“Had a good day?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
“Yes! I spent the day with my aunt,” she answered.
“How is she?”
“A lot better, thanks.”
“You will have to bring her over when she has fully recovered so I can meet her.”
Griselda smiled weakly. The constant lying irritating her. “Yes, I will!”
“Good, that’s settled then. Would you like a drink? There’s something I’d like to ask you.”
Griselda was both surprised and intrigued by his remark. “Bit early for the bar being open, isn’t it?” she said, glancing at her watch.
“It’s open when I say so,” he winked, going behind the bar and picking up two glasses. “Scotch?”
“Yes, please. So what is it you want to ask me, Matthew?” she asked, watching him fill the glasses with a generous measure of whisky.
“Where to begin?” he said, bringing them over and sitting down next her.
“I think from the beginning,” she smiled.
“Okay! Well, you know my wife Helen was killed in one of the early bombing raids.”
“Yes, I know that,” Griselda answered, wondering where Matthew was going with this.
“Well, since her death, I won’t deny it, I have had a few relationships with ladies, mostly through them staying here at the hotel.”
“Like me, you mean?” Griselda said sharply. “And I would think it’s more than a few, Matthew Raines, by the seductive décor in your bedroom, it’s like a bordello in there.”
“Yes, I know, but that could soon be altered… if.”
“If what?” Griselda interrupted.
“If… if you would stay here and help me run the place. You must know how I feel about you? I’m crazy about you Valerie and I’m sure you must feel the same way.”
This was one thing Griselda hadn’t anticipated. She knew their relationship over the last four nights had been a fairly torrid affair, but for Matthew to ask her to come and live with him and help run the ‘Raines’ caught her completely off-guard. “It’s not possible Matthew, I have my life back home, my work, I can’t just drop everything like that,” she blurted out, furious at putting herself into such a situation as this.
“But why not?” Matthew persisted, gently resting his hand on hers.
“Because I can’t and that’s an end to it,” she said sharply, pulling her hand out from under his. “We’ve had our fun, in fact I was going to tell you this evening that I’m leaving in the morning and for you to make my bill up,” she said, getting up to leave.
“But I don’t want you to leave!” he replied, getting up quickly and standing in front of her before she could reach the door. “I’m in love with you.”
Griselda felt herself begin to weaken as Matthew put his arms around her and slowly pulled her towards him and kissed her, a kiss full of such passion she closed her eyes to hold back the tears. The sound of the reception bell put an end to their embracing, which Griselda was thankful for; at least it would give her a chance to think of a plausible idea to curtail Matthew’s enthusiasm for her to come and live with him. “We’ll speak later, now go and see who wants you at reception, it may be someone wanting a room,” she said, kissing him. Going to her own room, she packed the few items of clothing she had bought during her stay into a small second-hand case which she had seen in a pawnbrokers, during one of her visits into Manchester. After finishing her packing, she closed the curtains and switched on the bedside light, then kicking off her shoes she lay on the bed thinking how to get out of the awkward situation she had got herself into. In her heart she knew in any other time she would have accepted Matthew’s offer without any hesitation, but these were no ordinary times, this was wartime and Germany and Britain were locked in a bitter conflict and although she was beginning to fall for him he was still the enemy and she had a job to do.
*
It was the sound of voices and rail traffic being shunted nearby that woke him; light streamed in through the crack above the door and Bayer soon realised he was in a busy goods terminal, but where? He had no way of knowing. Cursing his stupidity for falling asleep, he had no option but to wait out the daylight hours until nightfall. Hungry, he snacked on the contents of the ship’s victuals, but with the constant threat of detection by the rail staff, he kept the Walther close at hand in case he had to make a break for freedom. The hours seemed to drag by painfully slowly but to his relief, no attempt was made to unload the rail van he was in and as the late afternoon light began to fade into darkness, Bayer noticed a drop in activity. “Most likely the change-over period,” he said quietly to himself, slowly pushing open the door and climbing down onto the buffer where he waited a few moments to listen, before jumping down onto the track bed. It took him a good twenty minutes to work his way through the lines of stationary trucks to the side of the goods yard, which to his annoyance he found was protected by a high brick wall, its top covered in broken glass. With no chance of making good his escape that way, he had no alternative but to try and find another way out. Keeping in the shadow of the wall and hidden by the lines of goods wagons, he felt his way along in the darkness, which eventually opened out into a large area where the lines branched off into several large freight sheds, their entrances lit by overhead lamps. With the sound of the night staff in the vicinity and engine movement from within one of the sheds, he decided his best course of action was to retrace his footsteps. Turning, he was suddenly confronted by a light shining in his face.
“Who are you? And what you doing here?” a voice asked in a broad Scottish accent.
“I work here,” Bayer replied, shielding his eyes with his left hand as his right hand went down for the knife in his pocket.
“I’ve not seen you before, what’s your name?”
“Blake!… Harry Blake and I only started tonight,” Bayer answered, edging closer to his victim.
“Alastair never said there was anyone new starting tonight.”
“Who’s Alastair?” Bayer queried, now within striking distance.
“You don’t know who Alastair Logan is? He is the night shift supervisor. I think you had better come with me,” the Scotsman said suspiciously.
Bayer’s response was both quick and deadly. “I don’t think so,” he grinned, forcing the man back against the open door of an empty rail van and driving the knife into the man’s heart while covering his mouth to stifle his scream. Keeping the lifeless body upright with his own weight, he managed to lift and roll the corpse into the van and quietly close the door.
