Stracandra Island

by Graham R Swift

  “That’s right,” he answered reciprocating Vine’s gesture. “So what have we got Inspector?”

  “Right! If you would like to follow me to the next coach I’ll show you, it’s a bit of a bloodbath in there, I hope you aren’t squeamish?”

  “No, not in the least, I’ve seen what this man’s capable of before.”

  Vines immediately stopped before entering the connecting passageway between the two carriages, turned and looked hard at Maynard. “Do you know who the man is that did this?”

  “I’ve a good idea, but I’ll probably be able to tell you more when I’ve seen the bodies. Tell me, have all the victims been shot?”

  Vines didn’t answer straight away but held Maynard’s gaze. “Why do you ask that?” he queried.

  “Because if it’s the man I think it is, he is also quite handy with a knife.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, one of the railway police officers was killed by stab wounds,” Vines added, as he watched Maynard fill his pipe, light it, then flick the used match through the open carriage window.

  “That sounds like our man.”

  “So how many has he killed?” Vines asked solemnly.

  Maynard took a long draw on his pipe. “With these three last night, that’s six that we know about.”

  “My God! And do you have a name for this mad-man?”

  “At the moment we don’t, all we have is a code name which we have got through his transmissions to Germany.”

  “And that is?” Vines asked.

  “The Raven.”

  “So what has this chap been up to?”

  “I can’t divulge that Inspector, but what I will say is that it is imperative we stop him one way or another before he gets back to Germany with the information he knows.”

  “That serious is it?”

  “Yes, it is. It could prolong the war,” Maynard emphasised.

  “Have you any idea where he might be trying to get to?”

  “My guess is Scotland, and some remote cove where he can be picked-up by submarine, as regards where that could be?” Maynard shrugged his shoulders while taking a few moments to ponder over his remark. “So we really need to find this character before he reaches the border and disappears into the Scottish Highlands.”

  “I can see that,” Vines frowned. “Well, we have road blocks set up on all the major roads around the area and police vehicles patrolling the side roads, so I’m sure something will turn up, given time.”

  Maynard gave Vines a worried look. “That’s something we haven’t got, is time; this man is extremely good at what he does and is always that one step ahead of us in whatever we do. He seems to take pleasure in killing, although up to now it’s only been people in authority; a soldier, two ordinary police officers and these three last night. What does worry me is how long it will be before some member of the public gets hurt through this man’s actions.”

  “Well, by all accounts the Scottish couple who he had shared the compartment with came very close to being shot; he levelled his weapon at them, but then for some reason decided against it after shooting the guard.”

  “Did he say anything to them?” Maynard queried.

  “As a matter of fact he did,” Vines answered, with the makings of a smile on his face. “He said ‘It’s your lucky day’ before closing the compartment door; he must have had a change of heart.”

  “I doubt that Inspector, more likely preserving the ammunition he’s got left. Where are the witnesses being held?”

  “We’ve set up an incident room in the village hall, they are being looked after there. The Scottish couple have really taken it badly, as you would when a gun is pointed at you; the local doctor is keeping an eye on them due to their age,” Vines concluded.

  “Okay! I’ll speak to them after I’ve seen the carnage in here,” Maynard suggested.

  “Right!” Vines said, frowning in a manner to warn Maynard that what he was about to see wasn’t pleasant.

  Distressing as it was, Maynard noted every detail; the positions of the three bodies, the random bullet hole in the woodwork, the compartment the Raven had used and the seating positions of its three occupants. “So this is the door he left by?” Maynard asked, standing and looking across the track bed and up the banking, noting the feet indentations in the flattened grass.

  “Yes, that’s right. We followed the footprints up and over the banking and halfway across the field, then we lost them due to a flock of sheep milling about. There is a gate on the far side of the field that leads to a farm track and eventually to a road, so it looks like that’s the route your man took,” Vines replied, excusing himself as he made for the compartment door after hearing his name called. “Yes, what is it Sergeant?” he asked.

  “Information has just arrived from Kendal police station that could be connected to what has happened here sir.”

  “And that is?” Vines asked, climbing down from the carriage, closely followed by Maynard.

  “The station has had a call from a Mr Draper; he has a smallholding about a mile and a half from here.”

  “Yes, go on Sergeant, what about this Mr Draper?” Vines said impatiently.

  “He’s had his van taken sir, sometime during the early hours of this morning.”

  “Have we got a full description of the vehicle?”

  “Yes, we have sir! Here are the details, and it has been passed on to all the road blocks and vehicles involved in the operation.”

  “Thank you,” Vines replied, taking the sheet of paper but noticing that the Sergeant seemed hesitant to leave. “Is there something else?” he asked sharply.

