Stracandra Island

by Graham R Swift

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I thought Rowena was back,” she said, in a surprised tone.

  “What made you think that?” Bayer asked, admiring her fine features and long red hair.

  “Rory the postman said he saw smoke coming from the chimney, so I automatically thought she had come back to see if the house was okay, what with her staying in Perth with her mother while Neil, her husband, is away fighting,” she answered.

  “Yes, I know she is. I’m just renting the place for a few days, a bit of peace and quiet while I’m on leave, if you know what I mean,” Bayer replied, hoping his explanation would appease the woman’s curiosity.

  “Oh! I understand,” she smiled, taking a step backwards with the intention of leaving.

  “And thank the postman for me, for being so observant, I’m sure we can all sleep safely in our beds knowing he is keeping a careful eye on things,” he added, coldly.

  “Yes, I will! Rory doesn’t miss much,” she grinned, before heading back to her car.

  He now knew time wasn’t on his side. It wouldn’t be long before the woman talked and he may well have a visit from the police. After watching the woman leave he quickly gathered up his things and, after stuffing them roughly into his travel bag, made his way to the garage. The Singer’s engine started easily after its earlier warm up, but as he drove it out into the cold light of day he noticed the fuel gauge was reading the vehicle was low on fuel. At least it was enough to get him out of the area, he thought, engaging first gear and driving the vehicle down the drive and out onto the road.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “SO YOU ARE STILL no nearer knowing where this man Bayer is making for?” Vines said, rubbing the palms of his hands together as he watched Maynard finish reading, then put the information he had got from Griselda Zweig in his briefcase.

  “You are quite right Inspector, we are no closer to knowing. But what we do have is his name and what kind of man he is, which isn’t much I grant you, but it’s a start,” Maynard replied.

  “Do you think she has given you all she knows about Bayer?” Vines asked, while making a letter T with his fingers at the woman police officer who immediately got the message and headed off in the direction of the canteen.

  “I think so. There’s no doubt she was terrified of this man Bayer and what he was going to do to her before he left their love nest, that’s why she went on the run.”

  “So you think he had orders to kill her? One of their own?” Vines said frowning.

  “Oh, I’m sure he had. What he has found out would be of top priority to the Germans and had to be got back to Germany at all cost. Zweig was of no further use to him, just an obstacle to be got rid of, mainly to stop her talking if she should fall into our hands, which is exactly what has happened. Unfortunately for us she doesn’t know where he is making for.”

  Vines nodded in agreement.

  “But there is still more we need-to-know about the information she has passed on while she was working at Filton and who her contacts over here are. She’s got to have had some help of some kind getting established in this country before the war started, so you can bet your bottom dollar that they could be still active.”

  “Nazi sympathisers, you mean?” Vines added, raising his eyebrows.

  This time it was Maynard who nodded in agreement. “She was picked up on London Road Station and in possession of a ticket taking her back south. Why? There must have been some reason for her to come all the way up from Bristol to Manchester. My guess is there is someone there she knows she could trust and would possibly help her, even get her out of the country, and this is what I’ve got to try and find out.” Maynard shook his head. “But I can’t help feeling we are running out of time with this Raven character. I wouldn’t mind betting he is well into the Scottish Highlands by now and we haven’t a damn clue where he is, or making for. We’ve got a bloody disaster on our hands, Inspector, if he gets back with what he’s found out, months of work handed to the Germans on a plate.”

  Vines picked up a pencil off his desktop and turned it over with his fingers. “You’ve never said what this man Bayer has found out and I’ve never asked you, but if he gets back with what he knows, could it prolong the war?”

  Maynard had come to like Vines during the short period he had known him, a trust and friendship had grown between them so he decided with the room being empty he would take him into his confidence on how grave the consequences could be.

  “I don’t know about prolonging the war, but it won’t help matters,” he said pausing a few moments before continuing. “What I’m about to tell you Inspector you must keep to yourself at all cost. If it gets out, it will be both of us for the chop, do you understand?”

  “Yes, I think I’ve got the picture,” Vines answered, rather taken aback by the emphasis on the three words ‘for the chop’.

  “We have designed and built a new type of turbojet engine, it’s called the Welland. Two of these engines have been fitted into a single-seat interceptor fighter aircraft which will reach speeds of over 400mph and it has been test flown from an airfield near Gloucester.”

  “So is this what Bayer’s got hold of, the info on these jet engines?”

  “Yes! Unfortunately he has.”

  “But how? Vines asked.

