Invisible Foe

by Ronald Cove

  All these thoughts going through Martins mind caused him to suddenly burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, as he realised that’s probably exactly what she was expecting him to do that night. After a while however the humour deserted him, when he also realised his new landlady possessed all the attributes that could in fact make many a man really seek her favours.

  *

  As I closed the front door in Stanley Road and headed towards a fast closing front gate, which DI Selby had left wide open leaving said gate to swing shut under its own steam, Selby and Willis having both preceded me, I was once again accosted by my scruffy snotty nose little urchin from across the road. This time however, I needed no decoding machine, he spoke in perfect English. “Oi mister, where yer been? ‘ere, last time I saw yer, you and that other bloke both wore bleedin’ turbins round yer bonses, wot were yer, in bleedin’ disguise or sumick?” he rattled off for half the street to hear. I immediately gave him a threatening look. “No son we wasn’t in disguise, some bugger had given us a nasty bang on our ‘eads, and some ‘elpfull Doctor said we must wear a bandage for a while” I explained to the little feller light-heartedly. “Blimey wasn’t that bloke who done that bleedin’ murder, was it?” He eloquently expressed himself. “Could ‘ave been ‘im” I answered. “Course it was, bet it bleedin’ ‘urt, taught yer a sodden lesson though, anyway I’m orf, see yer” he informed me before skipping happily down the road to greet his mates.

  I caught up with Selby and Willis at Hornchurch police station. “We still got a bleedin’ car ain’t we?” I straight away asked Selby. He answered in the affirmative, then “Where you been all this time?” He enquired. I thereupon reiterated what my snotty-nosed well informed little friend had recited for me. “Knowin’ little bugger, I reckon if we ‘ung around ‘ere long enough he’d solve the bloody case for us” Selby said jokingly.

  About ten minutes later we received tea and biscuits from a disgruntled desk sergeant. He apologised for only being able to offer us such a meagre offering “It’s the bleedin’ rationing” he complained, then went on to explain just how low the station was on supplies, and would not receive further supplies until the Romford Super sent in a request”. “And when will that be?” Selby enquired. “Well it’s like this sir, doesn’t really matter to him, because he gets a separate allowance” the sergeant told us in confidence. “Oh I see, well never mind sergeant,” Selby exonerated him. “That’s very nice of you sir” the sergeant offered by way of a thank you. “That’s alright sergeant, anyway we’ll be leaving any minute now” Selby informed him. I guessed in the hope of stopping the poor sod from any more worrying.

  Tea time over, Selby then took it upon himself to give Willis and me a run down on what we would be doing next. So now as all three of us sat smoking, our DI began to give his two junior partners the low down.

  *

  That evening Dorothy surprised Reg. Martin by placing in front of him a powdered egg and mushroom omelette on a plate with an assortment of lettuce, spring onions, tomatoes and cucumber as a side salad. “How on earth did you manage this?” he openly enquired with obvious praise in his voice. “Well my dear man it’s mostly from my garden, don’t you know” she answered proudly.

  However, it was later while they sat on a plush sofa enjoying a cigarette that Dorothy broached the subject of his employment. “Now come on, you really must tell me all about yourself and there’s no need to fabricate, Sally has already very discreetly given me some idea of what you do, so there, you can be quite frank with me” she advised. It took a moment or two while Martin sat in stunned silence and completely lost for words. Nevertheless after a while he glanced at her with devilment written across his face. “So tell me, what exactly did Sally say about me?” he enquired mischievously.

  29:

  RETURN TO SCOTLAND YARD

  As it turned out going to Dagenham had been a waste of time, and of course, the moment we arrived back in London a bloody air-raid siren started wailing again, so instead of sitting in a comfortable armchair inside Scotland Yard discussing our next move, we were instead all three of us seated, cuddling a mug of hot tea, around an old dilapidated table, on some ‘Utility’ chairs in one of those new community bloody damp flimsy brick-built street air raid shelters, that seemed to be springing up everywhere since the blitz started. And of course by taking refuge in this particular shelter, we were still some distance away from Scotland Yard itself, and by the way Dave and I were dithering about, all three of us must have been giving a bloody good impersonation of ‘The Three Stooges’. Anyway after so much buggering about, our leader DI Selby took the floor. “Right lads” he began as though addressing a whole bloody battalion of men “this is ‘ow it goes so far and ‘ere we take a step back in time, yer see, it all started with that clever bastard Danny Ross, who as we all now know started the ball rollin’ by takin’ us for a stroll up the bloody garden path” Dave broke off, gave Willis and yours truly a knowing smile, plus a cigarette each. He then released two smoke rings around our brick-built shack, and I sensed this monologue of his was gonna be one of them late-night sessions. I therefore accordingly leant my chair back against the wall, on its two back legs of course, I carefully put my feet upon the table, gently closed my eyes, waiting patiently for Dave to begin his sermon. Instead I went arse over tip when my bloody war time ‘Utility’ chair collapsed beneath me, I then sat on the floor listening to Selby and Willis laughing their bollocks off. Nevertheless like most Londoners at that time, according to Winston Churchill, I knew I could take it, so I thereupon offered one or two sincere chosen words to my partners, pulled myself to my feet and amongst several more fits of laughter grabbed another one of them bloody ‘Utility’ chairs, then puffing hard on a fresh cigarette, re-seated myself, only this time showing more respect to the bloody half-baked war time contraption I was sitting on.

  Dave wiping tears from his eyes started again. “Right, after that very entertaining interlude, I will resume. Now it would seem once Danny Ross had served his purpose, which was to make us think Hornchurch aerodrome was going to be the Luftwaffe’s main target, they quickly decided to rid themselves of ‘im, get rid of ‘im completely. So that’s murder number one we can put down to our RAF corporal, on account ‘e was seen in the area. Next we discover an RAF sergeant who, by the way, appeared to have been seen givin’ an RAF corporal a lift, then sometime later the sergeants body is found and we’re told he too ‘ad been murdered. So once again we can place our corporal in the frame for murder number two. Now we come to Dagenham Cables and that poor young lady who copped it there”. At this point Dave sighed, gave Willis and myself a critical glance, dowsed his half-smoked cigarette under his foot, then started in again. “Ok, we now know that some gent with a bearded face carrying a heavy walkin’ stick was observed in that vicinity, and of course sometime later our brilliant MI5 agent, dear ol’ Plumpkin, does the light fantastic with some codger in that Heathway tobacconist. The feller he’s waltzing with incidentally is wearing a neatly trimmed beard and also as we all saw, was clutching a heavy walking stick and I’m betting this bugger is in fact that same bloody RAF corporal, only ‘avin’ deserted the RAF, is now posing as an old gentleman about town. Nevertheless I’m convinced that young lady’s death can also be put down to ‘im as murder number three”

  Here Dave was suddenly cut short, as we all three claimed a space under the table, as a string of bombs whistled down and exploded too near for comfort. At the same time, we heard lots of light ‘pings’ hitting the ground, followed by what seemed to sound like several humming tops spinning merrily away, while also making a hissing sound. Of course we knew this could only be attributed to dozens of incendiary bombs designed to create fires, and very successful they had been so far. And of course when you have a couple of dozen fire bombs to deal with, believe me, the last thing you need is a string of high explosive bombs exploding all over the place.

  *

  Reg. Martin now clean-shaven, just a neatly tr
immed moustache left in place, his heavy walking stick also discarded, had decided to first take a long walk around his new surroundings. This in order to familiarise himself with the area in which he now lodged. The night before he had delayed giving Dorothy a straight answer regarding his profession, until they’d been in bed for an hour or so. After which he confessed everything. As it turned out, she’d promised her full support, and help in any way possible. So after making love to her again that night, he knew she would stand by him no matter what.