  “I’m afraid there is sir.”

  “Well, come on man, what is it?” Vines said irritably.

  “A van fitting that description was let through the road block on the A685.”

  “What time was this?” Maynard asked, breaking in on their conversation.

  “I don’t know that sir.”

  “Then bloody well find out!” Vines snapped.

  “Right sir!”

  “One moment before you go Sergeant, with your approval Inspector?”

  Vines nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Would you do something for me?”

  “If I can sir!”

  “Will you find out from Mr Draper roughly how much fuel was in the van when it was taken and why it took him so long to report the theft? Also, can you find out the particulars of the vehicle, like its engine size, fuel tank capacity and what it does mpg, you know the kind of thing.”

  “I’ll get on to it right away Mr Maynard.”

  “Thank you Sergeant…?”

  “Croft sir.”

  “Right, off you go Croft,” Vines said in a more amenable manner.

  “Well, Inspector, there’s not much more we can do here so shall we go and interview the witnesses and see what facts we can acquire from them?” Maynard suggested.

  The bulk of the witnesses information about the incident was sketchy; however the Scottish couple was able to provide Maynard with a good description of the Raven’s appearance and what had been said in conversation between them, albeit only brief. Snacking on sandwiches, washed down with a large pot of tea, Maynard eyed the clock on the wall and knew time was running out for them the nearer the German agent got to the border. Losing interest in the half-eaten sandwich, he got up and walked over to the window and stared at the rain as it beat against the glass pane. The sound of a vehicle coming to a stop and the opening and closing of a car door made him turn and focus his attention on the incident room door. A voice giving orders which Maynard instantly recognised as Vines before he burst into the room, the door banging hard against a filing cabinet behind.

  “Problems?” Maynard asked, retaking his seat.

  “You could say that,” Vines replied, throwing himself into a chair and stroking his forehead. “A police patrol car has reported seeing a Ford van fitting the description of Draper’s on the A66 near Temple Sowerby at around 07:30 this m
orning and, because it was being driven in a proper manner and it hadn’t been reported stolen, the police officer had no reason to stop it.”

  Maynard made a facial expression of displeasure. “Damn it… Damn it! Did Sergeant Croft get the information I asked for?” he said, quickly.

  “Yes, I have it here,” Vines replied, reaching in to his inside pocket.

  “And the reason why Mr Draper didn’t report the theft of his van until mid-morning?” he asked, taking the sheet of paper from Vines.

  “There lies another story. By all accounts, our Mr Draper is having a fling with a local widow woman who lives down the road from him, so he didn’t arrive back to his smallholding until after ten and saw his van had gone. Problems with his phone, which he has reported to the phone company, he had to go back to his lady friend to use her phone to contact us, so we didn’t receive the call until 10:48.”

  “By which time our German bird was well on his way,” Maynard concluded.

  “I’m afraid so,” Vines replied agreeing with Maynard’s assessment.

  “Well, what’s done is done Inspector. So what have we got here?” Maynard answered, unfolding the information sheet he had been given and beginning to read it out loud. “The Ford E83w, 10cwt van has a 10hp engine with a top speed of about 40mph. Its tank holds 7gallons of petrol and it does about 25-30 mpg, depending on the road conditions.”

  “And Draper said the tank was over half-full, he estimates there was about 4 gallons in it when it was taken,” Vines added.

  “So if we say an average speed of 25 mph, 4 gallons roughly gives the Raven a hundred mile radius. We don’t by any chance have a compass, do we Inspector?” Maynard asked, getting up and walking over to a large map of the area.

  “We certainly do! Williams, bring the compass over here, pronto,” he shouted at the woman police officer, who dutifully obeyed his command.

  “Thank you,” Maynard said, taking the instrument from her. “So Inspector, an inch is four miles, so six inches is twenty-four miles, right?” Maynard said, spreading the two points to the right length with the use of a ruler before turning it over four times. “That is ninety-six miles to there,” he said, drawing a pencil line to the north of Moffat. “After that, our man has either to steal more petrol or dump the van and find another mode of transport.”

  “That’s if he’s using the A74, there are several alternative routes he could use,” Vines suggested.

  Maynard didn’t answer straight away but stood scrutinizing the map. “Where would I be making for if I was in his shoes? Scotland is such a large area, it could be anywhere; there’s a hundred and one places he could go to meet a submarine; look at all these remote bays and coves along the coast of Galloway. But you know, Inspector, with all the choices he’s got, I still think it will be the Highlands and the coast up there where he is trying to get to… But God help me if I’m wrong!”

  Vines sighed. “Well, the Scottish police are on full alert, so it looks like we are back to the waiting game again, I’m afraid.”