  “He got onto the airfield and into the hangar through a window where the aircraft was, no doubt photographed all he wanted to and got clean away after murdering the guard who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, poor sod,” Maynard answered, as he watched the policewoman enter the room carrying two mugs of tea and place them consecutively in front of them before resuming her position behind her desk.

  “What are you going to do about Zweig?” Vines asked, taking a sip of tea.

  Maynard looked at him. “I’ll get back to her in due course. My main concern at the moment is stopping Bayer getting back. But since he took that van, there’s been nothing, no sightings of the vehicle, no reports of any more killings, nothing. It’s as if he has vanished into thin air, he must have hidden that damn thing somewhere. We know he can’t have got far into Scotland with it by the amount of fuel it had – so where the bloody hell is it?”

  Getting up from behind his desk Vines walked over to the large wall map and slowly cast an expert eye over the area in question. “I’ve just had a theory. There’s a lot of remote places to the north and west of Dumfries where you could dump a vehicle. But! The problem after you’ve done that is getting out of the area, and there are only four ways we know he could achieve that. Firstly on foot, which to my way of thinking is unlikely, given the weather conditions and the distance to cover. The second and third options are the risky ones, which are for him to either steal another vehicle or hitch a lift, both of which hold a certain degree of danger of him being reported to the authorities.”

  Maynard was intrigued by Vine’s rational thinking so got up and walked over to the map to see what area his attention was drawn to. “And the fourth option?” he asked.

  Vines grinned and tapped the map with his pencil to the west of Annan. “I wouldn’t mind betting that’s where Bayer has stashed the van, in this area here around Clarencefield. There is plenty of woodland in that area and also, a railway line, which heads northward to Glasgow, what more could he ask for?”

  Maynard folded his arms as he studied Vines’ logic. “You know Inspector you could be right, it’s been staring us in the face all along, of course that’s what he’d make for – the damn railway. Can you put a call through immediately to the Dumfries police to get them to do a thorough search of the area around Clarencefield for the van and also the police at Glasgow to see if there have been any unusual incidents in the last twenty-four, no, forty-eight hours, like stabbings or shootings, preferably on the south side of the city.”

  Vines grinned. “Right! I’ll do that straight away. Bryant, get me the Dumfries police will you, pronto?” he ordered, his hand hovering above the telephone as he waited to be put through.


  Maynard sipped slowly on his tea as he listened to the two calls being made, his interest aroused by what was said during the call to the Glasgow police.

  “Thank you very much Detective Inspector, that information has been very helpful. I will contact the Irvine police straight away on that number you gave me and see what more they can tell me. And thanks again for your help and cooperation. Oh! And don’t hesitate to contact us here at Kendal if you need our help at any time,” Vines replied, replacing the receiver. “That was D.I. McKinnon, sounds a nice chap, very helpful.”

  Maynard didn’t answer, but waited patiently for Vines to fill him in on what he had just been told.

  “Right! A body has been found in an empty rail van at Ardeer, that’s near a place called Stevenson which is in the Irvine area on the coast. By all accounts it was going to be loaded with explosives from a factory there when the body was discovered. It had one single stab wound in the area of the heart, but most interestingly, those rail vans had been brought down from a goods yard in central Glasgow on the south side of the river. Now, McKinnon said it is heavily used by goods trains travelling north to Glasgow, with a lot of the freight bound for the ships in the Clyde docks.”

  “So where is this goods yard, exactly?” Maynard asked.

  “Just off Paisley Road, here,” Vines answered, drawing a circle around the rail terminal.

  Maynard stared hard at the area Vines had indicated with his pencil. “And you can bet there’s plenty of accommodation to be had around there with it being near the Prince’s Dock. Ideal for our man to lie low, while he plans his next move.”

  “My thoughts too!” Vines added.

  “Yes, and by now the murdering sod will be well-clear of the city and out into the Highlands,” Maynard concluded.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ISOBEL couldn’t help showing a look of disappointment on her face when she asked when he would be leaving to return to his unit.

  “The Doc said I could be discharged tomorrow, so I’ll catch the early boat back on Sunday.”

  “I see. I don’t suppose it occurred to you to ask him if you were fit enough to go back flying?”

  Will looked at her and smiled. “As a matter of fact I did.”

  “And?” Isobel asked, giving him a questioning look.

  “He said he could see no problems with me flying.”

  “So how do you feel about sitting in the confines of a gun turret for long hours? Don’t forget you are just getting over two operations on your lower back. If you want my advice, Will, I think you should give yourself a little more time.”

