by Jim Eldridge
‘Stay here,’ he ordered.
He walked across the road to stand beside the window of Flat two, listening. There were no sounds from inside. Either Harker was out or he was keeping quiet. Perhaps he was asleep. Many serious drinkers slept during the day. Stark listened for a few more minutes, then returned to Danvers and the uniformed constables.
‘Is he in there, sir?’ asked Danvers.
‘Difficult to say,’ said Stark. ‘I couldn’t hear any noises from inside. But we’re going to play this as if he is.’ He turned to Roberts. ‘Tell me about the layout of the house.’
‘Four rooms on the ground floor, two on each side of the passage,’ responded the constable. ‘Three rooms upstairs. All let out. Like I say, Harker lives in the room at the front of the house, on the left.’
‘Anyone live with him?’
The constable shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know, sir.’
‘Is the street door locked?’
‘No, sir. It’s a lodging house. Street door’s always open.’
‘Where are the stairs?’
‘At the far end of the passage, by the back door.’
‘What’s out the back?’
‘A small yard, with a privy and a shed.’
‘Is there a way out through the yard?’
Again, Roberts shook his head. ‘No, sir. There’s a brick wall at the back, and behind that there’s a lane.’
Stark turned to two of the officers. ‘Higgins and Prescott, get into the back lane, just in case he does a bolt for it over the wall.’
‘Yes, sir,’ nodded the two policemen, and they headed for the back lane.
‘This could be dangerous, sir,’ said Danvers, concerned. ‘If he is armed, he’s likely to start shooting as soon as he knows it’s the police.’
‘My opinion exactly, Sergeant. Which is why I’m going to be using subterfuge and then, if we’re lucky with that, a bit of brute force. I want you outside in the street with a couple of men, guarding the front door.’ He looked at Roberts. ‘You’re with me, Constable.’ He pointed at another officer. ‘You, stand at the bottom of the stairs.’
Stark headed back across the road, followed by Roberts and the other constable, and entered the house. He gestured the constable to the bottom of the stairs, then indicated for Roberts to stand on the other side of the door, out of the way of any bullets if Harker started shooting through the door. When the two officers were in place, Stark tapped gently on the door and called out in a low voice, ‘Dan Harker?’
There was no reply, but Stark was sure he heard movement inside the room. He banged on the door again, harder this time, and raised his voice a little as he repeated, ‘Dan Harker?’
This time a gruff voice growled back, ‘Who wants him?’
‘Ernie,’ said Stark. ‘Naomi from the office sent me.’
‘What office?’ asked Harker, his tone suspicious.
‘The Party office,’ said Stark.
There was another pause, then Harker asked, ‘What’s she want?’
‘She asked me to give you a message.’
‘What’s the message?’
‘She wrote it down and put it in an envelope and told me to make sure I give it you personal.’
‘All right. Hang on,’ growled Harker.
There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and then Stark saw the handle turn. Immediately, Stark hurled himself at the door. There was a cry of pain from inside as the door hit Harker, and then Stark and the constable were in the room. Stark threw himself at Harker, bringing him crashing to the floor, the constable throwing himself on the man as he kicked and writhed.
‘Sergeant!’ bellowed Stark.
Danvers hurtled into the room, the other constables behind him, and they joined in grabbing hold of the struggling man. It only took a few moments and then Harker was standing, held by two officers, his hands handcuffed behind him.
‘Daniel Harker,’ said Stark. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of being involved in a murder. Anything you say may be noted and may be used in evidence.’
Harker stared at Stark, shock clear on his face. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘I’m protected!’
Protected? Stark studied Harker’s face, his eyes. Protected by whom?
‘The rest of this interview will take place at Scotland Yard,’ said Stark. He turned to Danvers. ‘Sergeant, search his room while I take Mr Harker in. And don’t forget the privy and the shed in the yard.’