  *

  Bayer felt quite pleased with himself evading the police road block like he had, as he drove along the coastal route towards Ruthwell, the road then swinging north towards Clarencefield and an area that according to his map had several large woodlands where he could possibly hide the van and make good his escape by way of the railway that passed close by. Driving at a reasonable speed so as not to attract too much attention, he eventually saw what he was looking for, a single track road with a bridge over the railway line that ran through a cutting below. Activity around the buildings adjacent to the tracks made him look for another alternative which he found, but with one drawback, the road ran under the railway line which put paid to his plan for boarding a passing train, but it did give good access to the wooded area beyond and the road seemed to have seen little use with grass growing up through its cracked surface. With the end of the road in sight which gave way to a pathway, and with thoughts of turning the van around, he saw what looked like the remnants of a cart track. Stopping the van he ran a careful eye over the entrance; although overgrown and narrow it did offer a solution to his predicament as to what to do with the vehicle. He was surprised how the van made easy work of the difficult circumstances as he pressed deeper into the dense undergrowth, the track eventually coming to an end beside a pool of stagnant water. Switching off the engine he got out and cautiously retraced the route he had taken and was pleased to see the van’s entry had left very few visible signs; returning, he then spent a vigorous half hour covering the rear of the vehicle completely with small branches. He knew he needed sleep before nightfall so he could undertake the next part of his plan, but he had one necessary task to do before he settled down in the van’s interior, and that was to find the easiest way to the edge of the wood and shortest distance across the open ground to the bridge over the railway line. With perseverance and a ball of twine he found behind the driving seat he eventually marked out a route he could follow in the darkness.

  *

  He felt comfortable and surprisingly warm as his eyes became accustomed to the dark surroundings. He had slept for a full ten hours according to his watch. Opening the van door he threw out his travel bag then eased himself out into the cold night air which quickly revived him from his drowsiness. A clear sky and a full moon made following the twine to the edge of the wood easy; there he stopped, to take in the open ground he had to cross and for any movement in the vicinity of the farm and its buildings on the far side of the bridge. Satisfied all seemed quiet, he set off walking at a leisurely pace but never taking his eyes off the danger point that was the farm, reaching the bridge buttress, he set about lengthening the strap on his bag; with it firmly positioned across his back he peered down, the tracks prominent in the moon’s glare. He didn’t have long to wait before he heard the sound of a train approaching, this being a south bound passenger train speeding towards Carlisle, its noise making Bayer wonder how anybody could sleep living so close the tracks as the farm house was. The first of the up trains was a passenger train which he ignored, the second he recognised as a goods train working hard with its heavy load on the uphill gradient. Crouching behind the wall so as not to be observed by the engine crew he let the engine pass under the bridge, then standing directly over the centre of the line he watched the different variety of goods wagons make there steady progress towards him. The three box vans were attached to the end of the train; the third one Bayer noticed was coupled to the guard’s van and although blacked out he felt sure would be occupied. Quickly positioning himself on the opposite wall he timed the jump perfectly, landing in the middle of the roof of the first van; lying still for a few moments, he then eased himself over to the side and looked down at the doors below. The cold night air stung his face and penetrated his clothing and he knew he had to get inside or freeze to death. The two doors he could see were not padlocked and only fastened by a hinged device that was held together with what looked like substantial pin on a chain. Although the train’s speed wasn’t fast, Bayer knew trying to open the door while clinging to the van’s side would be highly dangerous – one mistake and he could fall and be seriously hurt or even killed, but he knew he had to try. He decided before attempting the risky manoeuvre to see if there was an easier way to reach the doors from between the vans, keeping flat, he pushed himself forward along the roof until he reached where he could look down over the end and saw there were two large freight doors held in place by a securing bar down the middle. Shivering intensely now from the cold this way seemed the better of the two options. Turning around, he slowly let his body slide over the edge of the swaying roof, his right foot eventually locating the central bracket that held the door locking bar in place. The ball of his foot quivered uncontrollably as it took the weight of his body, but it did give him the support he needed to get a better hold by hooking his hands through a gap between the top of the doors and the framework.