  Will frowned at the thought of spending long boring hours in the armoury with Nelson watching his every move. “Maybe you’re right,” he answered, knowing full well that at the first opportunity to get airborne, he would jump at the chance. “Isobel, if I write to you, will you write back?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. “I know you have had a bit of a downer on us RAF types, being let down by that guy at the Air Sea Rescue unit, but I would really like for us to keep in touch. Hell, that didn’t come out right did it, sounded a bit formal?”

  “It did a bit,” she laughed. “And of course I’ll write back to you.”

  “Thanks! I’ve really enjoyed having you visit me while I’ve been in here.” He paused a moment to choose his words carefully. “I’ve also grown very fond of you, Issy.”

  “Isobel,” she corrected, smiling at him.

  Taking hold of her hand he returned her smile. “Sorry, Isobel. But do you understand what I’m trying to say?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course I do. You’re hoping our relationship will develop into something more serious if we write to one another, that’s what you are trying to say, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “Do you want to know what I think, Will Madden?”

  Will looked at her a few moments before replying. “What’s that?”

  “I think you are a bit of a romantic at heart,” she replied, her eyes holding his.

  Strangely, Will didn’t feel embarrassed by her remark but just nodded in agreement.

  *

  Although the earlier fog had now lifted, the snow-covered ice made driving treacherous. The Singer’s well-worn tyres gave Bayer several anxious moments as the dated motorcar made slow progress up Glen Croe and over the summit of the ‘Rest and be Thankful’ and through Glen Kinglas to Cairndow. He had been in sight of Lochawe when the vehicle’s engine started to misfire which Bayer guessed was due to the fuel tank gauge reading nearly empty. Driving off the road into the entrance to a field he managed to switch the car engine off before it ran out of fuel completely. His first thought had been to abandon the vehicle and look for an alternative form of transport but on getting out he suddenly had an afterthought; it was common practice for owners of these old cars to often carry a spare can of petrol. Unlocking the rear boot door he was more than surprised to see not just one, but two cans of petrol, plus a small funnel for the purpose of filling the tank. Quickly filling the vehicle with the two gallons and with the fuel gauge now showing a healthy reading, Bayer tried the starter. It took a few moments for the engine to settle down to a rhythmic beat before he engaged first gear and pulled out onto the road. Moving smoothly through the gearbox Bayer felt confident that he would get back to Germany as he headed the Singer towards the ‘Pass of Brander’ and on to Oban.

  He wasn’t surprised to see there was a lot of military activity going on when he arrived, and the sight of RAF seaplanes at anchor in the bay had done nothing to deflate his confidence as he drove towards the docks and parked next to a large truck whose driver seemed to be in a deep state of sleep. After making enquiries where to purchase a ticket he made his way to the booking office and by its empty appearance could only mean two things, that there were no sailings on a Saturday or the boat had already sailed. Tapping the booking office counter with a pencil that lay to hand, it was several minutes before a clerk appeared.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, sitting down.

  “I would like to book a passage to Lochboisdale,” Bayer replied.

  “Aye, that’s no bother at all, but I’m afraid there are no sailings until early next week, that’s when the next cargo boat leaves for the Outer Islands.”

  Bayer had been expecting such an answer and reluctantly nodded in agreement.

  “Now, will you be travelling alone?” the shipping clerk asked.

  “Yes!”

  “And would that be a single or return, sir?”

  “Single,” he answered.

  “And can I see your I.D. card?” the clerk asked.

  “Certainly,” he replied, sliding the beige card across the counter to him.

  With the ticket safely in his wallet and relevant information about the sailing time he made his way back to where he had parked the Singer to consider the best method of getting rid of it. To leave it in the town or on the docks was too risky. Bayer knew it would soon draw the attention of the authorities and create an investigation, so his best option was concealment. Taking out his map from his travel bag he decided to drive a little way out of town on the coastal road that ran adjacent to the Sound of Kerrera, a decision that paid dividends by the way of a track leading off the road to a derelict building that was surrounded by several old discarded farm implements. With the vehicle tucked neatly inside the walled structure and covered over by an old tarpaulin he then set about the walk back to Oban; keeping clear of any properties he encountered on the way, he was back in the town centre in just over an hour. After consuming an excellent meal comprised of locally caught fish he then enquired from the café owner the whereabouts of reasonably priced accommodation for the night; the proprietor was most obliging by ringing a nearby hotel to enquire about the availability of a room on his behalf.