ELEVEN
The interrogation room in the basement of Scotland Yard was small and cramped. The lack of any natural light added to the oppressive atmosphere, just the harsh light from the one unshaded bulb dangling from the ceiling. The room stank of sweat and damp. Stark hated this room. In this kind of intimidating atmosphere, suspects would often say what they thought their interrogator wanted to hear, rather than tell the truth. When he could, Stark preferred to talk to suspects in his office, put them at their ease, lull them into making a mistake, contradict themselves. But this case was the investigation into the murder of Lord Amersham, peer of the realm and member of the Cabinet. It was being followed by those in government and the press, and that meant doing everything by the book. Which was why Stark was now sitting on a hard wooden chair, facing Dan Harker across a bare table. Two uniformed constables stood just behind Harker, ready to subdue him if he became aggressive.
Harker sat, sullen, watchful, his eyes on Stark’s face the whole time.
‘You said you were protected,’ said Stark. ‘Who by?’
Harker didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to watch Stark cautiously. He’s weighing things up, realized Stark. He’s weighing me up, trying to work out what I know.
‘Do you know Lord Amersham?’ asked Stark.
At these words, Harker’s attitude changed from fear and wariness to one of puzzlement. ‘Who?’ he asked.
‘Lord Amersham,’ repeated Stark.
‘No,’ said Harker. ‘Why?’
‘Lord Amersham was shot and killed yesterday. Where were you yesterday morning?’
It was as if a switch had been thrown; suddenly, all the anxiety disappeared from Harker’s manner and he visibly relaxed.
It isn’t him, Stark realized. He’s killed someone, but not Lord Amersham.
‘It wasn’t me,’ said Harker, shaking his head. He leaned forward and added firmly, ‘And you can’t fit me up for it, either.’
‘You said you were protected,’ said Stark. ‘Who by?’
‘You asked me that before.’
‘I’m asking you again.’
Harker shook his head. ‘You must have misheard me.’
‘No,’ said Stark. ‘Who do you claim is protecting you? And why?’
Harker stared back at Stark, but with a new confidence. ‘I’m saying nothing,’ he said. He twisted his head round and looked at the two uniformed officers, before turning his attention back to Stark and saying in a challenging, almost smug, voice, ‘And it won’t do you any good to try to beat anything out of me.’
Stark bridled at this. ‘I don’t beat prisoners,’ he said curtly.
‘No?’ said Harker. ‘There’s plenty who do.’
There was a tap at the door and Danvers peered in. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,’ he said. ‘But I have some information.’
Stark got up and headed for the door. ‘Keep an eye on him,’ he told the constables.
Outside in the corridor, Danvers opened the bag he was holding. ‘We found the gun, sir. But it’s a Webley. An 11.2 millimetre.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant. I don’t need the full spec. I get the picture.’
‘Yes, sir. We double-checked every nook and cranny in case he had another gun, but there was no sign of anything.’
‘There won’t be,’ said Stark angrily. ‘He didn’t do it.’
Danvers frowned. ‘But the information …’
‘I’m sure the information was good, and I’m also sure that Harker is a dangerous man who quite likely killed so
meone. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t shoot Lord Amersham.’
‘Chief Inspector Stark!’
Stark and Danvers both turned at the voice, and saw the figure of Chief Inspector Burns approaching them along the corridor.
‘Chief Inspector Burns,’ nodded Stark in wary greeting. He gestured at Danvers. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met Sergeant Danvers.’
Burns smiled and shook Danvers’ hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant,’ he said. He turned back to Stark. ‘We need to talk.’
‘I’m in the middle of an interview,’ said Stark.
‘I know,’ nodded Burns. ‘That is why we need to talk.’
Stark hesitated. He wanted to tell Burns to get lost, that this was his case, not Special Branch’s. But he already knew that the interview was a waste of time, Harker wasn’t the murderer.
Stark turned to Danvers. ‘Sergeant, continue the interview with Mr Harker,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir,’ nodded Danvers, and Stark saw the pride in his eyes at being given this task.
