed.’
Clement looked at Johnny. ‘But Peter was in the Operational Base the day David Russell was killed, on patrol with other members of the team.’ He paused. ‘No, he wasn’t. Reg had done the solo patrol to Cuckmere Haven; I remember now. Reg said they had become separated. Peter must have doubled back to the village. He would have had plenty of time. Peter was good at camouflage. He also compiled the watches and who patrolled with whom. I even left him i
n charge on more than one occasion.’ Clement stared at the window in the white painted room. ‘But why now?’
Johnny sat on the edge of the bed. ‘In a word, Clement, Scallywags. Peter believed the invasion was happening. We had sent out the official code word, Cromwell for all units to assemble. Peter knew what the Nazi’s would encounter on arrival and wanted to warn them. He also knew he could not risk his radio message being intercepted, so he decided it was time to leave. It would have been a major coup for the Jerries if he had succeeded. And a disaster if they had ever discovered the real purpose of HMS Forward. We will miss the opportunity to mislead. Never mind. There will be others. And perhaps Peter Kempton thought you would find out about him if he stayed much longer.
Once Kempton made the decision to leave, he radioed for the fighter to destroy his own office, and the gullible Stanley Russell, then he hid the radio in Doctor Haswell’s Anderson shelter. The fighter did the rest. And when you and Chief Inspector Morris discovered the wires in the rubble, of course you suspected Haswell. It is possible that Klausmann was hiding in the garden when the fighter strafed the village, and saw Phillip holding the carrots. Perhaps it had been Klausmann’s intention to kill Haswell, but when he found the Doctor in the garden during the raid, he decided to make full use of the unsuspecting man. Kempton would also have overheard your conversation. Once you and Haswell left the garden to attend to the strafing victims, Klausmann was free to remove all the carrots from the plot, which, if Haswell was questioned, would implicate the man further. Peter then returned to the Operational Base. Placing the dead Ellis into Doctor Haswell’s car was all the evidence needed to implicate Haswell as the enemy agent.’
Clement’s heart was heavy. He wasn’t sure whose bullet had actually killed Peter Kempton, or whatever name the man chose to use, but Clement believed he had killed Phillip Haswell. In a way, Kempton had killed him too. He looked up at Johnny and Arthur Morris. ‘I knew Peter Kempton for many years. Played chess with the man every week. How is it possible I did not know about his Nazi leanings or that he was not an Englishman?’
‘Don’t beat yourself up too much over it, Clement. Klausmann fooled more than just you,’ Johnny said. ‘As a result of his fooling the psychological assessments at Coleshill, we are re-evaluating our procedures there.’
‘Everything about him was English,’ he said. ‘How could I have missed it?’
‘While Klausmann was born in Germany, he preferred living in England. But when the war came, Muriel who, of course, spoke English, offered her services to the Abwehr and a credible story was devised to explain her absence. Peter evidently decided that his Nazi fervour could best be demonstrated by remaining in England. He visited Germany on the anniversary of Muriel’s supposed death, to see his wife and his daughter and to update his handlers. Klausmann was about as convincing an enemy agent as could be devised. His death will, no doubt, be a major loss to the Reich. We hope not to have too many more like him.’
‘And the team?’ Clement said, looking at Johnny.
‘The invasion has not happened as yet so there is plenty of time to make decisions about the fate of the remaining members of your group. Just get well and we can talk again as soon as you are stronger.’
Clement shook hands with Johnny. He watched the brisk gait of his old friend from seminary school leave the hospital room. Clement considered that for Johnny and men like him, the war had become their raison d’être. Clement glanced at Arthur Morris.
The Chief Inspector held out his hand in farewell. ‘Thank you for all your assistance, Clement. I could not have done it without you.’
Clement smiled. ‘I’m not sure that is correct, Arthur. But perhaps, if you have some spare time, we could play some chess?’
Morris reached for his hat and smiled. Nodding to Mary, he left.
Clement lay in the bed in the old Rye Hospice, staring at the river and several small fishing boats lined up on the expansive sands. He could hear the gulls now, but their distinctive and formerly comforting cry did not help. He turned his head and smiled at Mary. He watched her deft fingers slide and twist the wool over the knitting needles, the familiar shape of a sock now evident. She and thousands of women like her was what it was all about. Home. And security. A land free from fear and treachery. He closed his eyes. Yet all he could see in his mind’s eye was the dark form of the menacing U-boat. The effect of the craft was like something he had never previously experienced. Its presence was more than foreboding. He believed it was actually satanic. And it wasn’t just a memory for him. He could feel the cold dread of its presence even now, days after the sinister craft had sunk back into the water; its invisible malevolence lingered. It represented the antitheses of everything decent men valued and cherished. What kind of world lay ahead if the Nazis won the war? And what sort of people devised such a pernicious regime that contrived to have men deceive and entrap. It was an alien and sinister force which had to be stopped.
He gazed up at the ceiling, the soft pillows under his head. How long could Britain hold out against such wickedness? Days? He hoped years. He hoped forever. But one thing was certain; life as he knew it would never be the same. The war that had seemed so remote for him had been brought to his doorstep. No longer was it the enemy in the sky or a faceless man who dropped bombs on the innocent. Peter Kempton had seen to that. The impersonal had become profoundly personal.
Clement looked out over the water as the evening light fell. But the war was not yet over. In fact, for many it had only just begun. He now believed it would not be over for many months, if not years to come. It was time for him to open his eyes. He loved Fearnley Maughton, and its people, but now he knew where his future lay. And it was not in the church pulpit.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks go to Peter for his unfailing support, to
Sarah and Elizabeth for their enthusiasm and encouragement and to Daniel for his advice on all things military. My thanks also go to Barbara Dein and the Venerable Terry Dein and also the Reverend Robert Jones for their theological guidance.
I would also like to thank my wonderful editor and friend Janet Laurence, Ian Hooper of Leschenault Press and to Stewart Angell for sharing with me his knowledge of the Auxiliary Units and to the many people I interviewed about life in wartime Britain.
Author’s Note
The Auxiliary Units were created in 1940 in response to the impending threat of a German invasion of Great Britain. They were not disbanded until 1944. With hindsight, we know that these units never had to face the enemy on home soil but this in no way diminishes the courage and bravery that these men demonstrated. They were prepared to die for their country and kept their involvement in these units secret.
While much of what I have written about the Auxiliary Units in In Spite of All Terror is factual, other parts are entirely fictitious. Likewise, some is open to speculation. The notion of killing the local senior policeman came from an online search and while the article is keen to dispel this as myth, any hint of murder is a flame to the crime writer moth.
Copyright
Copyright © V. M. Knox 2019
Published: July 2019 by
The Book Reality Experience
ISBN: 978-0-6485920-2-0
E-Book Edition
Previously published as In Grievous Times
ISBN: 978-1785549182 in Jan 2016
All rights reserved.
The right of V. M. Knox to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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