I jumped from the sofa and bust into Lisa’s room.
‘Lisa, Lisa, wake up. I’ve found the link. I’ve found out who lives at Frieth House. Now it’s all beginning to make sense at……’ I tailed off as Lisa sat up in bed and I realised that she slept in very little on a hot summer’s night. I quickly, if unwillingly averted my eyes. ‘Err…sorry…I’ll see you in the sitting room.’
A few minutes later, she came into the sitting room swathed in a fluffy pink dressing gown. My cheeks still burned with embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry for bursting in like that…..I didn’t mean...think…er...I was just so excited by what I had found...er.. no that sounds even worse…’ Lisa burst into fits of giggles at my discomfort and embarrassment.
‘No worries. It was no more than you’d see on a beach in Spain or Greece. It’s nothing, you’re so proper.’
‘Yes…well…er...I’ve never been on a beach with you and it was rather a shock.
‘You’re such a gentleman, so delightfully old fashioned. Now never mind my boobs, what have you found?’
Chapter 24
‘Well come on then, what have you found that was worth waking me up for?’
‘I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to put the time to good use and see if I could track down Chabot UK.’
‘Cut to the chase, the suspense is killing me!’
‘Okay, Frieth House, Mondaydean Lane, Marlow, is occupied, according to the electoral roll, by Richard, Heather and William Sinclair!’
‘Fucking hell, are you sure?’ I turned the computer towards her.
‘See for yourself.’
‘Fucking hell,’ she said again. ‘That would explain a lot.’
‘Yeah, but it poses even more questions.’
‘Sinclair could have been paying Lisl’s care bills, for Aylmer. Why?’
‘Not our Richard Sinclair, but his father. Frieth House was last sold in 1947, before Richard Sinclair was born and the family investment trust was run by Peter Sinclair until his death in 1988.’
‘So it was Peter who was paying Lisl’s bills.’
‘Looks like it, but it still begs the question why? Why would he be paying the bills for Aylmer? But it does tie Aylmer in with Sinclair, the BNRA and Storm45.’
‘So now we need to know more about Sinclair senior rather than junior.’
‘The only things we know is his wife was Alice Morrison and Sinclair said in that interview that his father had been a prisoner of war; and that’s it. We’ll need to find out more.’
‘Yes, we will, in the morning. It’s 3.30 a.m., I’m going back to bed and so are you. Goodnight!’
She got up, kissed me on the cheek and returned to her room, leaving me no alternative but to copy her and return to my own bed. Despite my excitement and the image of Lisa’s state of undress that was burned on my mind, I fell asleep easily. The next thing I was aware of was the light coming in through the curtains. I peered at my watch, it was after 9.00. Bleary-eyed I pulled on jeans and tee shirt and went into the sitting room, where a bright and breezy Lisa was already surfing the net.
‘You look like crap again.’ She said.
‘Thanks for the complement. I’m well over twice your age and need my beauty sleep.’ She laughed.
‘Well you certainly need it this morning.’
I grunted in reply. ‘What you checking on?’
‘I’m trying to track down Sinclair senior and see if there’s a link to Miller, maybe they met in the war or something.’
‘And?’
‘I’m not having too much luck. I’ve found the record of his birth, then...nothing.’
I looked at her in confusion.
‘What do you mean nothing?’
‘Look, I managed to track him from 1945 onwards. Here’s the register entry for his marriage to Alice Morrison on 24th June 1948. His age is listed as 36, that means he was born about 1912. Father’s name Robert Garibaldi Sinclair, deceased, occupation, Architect. I managed to track down his place of birth, Coventry. So I traced his birth certificate, here’s a copy; Peter Sinclair, born 15th September 1912, Radford Coventry, mother Emma (nee Rogers). I can trace no baptism or confirmation records, nor any other trace of him.’
‘You probably won’t. Coventry was comprehensively flattened by German bombing in 1940. I suppose many of the records were lost in the bombing.’
‘There should be some record somewhere.’
‘When did his father die?’
‘According to the index of death certificates, in November 1940.’
‘Possibly during the bombing then. So another dead end.’
‘But there must be something.’
‘I don’t know where, all the census records are sealed for a hundred years, so there’s no chance of tracing him that way.’
‘So…?’
‘I’ve not a clue at the moment.’
‘Want some breakfast?’
‘Please’
‘Cereals, OJ and coffee?
‘Please.’
Whilst Lisa was in the kitchen, I picked up the laptop and idly started a search. There was no way to access any records relating to the period after the Second World War, with the exception of births, deaths and marriages. We already had marriage and birth certificates and the death certificate would contain nothing useful about Peter Sinclair that we did not already know. I dug on. His death might be useful, what about an obituary? By the time Lisa had returned with breakfast, I had found what I wanted from the weekly local paper.