Steady rain started to fall as he walked the dark city streets. The dash from the scene of his last murder, hiding from passing trains and the climb up the bridge buttress to the street above had all added to his weariness; he needed a good night’s sleep before attempting the final phase of his journey. He knew his only chance of finding somewhere to stay for the night in a place the size of Glasgow was to ask, not his normal way of doing things, but under the circumstances his only hope; passengers alighting from a tram gave him the opportunity he was looking for. Knowing the aggressive manner of his last encounter with a Scotsman, he wondered if their women might be more amenable as his eyes lighted on three girls, obviously friends by their chatter as they came towards him.
“Evening ladies! I’ve just arrived in Glasgow and wondered if you know of lodgings close by where I could get a room for the night?” he asked politely.
“Aye!” The middle girl answered immediately. “Just walk along Paisley Road here until you come to a major fork in the road, bear right there and you are in Edmiston Drive, that’s Ibrox, there you will see the Glasgow Rangers Football Ground on your right, there are several guesthouses around there.”
“Thanks!” Bayer replied, smiling.
“You’re welcome,” the prettiest of the three girls answered flirtatiously, which set the other two off giggling.
The glow from the unshaded light bulb gave the room a dismal feel as it illuminate
d its sparse contents. Bayer shivered from the cold as he inserted the coin into the gas meter, then sat down on the bed and turned over in his mind the latest sequence of events. Being so close to where he had committed his last kill didn’t sit easy with him, but he knew he needed to rest before he started the final leg into the Scottish Highlands. Unfolding the map, he spread it out on the bed and studied the terrain and course he would have to take. He could see from the map his objective was Oban on the Sound of Kerrera; from there he could take a ferry to the Western Isles, but the problem was, which route to take? With the police now on full alert, to take the direct route would be suicidal whichever form of transport he used. His only option was to keep off the main routes and on the back roads as much as possible. With the room beginning to feel the benefit from the gas fire, he stripped off his clothes and ventured over to the small but adequate sink where he was surprised to find the water was reasonably hot. After an all-over wash and shave he dressed, then sitting on the edge of the bed, he checked the Walther for ammunition. Satisfied, he pocketed the weapon for ease of use, turned off the fire and light and left the room. Locking the door behind him, he made his way down the dimly-lit stairway to the front door and out into the cold night air. With several cafés to choose from within walking distance of his lodgings, he picked one whose window menu prices suited the money he had in his pocket, which was now getting seriously low after having to pay up front for his room before the proprietor would give him the key. It was while eating that he became aware that he was being smiled at by an overweight, middle-aged man in a black shabby suit who acknowledged him with a nod of the head when he saw Bayer looking at him. Bayer read the signs; he’d been in the dark, seedy world of back street bars and cafés too long not to recognise when he was being propositioned for sex. He had done many unsavoury things in his life but that wasn’t one of them – he was purely heterosexual when it came to that game, so his first reaction was to get up and leave, until a thought crossed his mind – these type of men usually have plenty of money to pay for their needs, and money was something he was running short of. Beckoning with his eyes for them to meet outside, he ran his hand along the knife in his pocket as he got up to leave, then thought better of it; two kills in the same area in one night could put him in danger of being discovered if the police started checking the lodgings in the area. The detached house lay in a deserted side street and Bayer bided his time until they were inside before rendering the man unconscious with a severe blow to the back of the head while he was pouring them both a drink. Taking the man’s identity card and removing what money he had in his wallet, he then systematically went through drawers and cupboards which yielded a clothing book and quite a substantial amount of cash which he pocketed.
*
“It’s for you sir – a Mr Granville,” the young policewoman said, handing him the phone.
“Maynard!”
“We have her, Henry!” Granville shouted down the phone in a somewhat ecstatic voice.
“Who? Lillian Gilbert?” Maynard asked rationally.
“Yes! She was arrested this morning in Manchester by the railway police.”
Maynard couldn’t contain himself. “Bloody hell Clifford, why has it taken this long for me to be notified of her arrest, what are we playing here… catch up? I have this Raven bastard leaving a trail of bodies halfway across the ruddy country and we have no idea where he is and the only person who could possibly give us some inclination to where he may be heading is her!”
“Calm down Henry,” Granville chuckled.
“Calm down! I’ve been sat on my backside here in Kendal all day twiddling my thumbs and she’s been in custody since this morning, how do you expect me to feel? You know as well as I do, Clifford, if this Raven character gets into the Scottish Highlands we may never get our hands on the murdering sod.”
“Yes… yes, I know how you feel Henry, but we have to give the police a little slack on this one. Gilbert was arrested by all accounts after a heated argument with the clerk in the ticket office; she was taken by the railway police to their office more or less to give her time to calm down, then they were just going to release her.”
“So what happened?” Maynard asked, his temper receding slightly.
“Well, she asked if she could have a cigarette and it was as her shoulder bag was being handed to her by a woman officer that she noticed that Gilbert’s bag was surprisingly heavy. On further inspection, concealed in a side pocket they found a Walther pistol – that set the alarm bells ringing and the police were called.”
“So where is she now?” Maynard asked.
“She is being held at Bootle Street Police Station at the moment. In the morning she is going to be taken to Camp 020 Interrogation Centre at Latchmere House at Ham Common.”
“Christ! You know what that place is like, Clifford?”
“Yes! They will get her to talk there, alright.”
“Can you stop it?”
“Why in God’s name would you want me to do that? It’s information we want from her and the people at Latchmere are the best in the business to get it from her,” Granville replied sharply.
“Because of the time involved getting her down there and getting the information from her. Hell! The Raven could be through the Highlands and away by submarine by the time that happens, had you thought of that?… And what’s more I’d like to have a crack at her first.”
“Do you think you could do any better than them at Ham Common, Henry?” Granville asked.
“Well, I’d like to be given the opportunity before they get their hands on her,” Maynard answered, in a somewhat pleading tone.
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