The Deep Secret

by David Robinson

  He removed her hand, and turned away again. “You can’t print one word of it. Ernie would come down on you like a ton of bricks. Me too. We’d both go down for starting a nationwide panic.”

  “Harry…”

  “Just fuck off, Carol. I’ve given you your tom, now pay me the fifty quid and let me get off home.” Wilkins reached for his trousers.

  “Not until you give me it all.” Carol rolled from the bed and hurried round to him. “Come on, Harry. You know me. Years we’ve been doing this and I’ve never named my sources.”

  As he fastened his trousers, she unfastened them, let them drop around his ankles. Squeezing herself close to him, she reached into his shabby underwear and fondled him.

  “Everything you ever wanted me to do, Harry, and I wouldn’t, I’ll do right now. For the story. And I’ll double your money to a hundred.” She sank to her knees and drew down his Y-fronts. “Come on, Harry,” she urged, opening her mouth and gripping his flaccid member. “Everything you ever want.”

  Her mouth closing round the glistening bell, she looked up. His face twisted into a mask of agonised delight.

  Everything you ever want, Harry, in exchange for what I want.

  “He’s dead,” Harry gasped. “Burke is dead.”

  As he approached his second spending, Carol pulled her mouth away and raised herself slightly, rubbing the head of his now stiff cock against the soft skin of her breast.

  She worked more vigorously, expertly circling his rod around her nipple. “Everything, Harry.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  Warm semen spurted across her skin. Less quantity this time, but then, Harry was no kid. “Keep telling me, Harry,” she whispered, jerking his ram to force the aftershocks through him.

  “His pal blew his face off, but we got a DNA match. It’s him.”

  25

  The Allied push through France and into Germany continued through the autumn and winter of 1944. Following up the front line troops, the specialist interrogation unit, of which Burke and Julius were a part, quickly gained a reputation for breaking down the resistance of Wehrmacht officers and men, feeding vital intelligence to the forward lines.

  On a personal level, Burke continued to try the tricks Julius had taught him and met with limited success.

  “Whatever The Deep Secret is or isn’t, you’re way better at it than me,” he confided in his friend one night.

  “It is probably because I have had more practice,” Julius speculated.

  Late in 1944, both men were questioned on the murder of a French woman north of Rheims. At the time, they were interrogating captured German officers, and feeding information to the Americans in preparation for the German Ardennes counteroffensive, the Battle of the Bulge, as the Americans would come to call it.

  The Allies were strict on civilian crimes committed in war, and Julius, worried that he may be handed to the French, soon persuaded a German officer to confess. The man was duly tried for rape and murder, where he protested his innocence. The guilty verdict was founded upon his earlier confession, and he was executed.

  Burke was impressed.

  “So not only can you get them to tell the truth, but you can make them lie, too. Even if it means their life.”

  Relieved that neither he nor Burke had been questioned further, Julius merely shrugged. “A slightly stronger mixture, but it worked.”

  To their surprise, in early April 1945, with the end of the war in sight, they were flown back to Britain and Folshingham Hall, where they once again became prisoner and escort.

  “There’s nothing sinister in this,” Stokes explained to them in the truck from RAF Scampton to Folshingham, “and although you’re officially classified as a POW, Reiniger, you’ll find the regime a lot more relaxed than before.”

  “But why is it happening, sir?” Julius asked. He had been working with them for over a year but he maintained a healthy respect for the officer.

  “Debrief,” Stokes explained. “We want the details of your, er, skills, shall we call them. You too, Burke. From there, once the war is officially over, you’ll be demobbed, and you, Reiniger, will be repatriated.”

  It was an announcement that would trouble Julius through the coming weeks where he covered up his Deep Secret, explaining his skills as nothing more than command hypnosis as used by stage hypnotists, augmented by the hypnotic cocktail, the precise formula for which he gladly gave to his interrogators.

  Finally, on the morning of 8 May, one week after Burke had finally departed Folshingham, urging Julius to contact him when he could, Julius was marched into Colonel Quarmby’s office where he stood to attention as best he could.

  In contrast to Quarmby’s pristine uniform, Julius looked a sad sight dressed in the ragged and drab, ill-fitting British battle dress they had issued to him.

  “Ah, Lance Corporal Reiniger. Or should I say, Herr Reiniger.” Quarmby beamed upon his German prisoner. “Well, old chap, Adolf shot himself a week ago, poisoned Eva, and the German High Command signed the unconditional surrender at about three o’clock yesterday morning. We are officially at peace. How does that make you feel, being a German and so on?”

  “Sir,” Julius said humbly, “I am merely relieved that the war is at an end.”

  “No bitterness? No tears of rage?”

  “No, sir. I would never have handed myself in if I had been a supporter of the Third Reich. I reiterate, I am simply glad it is all over.”

  “And eager to get back to Berlin?”

  “I am a native of Heidelberg, sir.”

  “Never was much good at geography, old chap,” the colonel admitted, “so it’s pretty much the same thing in my book. Now, I asked to see you, first to thank you for your efforts, and secondly to tell you what happens from here. First, we’ll get you some civilian clothing. Can’t have you wandering back to Hamburg in British army togs, what? As soon as is practical, we’ll arrange a passage home for you.”