‘Peter Sinclair, died on 27th March 1988 peacefully at his home in Marlow after a short illness aged 75. Born in Coventry in 1912, Mr Sinclair was educated at Ullathorne Grammar School and worked in the motor industry until 1939. He joined the army at the outbreak of war in 1939, was captured at Dunkirk and spent the rest of the war as a prisoner in Germany. On his returned to Britain in 1945, he took the capital he inherited from his father’s estate and became manager of the family investment trust he established and ran with great success. He married in 1948 and set up home in Marlow at Frieth House. Somewhat reclusive, Mr Sinclair rarely appeared at public functions, valuing his privacy and anonymity. A member of the congregation of St Peter’s Roman Catholic Church, he privately supported the fund for the refurbishment of the church and its’ grounds. He leaves behind a wife and son. The funeral is to be held in private at St Peters’ Church on Friday.’
I read this to Lisa who was unimpressed. This was not much help, as I had told Lisa, censuses after 1911 were embargoed. I wondered if his old school might supply us with any viable information, but Ullathorne Grammar School no longer existed, having disappeared during comprehensivisaton in the 1970s. A quick search of the Friends Reunited website provided us with little beyond a link to an Old Boys website for the school. This contained many texts and photographs from the relevant time, but there was no sign of Sinclair. Not even on the whole school photographs it displayed, which seemed strange. Sinclair senior might have missed one school photograph, but every one in his school career? It was almost as if he did not exist.
The only definite link we had for him was his son’s comment about his war service, maybe Sinclair’s military record might provide some useful information. Whilst chewing on cornflakes, I continued my search. Army records post World War One could only be accessed from the MoD if one applied in writing and regiment and number was needed, we had neither. Then I tried to see if lists of POWs could be accessed. They couldn’t, however, I found that a complete list of British Army POWs held in Germany had been compiled and published as a book. Amazon had no copies available, but there was not time to order it anyway, but Blackwell’s on the Charing Cross Road had a copy, though it was expensive. I told Lisa.
‘You want to buy it?’
‘Nope, it’s alphabetical, so I thought I’d just pop in and peruse the book for free.’
‘Cheeky!’
‘Yeah, but cheap.’
‘Okay, let’s go then.’
; We were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Lisa answered and listened for a few minutes.
‘I’m on leave, it’s not really very convenient…’ she said into the receiver. She then listened for a few moments before adding, ‘I suppose I could make it this morning, if it’s absolutely essential.’ Another pause then, ‘Okay, I’ll be in at 10.00. Bye’
‘Problems?’ I enquired.
‘They want me in the office.’
‘I thought you were on holiday.’
‘Apparently the job in Madrid is becoming more pressing and they want to discuss timescales with me.’
‘I don’t like it; you’d be very vulnerable, what better way to lure you into a place they can get to you. Look at what happened yesterday. Perhaps I better come too.’
‘We’ve already decided that we’re too visible together. There’s a Police Station right opposite Seneschal’s offices, I doubt they’ll try anything there. At best they’ll try to tail me and I’ll be watching for that.’
‘I’m still not happy, I think it’s too risky, but I’m not going to change your mind am I?’ Lisa shook her head. ‘You better go in then, I’ll go off to Blackwell’s on my own. For god’s sake be careful.’
Lisa and I parted to go to our separate destinations. The journey to Charing Cross was tedious, the bus spending time stuck in traffic and it took the best part of an hour. All the time I was fretting about what was happening to Lisa. Once in the bookshop I forced myself to concentrate and searched the shelves in the history and military history sections to locate the volume I wanted. It was not there. I began to think I was wasting my time.
‘Can I help you?’
I looked up startled, lost in my thoughts, I had not seen the assistant approach me. She was pretty, about nineteen, with dyed black hair and several facial piercings, yet she had a nice smile and an intelligent look in her eyes. I explained about the book I was looking for.
‘Oh yes, I know the book. I’m afraid we only had the one copy and someone phoned this morning to reserve it. That’ll be why you can’t find it on the shelf. I could order you in a copy; it would be here in two or three days.’ I looked disappointed.
‘My problem is; I’m not sure if it’s the book I actually need. I don’t suppose it would be possible for me to see the copy, so I could make up my mind?’
‘Normally, I’d have to say no, if the customer had paid for the book, it wouldn’t be our property, but in this case, no money has been exchanged, so I don’t see why not.’ She reached under the counter and handed me the six hundred page tome.
‘Is it okay if I sat over there and perused it?’ I asked, indicating a nearby sofa.
‘Sure, knock yourself out. I’ll be here when you’ve made up your mind.
Frustratingly, considering the duration of the journey to get to the bookshop, it took less than five minutes for me to find out what I wanted, and that included the time spent in checking and double checking I had got it right. I handed the book back to the girl.
‘Thanks for your help, but I don’t think it’s exactly what I’m looking for.’
‘Perhaps I could help you find the text you need.’ She said keen to make a sale. I felt guilty at misleading her.