  Bayer felt the train’s speed start to increase as it r
eached the top of the gradient, the momentum buffeting him against the cargo doors and as the track raced by below the noise became deafening from the coupling and buffers as they took the strain of the heavy load. Releasing his grip with his right hand, he slowly reached down to try and grasp the handle to unlock the doors. Cursing from the cold and frustration he had been within fingertip distance when the inevitable happened, losing his foothold he found himself hanging precariously by his left hand. Screaming from intense pain from his stretched muscles he knew he couldn’t hold on for much longer as he desperately tried to find something to grip on, to stop his downward descent to a certain death under the wheels. Cut, bruised and with the weight of the bag on his back pulling him down, Bayer knew, as he hung there, he was out of options, so with last thoughts of his family and satisfied he had done his best for the Fatherland, he let go. Sliding down he shouted obscenities from the extreme pain as the door hinges ripped his clothes and tore at his skin; falling heavily he came to rest wedged between the buffer and the coupling chain, the travel bag having saved him from falling through onto the tracks. His saviour came from the door handle that hung downwards and within arm’s reach, and with a combination of effort and determination he eventually pulled himself up into a standing position. Bracing himself by having one foot on the buffer and the other on the top of the hook he cautiously opened the van door that revealed a mixed load of boxed and bagged produce that was for victualing a ship, its name stamped clearly for all to see. After throwing his travel bag into the space between the top of the load and the van roof he then, by stabbing at the contents of the bags with his knife, was able to climb inside, tying the doors together with twine he cut from the boxes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WEARING only her underwear, Griselda walked from the bedroom to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror; a smile spread across her face as she saw that her breasts were still firm from her lovemaking with Matthew. She had always enjoyed sex whatever time of day, but there was something incredibly relaxing about doing it in the morning. Matt had brought out the animal in her the night before, which had been intense, but the few hours of sleep, then his gentle caresses, had awakened her womanly passion. After washing and brushing her teeth she dressed, putting on the silk stockings Matt had given her: ‘…ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,’ he had said to her, winking; most likely from the black market, she thought, smoothing down her skirt, then standing to admire her appearance in the mirror. There were the usual early risers in the dining room who acknowledged her when she entered, plus a young couple who Matt had said were there for a couple of nights of ‘hanky panky,’ and by the speed they consumed their breakfast and left the room giggling, Griselda suspected their bed was going to see more action. Sitting drinking her tea at the table by the window, which Matthew knew she liked, she was beginning to have concerns about the length of time it was taking Martha to make contact. She had told Matt that she would require the room for the week, but after their first night together he had just grinned, and said, ‘Why? You won’t be using it.’ She had finally been able to persuade him to let her keep the room so as not to arouse the suspicions of the other guests that they were lovers, which he agreed to. She was up in the room by the allotted time; standing partly-concealed by the curtain, she drew steadily on a cigarette as she watched the road for any sign of movement from the Warner household. Stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray, she was suddenly distracted by the sounds of lovemaking coming from the adjacent room, which brought a smile to her face as she thought of her own indulgence earlier. Martha was almost opposite the hotel when Griselda saw her and she nearly missed the pre-arranged signal of her adjusting her hat, which meant she had to follow her. Quickly grabbing her bag and coat, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her, then descending the stairs in an unhurried manner, hoping she wouldn’t see Matthew in reception, who no doubt would want to know where she was going. Fortunately, to her relief, she found it unoccupied. She wasn’t able to get close to Martha while waiting for the tram, but with standing-room only on the lower deck she did eventually, by various means, get close enough for the transfer of information to be made without any exchange of words from either woman. Alighting from the tram at the next stop Griselda deliberately paid its passengers no heed as it rattled on its way. Waiting patiently for the next one, she fared better when it arrived; with the morning rush now dissipating, she was able to get a seat on the top deck for the short ride into the city centre. Buying a morning paper, she then chose one of the larger cafés, purchased a cup of tea and made for one of the quieter tables away from prying eyes. Using the newspaper as a shield, she opened the envelope which contained a quantity of money and a rail ticket to Southampton, also instructions telling her to go to the lodgings at the address given where she would be contacted in due course. Griselda was angry with the orders she had been given: she wanted to go home; the strain over the last six and a half years were beginning to show both mentally and physically. “Christ! Haven’t I done enough for the Third Reich?” she said quietly to herself while putting the letter and its contents into her bag. ‘What the hell was there in Southampton that was so important?’ she thought, drinking the remainder of the tea. She was just about to get up to leave when she suddenly thought of Matthew; he had brought something into her life which she had never felt before – love. Griselda knew she was going to miss him when she left, but telling him she was going to leave the following morning would be the hardest part. For the next few hours she wandered the streets, going in and out of the stores that hadn’t been damaged by the bombing while turning things over in her mind. She thought of the lies she had told him; where she came from, the false name and being in Manchester to visit a sick aunt all weighed heavily on her mind, but what annoyed her most were the feelings she was now having for him… feelings she had never had for anyone else before, and for a damned Englishman of all people. She made her way back to the hotel by mid-afternoon. Matthew was in the reception when she got back, booking in a new arrival, and on seeing her, he beckoned with his eyes for her to go into the lounge.