  Julius looked worried. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful, sir, but could I ask whether it would be possible for me to become a resident of Great Britain, or at the very least, stay in this country.”

  “Not too keen on going home?”Quarmby did not sound surprised.

  “I am not keen at all, sir,” Julius admitted. “I have given a great deal of assistance to you over this last year and a half.”

  “And sent a good thirty of your countrymen to the grave,” Quarmby gloated. “Not to mention the intelligence you brought forth on the battle front.”

  “That, sir, is the very reason I cannot go back to Germany. If I were to return and my fellow countrymen were to learn of my collaboration with your good self and your officers, I, too, would end up on the gallows, but it would not be a judicial sentence. It would be a lynching.”

  “And you imagine that life in Blighty will be easier? My dear chap, your forces are responsible for the deaths of several million Britons. We can talk all we like about peace, but our people will react.”

  “Your people are not defeated, sir, they are unlikely to be quite as angry, and I fear that German anger. It will lead to barbarism.”

  “Well, you may be right. The Frenchies are already getting shut of the Nazi collaborators. All right, Reiniger,” Quarmby agreed. “You’ll be returned to your, er, billet for the time being, and I’ll have a word with the War Office, see what we can do for you.”

  26

  It was after nine when Croft and Millie got to the police station, to find the front entrance besieged by the media.

  Over breakfast at her apartment, Millie had read the chapter detailing the end of the war and came away furious. “Reiniger and Burke were no better than Walter, were they? They raped and murdered that woman, then planted the blame on an innocent German officer.”

  Croft agreed with a vague nod. “Zepelli seems to be hinting at that, even though he gives no details.” He smiled. “He wouldn’t go into it, would he? Even in 1979, he could have faced trial for murder if anyone had read this m
anuscript while he was in prison. However, you have to take account of their circumstances. They were at war. They lived under the constant threat of annihilation, they lacked female company. I’m not saying that excuses their offence,” he hastened on before Millie could interrupt, “but it puts it into a different context. Rape is rape, murder is murder, even under the extreme stress of war. If, and I stress, if, they murdered the woman, it was probably a spur of the moment thing. They were not getting off on it. When Walter murdered his victims, when Gerry Burke murdered them, it was a deliberate and calculated act, which heightened their gratification.”

  “So what are you saying, Felix? That Walter was wrong and they were only half wrong?”

  He shook his head. “I’m saying they were not quite as amoral as Walter. That’s all. Walter had no scruples, no moral compunction at all. Reiniger said that. To Walter, life was there to be enjoyed, nothing more. He owed his fellow man nothing, and if Reiniger had killed in the past it was because the only alternative was to lose his own life.”

  Millie accepted the explanation grudgingly, and then drove them into Scarbeck.

  “Something must have come in overnight,” Millie commented as she parked at the rear of the station, still thinking of the crowds at the front entrance.

  Croft thought not. “Surely Shannon would have rung you?”

  “Not necessarily; I’m seconded to securing you.”

  Croft changed his mind when they got to Shannon’s office and found him in a blazing temper.

  “Have you read this?” he waved at the front page of the morning’s tabloids.

  Burke Dead: killer’s identity a mystery, read The Daily Mirror. The Final Handshake, screamed The Sun: Burke’s unknown partner murders him. Other newspapers carried similar, lurid headlines and Croft noted that even the broadsheets were carrying the story.

  “Where did they get the information?” Croft asked, reading what amounted to an accurate account on the front page of the Daily Mail, under the headline, Burke Murdered; Police Baffled.

  “You tell me,” Shannon snapped with a pointed stare. “Have you said anything out of place?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Croft retorted. “We agreed yesterday that we were trying to avoid a panic. The last thing I would do is speak to the press.”

  “Obviously someone has.” Millie raised her eyebrows at her chief. “One of our people?”

  “It shouldn’t be,” Shannon growled, “but it probably is. Have you read the by-line in the Mirror.”

  Croft picked the newspaper up. “Carol Russell. I might have known.”

  Millie was surprised. “I thought she worked for the Scarbeck Reporter.”

  “She syndicates some of her reports through the nationals. And the Mirror was probably the first paper she rang with it.” Croft picked up other dailies. “She’s not credited with the story in any of these, but I daresay she gets a mention somewhere along the line. Have you read them, Shannon?”

  The superintendent shook his head. “Enough to know that they’re telling it like it is, but not thoroughly. I’ve already had the CC’s office onto me. He’s going live on telly in about an hour.”

  “Have you spoken to the team?” Millie asked.

  “I’ve called them together for half nine. I’ll be reading them the riot act.” He scratched his shining pate and blew out his breath. “That bloody flower stall is looking more and more attractive.”

  “I know where you’re coming from,” Croft agreed. “I assume the Chief Constable will be engaged in damage limitation… unless any new information has come in overnight.”