‘No thank you for your help, but I think I need to reconsider how I’m going to proceed with my research.’ The girl looked disappointed and I felt more guilty than ever and beat a hurried retreat from the shop.
Two hours after we had parted, I met Lisa back at the flat. It was clear from the flush of her cheeks and the set of her jaw that she was upset and angry.
‘Okay, tell me.’
‘I’m being lent on to go to Madrid now. Apparently the job won’t wait and if I can’t go then they’ll have to send someone else.’
‘So how’s that a problem? You weren’t that keen as it was.’
‘No, that’s when the not-so-subtle “If you don’t go then we’ll have to send someone else….of course in this financial climate, we’re having to review staffing and may have to make cuts…” kicked in.’
‘In other words, if you don’t go now, you’re out.’
‘More or less.’
‘Sounds like the work of friend Aylmer. He failed to get to me, so he turns his attention to you.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘How’d you leave it?’
‘I told them I couldn’t go until James had been home next Tuesday, they seemed to be prepared to wait until then for me to make a decision.’
‘They won’t fire you. Aylmer’s not that stupid, it’s better to have you in the boat pissing outwards than the other way round. As long as you are with Seneschal, he has a measure of control over you, if you’re fired, he loses that. But it’s strange; this does not fit in with the thugs breaking into your flat to get to us.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
I’m beginning to suspect that there are two separate forces at work here, Mr X who is more direct and violent and Aylmer who is more subtle, a bit like Matt said.’
‘You could be right, I was really careful that no-one followed me, I did all those things you see in spy movies, I even went into a ladies toilet, going in one entrance and straight out through one on the other side. I didn’t see anyone. If it had been Mr X then I’m sure I would have been followed. Mr X wouldn’t have missed a chance like that.’
‘Be ready for Aylmer to come back with something even more attractive to buy you off; like they tried with me.’
‘Do you think?’
‘I’m sure, mark my words, I’m beginning to get a feel for how Aylmer works.’
‘We’ll see. Now what did you find out?’
‘Well, thanks to my cheek in using Blackwell’s as a reference library, I’ve added to the mystery. There was no Peter Sinclair of any rank held as a prisoner of war in Germany; the whole thing’s an elaborate fiction.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. The book I consulted listed all POWs in alphabetical order, so there’s no chance of a mistake, unless the book is wrong and looking at the amount of research the authors have done, that’s unlikely.’
‘What the hell is going on then?’
‘I don’t know, but the more we research Sinclair, the less we seem to know. He seems to have spent his post war life in the shadows and pre-war, it’s almost as if he was born then ceased to exist!’
Chapter 25
We carried on kicking ideas around about Peter Sinclair and his origins, without really getting very far. Lisa’s comment about Mr X brought to mind my idea from the previous night, that had been temporarily driven out by fatigue.
‘Did you find out anything about Peter Sinclair’s mother?’
‘Er, hang on.’ Lisa consulted a sheaf of notes. ‘Yeah, here we go, mother was Emma, nee Rogers. I got that off his birth certificate.’
‘When did she die?’
‘Dunno. I didn’t think it that important.’
‘It might not be, but if what I think is correct, it might just be vital.’
‘No, problem, I’ll look it up, I’ve still got plenty of credits on the ancestry site. When do you think she might have died and where.’
‘I’m betting Coventry, November 1940.’
‘Same as her husband?’
‘Uhuh. My guess is they both died in the Coventry blitz.’
‘Okay, what do you think is going on then?’
‘Just go along with me for a while, if I’m right, I’ll explain all.’
It took Lisa less than ten minutes to confirm that my suspicions were correct. Emma Sinclair had indeed died on the same day as her husband, 14th November 1940.
‘What was the cause of death?’
‘It says here cause of death “Due to War Operations”. What does that mean?’
‘I think that was the standard entry for cause of death during the blitz.’
‘So they both died together?’
‘Yeah, it looks that way and last night I found ou
t that 14th November 1940 was the date of the blitz on Coventry, so that would all make sense.’
‘So, I’m waiting for the great explanation.’
‘Just one more thing, it may sound strange, but check for death certificates in Coventry for Peter Sinclair between 1912 and about 1920.’
‘You’re teasing me now! Come on tell me.’
‘Bear with me, we’re almost there.’
‘Okay.’ She tapped on the computer for a few minutes before saying, ‘That’s strange. Peter Sinclair aged four died 24th May 1916. I’m officially lost now, I haven’t got the faintest what is going on...And don’t tell me to wait any longer!’
‘Alright, you’ve been patient. I presume you’ve never read Day of the Jackal?’
‘No, go on.’
Well the author tells how the assassin, the Jackal, creates false identities by finding the grave of a child who died in childhood, who would have been about the same age as him. He then gets a copy of the birth certificate and uses that to get a passport with fake references. It could be done before they introduced all the checks they have now. It was a well-known trick in less legitimate circles.’
Nothing left to lose Page 18