  Martin returned to his lodgings after a long enjoyable walk. He now dwelt in one of several rather old, yet larger properties that dotted the landscape here about. Probably ‘Edwardian’ he thought, and funny enough these properties all faced towards a small village which consisted of, the usual post office, pub, butchers, and of course the local grocery shop, but to Martins delight was completely void of a police station. On his way back, he had also observed these dwellings were completely surrounded by open fields. On opening the front door with his new key, he found Dorothy had prepared a meal in his absence, which consisted of one kipper and two slices of buttered brown bread. Martin also noticed that the two or three other lodgers that were staying with Dorothy, were at this time of day at their place of work. While devouring his meal, she sat talking to him. She began by explaining how her husband had in fact been born in Dusseldorf, Germany. Having been brought to England as a child, always considered himself to be British and therefore, when war broke out, he immediately enlisted in the British army, and she was very proud of him, and everything Britain stood for. That’s until Winston Churchill sent him along with three or four thousand other riflemen to Calais, France, in order to prevent German armour flooding into Dunkirk, where the remanet of the British army were then trapped. Of course, as expected Dorothy was by now in tears. Martin knowing all the facts, finished the story for her. “Yes I know my dear, about three thousand English soldiers were sacrificed in that fiasco,” he said sympathetically. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose then added “Yes, that great Englishman sacrificed all those men and for what” she groaned, giving Martin a pleading glance, then added “my poor Eric was so proud and eager to go” she finally murmured as he placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Come my dear, don’t upset yourself” he pacified.

  *

  Whilst seated in the canteen of this edifice building called Scotland Yard, where coincidentally DI Selby and I his sergeant, shared a small office from time to time. However, at this particular moment, we were being waited on by a PC Holden who had been given the task of seeing we received an adequate meal, as we all sat expressing our relief on having vacated that bloody council brick-built street air-raid shelter. Nonetheless as we sat stuffing ourselves with beans on toast, that poxy air raid warning started wailing yet again. This time our anti-aircraft guns were quick off the mark, so like half the residents of Scotland Yard, we rushed outside for a look-see, and because it was a sunny afternoon, we could see quite clearly why our guns were so quick. A group of about fifty jerry bombers blackened the London sky. It was quite obvious our guns were trying to keep jerry busy until our fighter aircraft could take over, which wasn’t too long.

  As it turned out, our ground guns suddenly quit and just as suddenly machine gun fire could be heard overhead. Several Hurricanes were seen darting through an enemy formation, then Selby and I heard Willis yell in despair “Oh for Christ sake, look at that bleedin’ lot” he pointed to a group of Messerschmitt 109’s flying slightly above our Hurricanes, and as we watched they began peeling off to attack our fighters who were truly outnumbered. “Blimey, that’s their bleedin’ fighter escort” Selby announced. Meanwhile I’d spotted a squadron of Spitfires about to enter the fray. I pointed in front of the Luftwaffe bombers and quickly drew Selby and Willis’s attention to them by calmly saying “Wait till Jerry meets them bleedin’ bunch of boys”. I was immediately answered by DC Willis “Christ, where’d that lot come from?” he yelled in amazement. “Ain’t got a bloody clue mate, but it evens things up, don’t it!” I replied delightedly, as we stood watching several individual dog fights break out across a fairly bright late afternoon sky. At this point many of Scotland Yards’ personnel were standing outside cheering our boys on, that’s until the bombs started raining down. Then surprisingly enough they all performed a quick disappearing act, leaving just three silly buggers outside still cheering.

  30:

  A FAST TRIP TO WARLINGHAM

  When DI Selby instructed DC Willis to drive us to Warlingham fast, I was amazed at the urgency and his exuberance, and what’s more I don’t recall ever witnessing this attitude in Dave’s demeanour before, but in any case when I asked why the rush, he simply smiled at me, then in a voice that confirmed his seniority said, “That Billy me boy is on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know right now”. So I thanked him for showing so much confidence in his old pal, and showed him two fingers.

  It was our driver DC Willis who broke up this spell of banter between Dave and me by slamming down hard on the brakes and skidding to a halt. He immediately apologised with “Oops, sorry sir, bloody squirrel,” while us two silly sods sitting in back hung on for dear life. “What the bleedin’ ‘ell yer tryin’ to do, kill us or what?” Selby stormed. “Not really sir, but a squirrel ran across the road in front us sir” Willis offered in defence. Seeing Dave was about to have another go at him, I quickly stepped in on Willis’s behalf “Bloody excitin’ though Dave, wasn’t it?” I merrily sung out, not being able to think of anything better to say, and still suffering the trauma of nigh on being thrown through the windscreen, I guess made my thinking a bit slow. Anyway Dave Selby just gave me a blank stare, then leaning calmly forward advised Willis to drive a touch more careful in future, and if necessary in future kill the bloody squirrel, “the government want to get rid of them anyway” Dave informed him. So once again we were off on our way to Warlingham.