  “Nothing, so you’re probably right. Well, I say nothing, but some traces at the theatrical suppliers in Wolverhampton indicate that it’s our man. Woman was raped, but he used a condom, so we still have nothing in the way of DNA.”

  “I’m going out on a limb here,” Croft told them, “but I think the fake solicitor, Harper, is our man.”

  “Seems a safe enough assumption, but it doesn’t get us much further forward,” Millie agreed.

  “Because we’re in the wrong place,” Croft pointed out and waited for their puzzled faces to relax. “Tell me something, what happens to a prisoner’s personal effects when he escapes?”

  “The prison keeps them until he’s recaptured,” Shannon said.

  “And would they go through them?”

  “Yes,” Millie said. “And so would the police. But they’re not supposed to read through any correspondence with the inmate’s legal advisors.”

  “And if the prisoner is dead?”

  “Difficult situation,” Shannon said. “The police may need to look through them during the inquiry, so the prison would keep them. Eventually, whatever didn’t belong to the prisoner – shoes, clothing and so on – would be returned to the prison stores and the rest would be handed over to the prisoner’s next of kin.”

  “Burke only escaped a few days ago,” Croft pointed out. “Hattersley will still have his personal effects.”

  “Given the circumstances of his death, they shouldn’t even have touched them yet,” Millie said.

  “Then that is where we need to be.”

  Croft waited again, for the inevitable protests to die down.

  “All meetings between Burke and Harper took place at Hattersley. If there is any clue to our man’s whereabouts, it will be there. If you can spare Millie, Superintendent, it would make sense for us to go there, see if we can find anything.”

  The superintendent shook his head. “Millie is on security duty, attached to you, but Nottingham will handle all the other stuff.”

  “With respect, Shannon, I doubt that Nottingham would know what to look for any more than would your people.”

  “And you would. Right?”

  Croft nodded. “I’m not just a pretty face, remember, but an alleged code breaker, too. It may be unlikely, but if Burke has left anything behind, it won’t be en clair. It will be encoded. I may spot something they don’t.”

  “And what of the risk of Harper, if it is him, waiting to take a shot at you while you’re there?” Millie complained.

  Croft dismissed the objection. “Minimal. I keep on telling you, he’s expecting me to solve the problem of The Deep Secret, so he isn’t going to shoot me. And if he is the solicitor who must have visited Burke in prison, why would he show up at Hattersley where he could be instantly recognised by any member of the staff? No, I think I’ll be safe enough, and I’m happy to go there alone, if I have to, but you’d need to speak to the governor to get me access.”

  “No. If you’re determined to go there, Millie will go with you.” Shannon sighed. “I’m having trouble getting my head round this. If X, Harper, or whoever he is, had the manuscript, why go to the trouble of breaking Burke out? He could have just done a runner with it and left Burke to rot.”

  “The same reason he murdered Trish. It was the only way he could get me back to England,” Croft said. “When I received the manuscript, I knew right away that Burke was playing one of his silly games, and I decided there and then it wouldn’t bring me back here. By helping him escape, and murdering Trish, X got me here, knowing I would work to find The Deep Secret, knowing I would pursue him.”

  “Then why murder Burke?” Millie asked.

  Croft shrugged. “That, we don’t yet know, but I’m sure it’ll become apparent as we go along.”

  The superintendent pushed his chair back and stood up. “All right. Let’s talk to the troops.”

  ***

  The room fell quiet as Shannon called them to order.

  Every officer in the station was present, Croft judged. Uniforms and plainclothes mixed freely around the room and, judging by the nervous expressions on many faces, they knew what was coming.

  While Croft and Millie sat alongside him, Shannon stood and held up two tabloids, their front pages forward.

  “There is only one place this information could have come from. Here. One of you is talking to the press behind our backs, and wh
en I find out who it is, he – or she – will be looking at the dole office.” He paused as Sergeant Simpson raised his hand. “Ronnie?”

  “How do you know the leak is from here, Ernie?”

  “We know. That’s all I’m saying for now.” He addressed the whole room again. “I’m going to remind you of your responsibility towards the media. We’re not dealing with a petty burglary or a pensioner mugged for her purse. This is a serious incident, and as such all statements to the media come from myself, the Chief Superintendent, or the Chief Constable’s office. We had our reasons for suppressing news of Burke’s murder. We were trying to avoid a panic. Thanks to the big mouth who spoke to Carol Russell, we’ve now been made to look as if we’re using secrecy to cover inefficiency. I’ll be speaking to your team leaders and line managers individually, and they will then remind you again of your responsibilities. This,” he nodded at the two newspapers, “is a disciplinary matter. It is gross misconduct, and should we uncover the culprit, he – or she – will face an inquiry and possibly summary dismissal. That’s all. Get back to work.”

  The meeting began to break up.

  “I don’t think there’s a great deal of damage done,” Croft speculated, “except, maybe, to the public perception of the police.”

  Plainly, Shannon was not impressed. “Tell me that when you can identify this sod.”

  “On that score, if we’re going to Nottingham, hadn’t we better get a move on?” Millie suggested.

  “Do that,” Shannon agreed. “And if you get anything, let me know right away.”