“More or less since the war started, I joined up in thirty-nine.”
“So you’ve seen a fair bit of action then?”
“You could say that,” Will grinned.
“I hope we don’t run into one of those Jerry flying boats, they are well-armed, them blighters.”
Will could see the look of apprehension on the medic’s face and knew he was right, they were heavily armed with cannons and machine guns and also bombs. “We can give a good account of ourselves with a 20mm Oerlikon and the .303s,” he answered, trying to sound reassuring, as Flight Sergeant Nugent came into the galley.
“Is that tea you’ve got there Sick Note?” Nugent asked.
“Yes, Flight.”
“I could murder a cup of tea, pour us a cup, there’s a good chap. And the skipper would like to see you up on the bridge,” he said, grinning at Will.
“Right.” Will acknowledged.
“You wanted to see me sir?” he asked, looking at the seasoned features of Flight Lieutenant Fuller.
“Yes! It was to say thanks for stepping in at the last minute like this and you not being attached to the marine craft unit, it’s most appreciated.”
“Glad to be of help.”
“We were hard pressed to put three boats to sea.”
“Three boats?” Will queried.
“Yes! One HSL went out earlier to try and find the crew of the Halifax but their boat has got engine trouble and they will be out of action for a couple of hours, so a replacement boat was sent out to resume the search.”
“So there will be three boats looking then sir?” he asked, a little surprised.
“No, we’ve been ordered to search for an overdue fishing boat that’s missing south of here, it radioed in saying it was being attacked, by what, we don’t know as communication was broken during the transmission so we don’t know whether it was an aircraft or a surface vessel.”
Will didn’t react to the Flight Lieutenant remark, but did wonder if he knew anything about the unexplained things going on in the area that Isobel had mentioned earlier. “I’ve heard there has been quite a few strange incidents in these waters of late, do you think it’s down to enemy activity?”
“Who knows, personally I’ve seen nothing untoward,” Fuller answered, turning the boat onto its new course and going no further on the subject.
Which left Will thinking that he knew more than he was prepared to say.
Nearing the fishing boat’s last known position, they closed up to action stations with Will taking up his allotted position manning the port side twin Vickers machine guns. They searched the area for over an hour but to no avail before moving farther south towards the dark outline of an island that had a high and formidable coastline. Further searching revealed nothing, so after making a wide turn to seaward as dark clouds rolled in bringing heavy downpours of rain which reduced visibility down to a minimum, HSL 120 was put on a course for home. The first they realised they were under aerial attack was when heavy fire arched towards them, hitting the side of the hull and deck, and protective padding behind the front turret. Turning immediately, Fuller weaved the 63ft launch away from its deadly adversary at high speed, lifting its rakish bow clear of the water. Will could see from his position that he was well out of effective range to use the .303s and could only stand and watch as another line of hits from the Junkers guns raked across the rear deck, sending up a line of splinters as they tore in to the mahogany planking and hitting the gunner manning the 20mm Oerlikon. With the help of two other crew members, Will managed to get the wounded man below, then ducked for cover as another line of accurate fire found its mark, bringing down the mast which intermingled with wires and debris lay strewn across the aft cabin. Pushing to one side the remains of the rescue dinghy, he managed to make it to the unmanned Oerlikon, the only weapon capable of reaching their tormentor. Positioning himself in the two curved shoulder braces he swung the heavy weapon around and lined up on the circling aircraft and taking aim, he kept up a steady rate of fire until the drum feed was expended. Changing magazines, Will felt the dull thud as a cannon shell ricocheted off the Oerlikon’s protective armoured shield and flew across the deck, embedding itself into the side of the aft cabin. Opening fire, he suddenly thought of Isobel and what she had said to him about being careful but hits on the HSL’s stern quickly brought him back to reality as the Ju 88, bomb doors agape, closed in to finish them off with bombs. At least they would go down fighting he thought, as he watched the enemy aircraft through the gun sight race towards them. His steady stream of fire didn’t seem to deter the German pilot or the front gunner as a line of 20mm cannon shells spurted across the ocean’s surface and aft deck just behind where he was standing. Sudden evasive action by Fuller made the Junkers bombs drop wide but close enough for Will to get the full deluge from the last bomb that dropped just beyond 120’s stern. Swinging the Oerlikon round to follow the aircraft’s line of flight, he was able to fire one more burst before he was out of ammunition.
Their salvation came in the shape of an RAF Sunderland flying boat whose presence was shrouded by the fast failing light, which attacked the enemy aircraft from directly astern, an area that had limited protection by its MG131 machine gun which resulted in the Sunderland’s front gunner scoring hits on the enemy aircraft’s rear gun position. He gave a sigh of relief as he saw the Ju 88 turn away to seaward hotly pursued by the Sunderland; at least now they had a chance to make it back to Melruish even though they had been quite badly damaged during the engagement. The sound of a returning aircraft made him come to action stations and search the darkening sky, his apprehension soon curtailed as the welcoming sight of the Sunderland roared over them, climb and bank to starboard, no doubt asking Fuller if they needed assistance. Relinquishing his hold on the 20mm he suddenly felt drained of energy as he watched the friendly aircraft circle them several times using their Aldis Lamp before heading for its base. It was as he turned to go below that he felt the sharp pain in his lower back and realised he had been wounded; running his hand across the injured area he felt the jagged edges of wood splinters protruding through his blood soaked clothing. Steadying himself against the Oerlikon’s armoured shield he grimaced at the pain as the HSL’s speed was increased and was eternally grateful when he saw Flight Sergeant Nugent appear with his comforting words, “I’ve got you sir!” as his arm went around him to give him support and he was helped below to the sick bay.