As Stark and Burns head towards Stark’s office, Burns murmured approvingly, ‘Good move. Flatter your sergeant. You ought to go into politics, Chief Inspector.’
Stark didn’t reply, just led the way in a sour silence. He waited until they were in his office and had closed the door, before turning to Burns and saying accusingly, ‘He’s one of yours, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Burns. Curious, he asked, ‘Did he say as much to you?’
‘No,’ replied Stark. ‘He just said he was protected, but he didn’t say who by. Once you arrived, you provided the answer.’
‘It’s always useful to have someone inside these revolutionary organizations to keep an eye on them,’ said Burns. ‘Let us know what’s what, what they’re planning. We created the perfect cover for him: the angry radical, bitter about the war, harbouring resentment against the upper classes. But I can assure you, he didn’t shoot Lord Amersham.’
‘I know,’ said Stark. ‘For one thing, his weapon’s a different calibre. But I’d already worked out he hadn’t done it.’
‘Actually, you’ve done us a favour by arresting him. Given him even greater credibility in the eyes of his communist comrades.’ Burns smiled. ‘Perhaps you could get your chaps to rough him up a bit. That would give him even greater clout with the revolutionary masses.’
‘You didn’t think to inform me about him? You knew we’d be investigating the communists.’
‘If you remember, we had suggested a more fruitful line of enquiry.’
‘The Irish delegation,’ nodded Stark. ‘I went to see them.’
‘We know,’ said Burns. ‘And?’
‘They knew I was coming,’ said Stark.
‘Of course,’ said Burns. ‘You made an appointment to see them.’
‘I meant they knew I was coming to see them before I made the appointment.’
Burns frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘A feeling.’
Burns smiled. ‘The policeman’s famous hunch,’ he said. ‘Possibly a bit exaggerated in this instance.’
‘The point is, you knew that Winston Churchill had ordered me to investigate the Bolsheviks, and you knew I would be going to the British Communist Party, but you didn’t give me any advance notice about Dan Harker,’ snapped Stark.
‘If we had, you wouldn’t have made such a fuss with Lady Amelia about finding him,’ replied Burns. ‘As I said, the fact that you did has turned out very well for us. His credibility inside the organization is assured. Thank you, Chief Inspector.’ He smiled, and then added in a cautious tone, ‘You will be releasing him now, of course.’
‘What about the other murder?’ asked Stark.
Immediately, Burns was alert, wary. ‘What other murder?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘The one you used as leverage to get Harker to work for you,’ said Stark.
Burns shook his head. His smug confidence had been momentarily rattled. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.
‘Harker murdered someone. You offered him immunity from prosecution if he worked for you. That’s the “protection” he was referring to.’
Burns was no longer smiling. ‘There was no such murder,’ he said flatly. ‘There is no such protection. Dan Harker is an operative of ours, working undercover for the good of this country. We are grateful for your cooperation, but we must insist you release him immediately.’ When Stark didn’t respond, he added, ‘We are on the same side.’
Stark gave a curt nod, and Burns left.
Stark returned to the interrogation room and gestured for Danvers to join him in the corridor. Just before he closed the door behind them, he shot a look at Harker, who appeared just as smugly confident as he had when Stark had been questioning him.
Danvers shook his head. ‘I can’t shake him, sir,’ he said. ‘I think you’re right. Not only is he not our man, but I don’t think he has any information that can help us.’
‘Except one thing,’ scowled Stark. ‘He’s a plant inside the Communist Party from Special Branch.’
Danvers stared at Stark. ‘So he’s one of us?’ he said.
Stark shook his head. ‘He’s never one of us, Sergeant,’ he said grimly. ‘But he’s got nothing to do with the murder of Lord Amersham. Kick him out.’
‘And then what, sir?’
‘And then go home. That’s what I’m going to do. We’ll reappraise everything in the morning.’
TWELVE
His parents and Stephen were sitting at the table in the kitchen having their supper when Stark arrived home.