  *

  That same morning Reg. Martin stepped outside the front door of his new lodgings. He took a deep breath and happily studied a clear blue sky. At this point he felt quite confident within himself. For a start his new landlady Dorothy had accepted him as her lover, and also committed herself to his cause. Having already retrieved the Webley & Scott automatic pistol he’d previously left at Sally’s house, while leaving behind several other deadly devices.

  Reg. Martin began a brisk walk heading towards the small village. As he did so he was focusing on his next mission, he at first considered a trip back to Dagenham to deal with that chemical factory ‘May & Baker’ along with ‘Ever Ready’ battery firm. However, after giving this action some serious consideration, he realised he had in fact neglected to give any more thought as to what he should do concerning the Hornchurch aerodrome. After all this was to be his first priority until that idiot Danny Ross, his fellow conspirator, had taken it upon himself to interfere by telling the police he’d seen someone taking photographs of Hornchurch airfield. Thereby trying to delude the police into thinking that Hornchurch was under threat from saboteurs and by doing this had disrupted all of Martins plans. Nevertheless that problem having now been dealt with, Martin could see no reason for neglecting that airfield any longer, who knows, he might even be able to make one or two slight alterations concerning their airfield layout. Here, Martins train of thought was interrupted when a soft voice behind him suggested he should slow down a trifle. Martin stopped abruptly, turned and was amazed to see Sally, his ex-landlady staring up at him. “Oh my dear lady, how are you?” he enquired in a sensitive manner. “Well my love, I’m alright, I just slipped over to warn you, there are several policemen roaming this area now, knocking on doors and asking us landladies if we’d taken in any new lodgers recently. Just thought you should know my dear” she explained. “Ah right, thank you for telling me, but don’t worry, I’ll be away from here by morning, and when I get back, I’ll pop round and see you. Will that be alright?” he said hoping to put Sally’s mind at ease. “Oh yes, that
would be alright, but nonetheless it occurred to me, you might need these” Sally told him, at the same time handing him a medium-size canvas shopping bag “There’s about twenty of those time delayed things in there” she whispered confidentially.

  *

  Once again we found ourselves in an old shack that the locals in Warlingham considered to be a first-class police station. Anyway be that as it may, after a rather long laborious drive down from London DI Selby, me and DC Willis, had settled ourselves in a quiet little room in this happy little shack, where they had by the way, rolled out the welcoming mat for us in as much as offering us tea and biscuits, and a friendly sergeant even supplied us with cigarettes. It was a bit later after we’d sampled all these goodies, that a sergeant took us along and introduced us to the areas Assistant Chief Constable Roberts, who had the dubious task of bringing us up to date on where his team were quite sure they had located the area in which one or two enemy agents were now operating from. He’d handed Dave a sheet of paper which contained a small map with street names to one side of it. “There you are Inspector” the ACC said whilst pointing to a turning named Nelson Road “about halfway down that road you’ll find a detached house, you can’t miss it, painted dark green, and it’s the only detached property in that turning. Anyway we’ve had it under surveillance for about a week now, and we’re convinced there’s some sort of unlawful activity going on inside” he knowingly informed DI Selby, who nodded his head, gave a little cough, offered me a shrug before turning back to ACC Roberts, and clearly stated “Yes, well I understand all that Sir, but with respect Sir the thing is, you see Sir, we’ve been sent here as part of our investigation, which involves three murders only, and as you know Sir, one of the victims was an RAF Sergeant, who happened to be stationed down here at Biggin Hill. So you see, unless we can be assured that there is a connection between the person we’re looking for in respect of the three murders and those people you refer to in Nelson Road, I’m afraid my team and I must first pay the Biggin Hill Aerodrome a visit Sir” Selby made this statement in a truly professional manner while standing to attention the whole time. Did a smart about turn and indicated we should now leave.