Chapter Twelve
SWINGING the office chair gently from side to side Maynard cupped his hands together behind his head and rested his eyes. With no further development on the Raven case either at Filton or from Barrett at Gloucester his only alternative now was to return to London. Annoyed at not being able to make further progress he moodily checked his watch and was surprised at the lateness of the hour. Pushing himself up from the chair he unhooked his coat from the stand and switching out the light, made his way through to the main office. He had not expected to find anybody still working and had been surprised when he saw the figure of a female huddled over a desk in the partly-lit room and recognised it as being Samantha.
“I thought you would have been gone by now Sam,” he queried, walking across but not getting the answer he expected.
“I think I might have found something Mr Maynard,” she answered, scrutinizing a document.
“What is it?” Maynard asked, dropping his coat over an empty chair and pulling it up alongside her.
“It’s Lillian Gilbert’s file, there’s something that doesn’t ring true.”
“In what way Sam?”
“Well! It’s something she said to me a couple of weeks ago in the staff canteen. I didn’t make much of it at the time.”
“What did she say?” Maynard asked suspiciously.
“She said she nearly missed her train the night before due to working late.”
Maynard looked at her a few moments, his eyes encouraging her to bring about a conclusion.
Samantha smiled a
s she read his thoughts. “Why would she need a train when her address is given as Horfield, only ten or fifteen minutes away by bus? Take a look at her file.”
“Horfield, that’s going in towards Bristol city centre, isn’t it?” he asked, looking over Gilbert’s file.
“Yes, that’s right. She came to the Bristol Aeroplane Company from a law firm in Gloucester just prior to the outbreak of war. But the interesting part is her address when she was working in Gloucester, she lived at Primrose Cottage, Coaley. I’ve checked it on the map and it’s only about four miles from Moreton Valence airfield. I was wondering if she still has the place at Coaley and she is in rented accommodation in Horfield. It would be an ideal set-up, wouldn’t it?”
“It would indeed. Is there anything on Gilbert before she worked at the law firm?”
“No. But it’s not unusual for us just to have an employee’s previous employment on file. I see at the interview she produced a reference, which by all accounts was exemplary, so she must have been very highly thought of at Neville and Smithson’s.”
“I think it might be wise if we run some background checks on her. I’ll give Chief Inspector Barrett a ring at Gloucester and see what his team can dig up on Gilbert; I have a sneaky feeling that this just might be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for. Well done Sam! Now get yourself home, it’s late, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right, good night then sir.”
“Good night Sam.”
Maynard’s first reaction as he slowly read through Lillian Gilbert’s file was to ring Granville in London but he decided against it until he had something more concrete to go on. Picking up the telephone he put a call through to Barrett at Gloucester and was pleased when he came on the line, given the time.
“Good evening Chief Inspector, I didn’t know if I would get hold of you, being so late.”
“You were lucky to catch me, I was just about to leave the office. So how can I help you Mr Maynard?”
“I think for starters Chief Inspector, seeing we are working together, we can drop the formalities, don’t you? My first name is Henry,” Maynard suggested.
“Mine is Leslie,” Barrett replied, after a few moments of deliberation.
“Good, now we’ve got that out of the way I was wondering if your department could run a check on a Lillian Gilbert for me, Leslie.”
“Yes. I’m sure we can. What details have you got on the woman?” Barrett asked, writing down what was given to him on a piece of scrap paper that was near to hand. “It’s not a name that I’ve come across but I’ll run it through our records and see if it turns up anything. If not we’ll have to dig a little deeper starting with this law firm. What do you want me to do about this address at Coaley?”
“Just hang fire on that at the moment until we see what your investigation turns up on Gilbert’s former years before she joined Neville and Smithson; if my hunch is right I wouldn’t mind betting it’s a blank canvas. So how are your enquiries going so far?” he asked tactfully.
“Not very good I’m afraid, without a description of the man we’re after it’s hard going. We are slowly questioning all the known hotels, guesthouses and lodgings in the area but up to now we’ve drawn a blank.”
“Yes, I thought you would have a tough time of it without a description. I think what I’ll do in the morning is pay this address in Horfield a discreet visit and see what it turns up. After I’ve seen how the land lies there, I’ll then give London a ring and put them in the picture and on the basis of what I’ve found out at Horfield I will suggest I go up to Gloucester. I have a feeling we may well be on to something with this Gilbert woman but we have to be damn sure before we make a move; if our bird is somehow involved with her we don’t want him taking flight, but it would be a bonus if we could nab the pair of them.”