‘I didn’t know what time you’d be home,’ said his mother defensively. ‘You’ve been coming home at all hours of late.’
She got up to go to the range, where the saucepans were keeping hot, but Stark stopped her. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Stark. ‘Sit down and finish. I’ll have mine afterwards.’
He went back out to the hallway, where he took off his jacket and overcoat and hung them up. He was about to head back to the kitchen when he became aware that Henry had followed him and was standing in the narrow passage, blocking his way. His father had the newspaper in his hand and an angry expression on his face.
‘Is this how little you think of us?’ Henry burst out, and he brandished the newspaper at his son.
Stark stared at his father, bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘How do you think me and your mum feel having to find out what you’re up to by reading about it in the papers?’ His father opened the newspaper and read out, ‘The net is closing in on the killers of Lord Amersham. Detective Chief Inspector Stark of Scotland Yard informs us that they hope to have the murderous Bolsheviks behind the assassination in custody soon.’
Stark shook his head. ‘None of that is true.’
‘But it’s in the papers!’
‘That doesn’t make it true. I never said that to them. We don’t know if it’s Bolsheviks who are behind the murder—’
‘Well, someone thinks they are! And that’s another thing. You didn’t even tell us you were on this case!’
‘I’m not allowed to discuss cases outside of Scotland Yard.’
‘Not even something like this? The murder of someone as important as Lord Amersham?’
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s the murder of Lord Amersham or someone who stole a watch, we’re not supposed to talk about it outside of our colleagues in the police force.’
‘Well, someone’s talked about it to the newspapers!’
And I know who, thought Stark grimly. Churchill, eager to push his anti-Bolshevik agenda.
‘It’s not right!’ his father continued. ‘The neighbours read this and ask us about it, and we don’t know anything. It’s not fair!’
‘I’ve told you, Dad, I haven’t talked to the newspapers. I haven’t talked to anybody about this except the people at the Yard.’
‘It’s still not right!’ Henry insisted. ‘You ough
t to tell us things.’
With that, he headed back along the passage to the kitchen and returned to his place at the table. As he picked up his knife and fork and resumed his meal, Stark came into the kitchen.
‘You’re right,’ he said quietly, addressing his remarks not just to his father, but to his mother and to Stephen. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t let you know what’s happening.’ He pointed at the newspaper which his father had deposited on an armchair. ‘I am investigating the murder of Lord Amersham. As chief inspector, I’m the senior officer on the case. Because of Lord Amersham being who he was, there’s a lot of interest in this case, so I think we can expect more reports in the papers. I promise that if I say anything to the press, I shall let you all know in advance. So far I haven’t said anything to them, but if they don’t know something, a lot of the time they make it up.’
‘What are Bolsheviks?’ asked Stephen.
Stark smiled. He was glad the boy’s reading was coming along. ‘Bolsheviks is another word for communists,’ he said. ‘They’re people who believe in getting rid of the upper classes.’
‘They’re savages,’ Henry snorted. ‘They killed the Russian tsar and all his family. They want to get rid of the King and Queen, and the government.’
‘Why does the paper say you’re going to arrest them?’ asked Stephen, puzzled.
‘Because someone in government has told them that’s who did the murder,’ said Stark. ‘The truth is, Stephen, we don’t know who did it. That’s what my job is: to try to find out.’
‘If the government say the Bolshies did it, they did,’ stated Henry flatly.
‘Possibly,’ said Stark.
Sarah had finished her meal. She got up, took her plate out to the scullery, then went to the range and began to serve Stark’s meal on to a plate. ‘Wash your hands,’ she ordered him.
Stark headed out to the scullery and the cold tap over the sink. I’m thirty-four and they still treat me like an errant child, he reflected. But that’s the price I pay for having them look after Stephen.
Later, when the meal was finished and the plates cleared away, Stark sat down at the table and watched as his father and Stephen laid sheets of newspaper on the table to protect it, then took the pieces of the model plane they were making from a drawer. A sharp knife was produced, and a pot of glue with a brush.