“I couldn’t agree more. In the meantime I’ll put things in motion here in the morning then wait to hear from you.”
“Thanks Leslie, I’ll be in touch.”
After replacing the receiver he spent another hour pondering over Gilbert’s file and as he repeatedly read it over the more convinced he became that Lillian Gilbert held the key. Closing the file he sat back a few moments to think things over before leaving a message for Sam to check out the times of the trains that stopped at Coaley.
*
Adele House lay in a quiet street just off the busy Gloucester Road. Parking at a distance so he could keep the building under surveillance, Maynard sat back to wait. It soon became obvious that none of the female residents leaving the lodgings remotely resembled the photograph he had of Gilbert, so before making enquiries from the proprietor he decided to ring Samantha to get her to confirm that Gilbert was at work and after several minutes wait, he was told that she was there. Ringing the doorbell, Maynard came face to face with a rather busty middle-aged woman who he thought was highly suited to the roll of being a landlady.
“Yes! Can I help you?” she said sharply, holding the door back with one hand while resting the other on her hip.
“Good morning! My name is Henry Maynard and I’m with the security service in London, I would like to ask you about one of your guests you have staying here,” he replied, showing the woman his credentials.
Somewhat taken aback and her self-esteem deflated, he was shown into a comfortable living room and asked if he would like to sit down, which Maynard excepted.
“I run a respectable establishment here Mr Maynard and have never had any trouble with any of my guests,” she said, playing nervously with the crucifix that hung loosely around her neck on a gold chain.
Maynard gave her a few moments to compose herself before answering. “I’m not disputing that Mrs…”
“Jefferies, Dolores Jefferies,” she replied, quickly.
“Mrs Jefferies I’m making enquiries about a Lillian Gilbert who I believe may have a room here,” Maynard said, in a quiet voice hoping it would put the woman at ease.
“Lillian Gilbert, we’ve no one staying here under that name.”
“Okay! Here is a picture of the woman; would you take a look at her – she may well be staying here but under another name.”
“No. I’m sorry there is nobody staying here that looks like that,” she answered, gesturing at the photograph, but as she was about to hand the photograph back she stopped herself to take a closer look. “Wait a minute, I think I do have a vague recollection of this woman; my goodness, she stayed here the first year of the war! Yes, 1939 if I recall. Just one moment, Mr Maynard, while I fetch the registration books for then, it will tell us exactly when she arrived and left, I’m very strict that all guests register when they first arrive.” She soon returned. “Here we are, 1939/40, now let’s see. She arrived here on the 15th August 1939 and left on the 12th of June the following year.”
Maynard wrote down the dates. “Did she by any chance leave a forwarding address?”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
“Mrs Jefferies, can you remember if she had any callers during that period, male or female, that may have turned up at an unusual hour, or maybe had a slight accent?” Maynard asked, knowing full well that he may be clutching at straws after this length of time.
“Well, what I remember of her she kept herself pretty much to herself, but there was one instance when a woman came to the door asking for her; early evening it was, she seemed a nice enough woman, quite friendly and chatty you know and she had a slight accent.”
Maynard leaned forward in the chair and with elbows resting on the arms clasped his hands together. “Did this woman give you her name?”
“I don't recollect her giving me her name.”
“So what happened next?”
“I asked her to come in and I left her sitting where you’re sitting now, then went up and told Lillian Gilbert she was here.”
“How did she react when you told her?”
“Well, as a matter of fact I think she was a little surprised, a bit flustered if you know what I mean, but
anyway she passed it off laughing and followed me down the stairs and from there we went our separate ways, me to the kitchen and her in here.”
“Did you notice if they went out together?”
“Yes, they did! I was coming along the passageway to come in here to do the blackout and I saw the pair of them leaving, that would have been about seven o’clock but I’ve no idea what time she came back.”
“Did you ever see this woman again?”
“No, only the once.”
“Did Gilbert have any other callers during the time she was here?”
“Not that I recall, but on the other hand some may have turned up when I wasn’t here. I do like to try and get to the cinema at least once a week if I can… I am a creature of habit.”
Maynard smiled at her candidness as he took out his pipe. “Do you mind if I smoke Mrs Jefferies?” he asked, pointing at the pipe.
“No, not at all. I do like the aroma of pipe tobacco, it reminds me of my late husband Arthur; he was a pipe smoker. Now! Would you like a cup of tea Mr Maynard?”
“Thank you, that would be very nice.” This gave him time to look around at the room’s regal furniture and good quality porcelain and silver that was securely locked in an elegantly scrolled early Victorian display cabinet. He had just been looking over the line of what Maynard took to be family photographs when his host returned carrying a silver tray. “I do beg your pardon, I was just admiring the furnishings you have. If you don’t mind me saying so Mrs Jefferies, you have some very nice items,” he remarked, watching her place the tray on a low centre table.
“That’s quite alright, most of the things in here are down to my husband, he was a collector of fine things; he ran an antiques business for many years in Bath before we bought this place. This is him taken on holiday just before he passed away, 55, that’s all he was,” she sighed, handing him the photo frame.
“I’m very sorry,” he answered, accepting the cup and saucer that was offered.
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