The Death of Kings

by Rennie George Airth

  ‘That’s right, sir. It happened soon after I’d volunteered for the Parachute Regiment. I was assigned to his company and the first thing he said to me—he was a lieutenant then—was that I should have known better.’ Lennox’s frown had faded. He was chuckling now. ‘“Never volunteer for anything,” he said. “Didn’t they teach you that in basic training?”’

  Madden smiled. ‘Did you see a lot of action together?’

  ‘Enough to go on with: North Africa, Sicily, Normandy . . . and then Arnhem, of course. By that time I was company sergeant-major and Sir Richard was our captain. We’d been through a lot together by then, and we all felt the same about him. He was one of those officers you’d follow anywhere.’

  Lennox glanced at his passenger.

  ‘You were in the first war, weren’t you, sir? Sir Richard told me. I reckon you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean.’ Madden returned his glance. ‘Tell me about Arnhem. I’ve read accounts of the battle, of course, but Sir Richard doesn’t talk about the war and I’ve never spoken to anyone else who was there.’

  Lennox sighed.

  ‘Ah, well, they tried to make it sound like a victory afterwards, but you could have fooled us. We jumped into a hornet’s nest, sir, and that’s the truth. It turned out there were a couple of Panzer divisions refitting in the neighbourhood, which nobody seemed to know about, and we hadn’t been long on the ground when all hell broke loose. There was a bridge over the Rhine we were supposed to take so that the troops moving up from the south could cross it, but we never did, and after that things began to fall apart. The weather was bad so we didn’t have the air support we were expecting and most of the supplies dropped to us ended up in the Jerries’ hands. We’d been there more than a week and were running out of ammunition and taking heavy casualties, too, so in the end the colonel had to call it a day. But word went out to the men that they didn’t have to surrender if they could find a way of escaping. There wasn’t much left of our company, just a handful of men, but we were posted on the outskirts of Arnhem—we were holding the flank there—and the captain decided it was worth having a go at joining up with other units who were in a neighbouring town.’

  He fell silent for a moment as he navigated the turn from Marble Arch into Oxford Street.

  ‘Well, just about then I got hit in the leg by a stray bullet, and I reckoned that was my lot. I’d just have to wait until the Jerries arrived and hope they would take me prisoner and not just shoot me out of hand.’ His chuckle had taken on a wry edge. ‘I’m not saying anything against them, mind. They were good soldiers, but street-to-street fighting is the worst kind and you don’t like to leave any wounded enemy behind you. But the captain took one look at me lying there on the ground and said, “You’re not getting out of this that easily, Ted Lennox.” Next thing I knew he’d hauled me to my feet and strung my arms around his neck. “Hang on tight,” he said, and from then on he carried me.’

  He shook his head ruefully.

  ‘We got out of Arnhem, all right, and into the next town, but the Jerries were hot on our heels. We could hear them: they were only a few streets away. But I wasn’t the only casualty and our wounded were slowing us down. Then, just as we thought we’d be caught, a man appeared in the doorway of a house just ahead of us. He started waving to us and calling out in English: “This way, Tommies, this way!” We’d had a lot of help from the Dutch civilians. They’d taken in our wounded and given us food, so we didn’t hang about. We headed straight for his house and he hurried us all inside and told us to go up to the floor above and stay quiet. “The Germans are coming,” he said. We could hear them ourselves. It sounded as though they were in the next street. “Don’t make any noise. I will say you went past.” He spoke good English.

  ‘We went straight up the stairs into a bedroom and waited. We could hear the Jerry soldiers calling out to one another. They were coming closer. The captain had put me down on the bed with another bloke who was also wounded, and while I was lying there I noticed something hanging on the wall. It was a painting of an old-fashioned shield with a funny-looking design on it: a sort of hook with a line drawn through the middle. I’d never seen anything like it. I noticed that the captain was looking at it, too; staring, I should say. Then suddenly, in a flash, he was gone—!’

  ‘Gone . . . ?’ Madden cut in.

  ‘He just ran out of the room and we heard his feet on the stairs; then another noise, a sharp cry, more like a yelp, and the sound of a door being slammed. Some of the men went after him, but I had to stay lying there on the bed and only heard later what had happened. This Dutch bloke had been going to shop us to the Jerries and the captain had grabbed him from behind at the front door just in time. It was that shield he had seen . . .’

  ‘It must have been a Wolfsangel,’ Madden said.

  ‘That’s right . . . that’s the word.’ Ted Lennox looked at him in wonder. ‘The captain told us about it afterwards. I was trying to remember the name.’

  ‘It was a simplified design of a wolf trap from German heraldry,’ Madden explained. ‘The Dutch Fascists used it as their symbol before they switched to the swastika. Sir Richard must have recognized it.’

  He was riveted by the tale.

  ‘So you all escaped?’

  ‘Only in the nick of time. This chap had a whistle to his lips when the captain grabbed him. I saw it lying there beside his body when we came downstairs. He was about to blow it.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Anyway, we left by the back door double quick, and a short while later we joined up with some of our blokes who were holding positions in the town. There was already a plan in operation to withdraw as many men as possible, and that same night we made it back across the Rhine.’

  ‘And was Sir Richard still carrying you?’ Madden asked.

  ‘Right up to the moment he dumped me on a raft.’ Lennox shook with laughter. ‘Later, after we were back in England, he came to see me in hospital. I was up and about by then, but still on crutches. “You’ll have to get rid of those,” he said, “if you’re going to be my chauffeur.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Well, you’ll need a job after the war, won’t you?” he said. “And I’ll need a chauffeur. Think about it and let me know.”’ Laughing, Lennox shook his head. ‘Well, I thought about it,’ he said, ‘for a few seconds anyway.’

  Madden had been so caught up in the tale that he saw with surprise that they had already rounded the top of Regent’s Park and were turning up Avenue Road towards Aunt Maud’s house.

  ‘The truth is we all owed him our lives, I reckon.’ Lennox’s voice had altered. He spoke in a solemn tone. ‘All of us who were with him that day.’

  The car drew to a halt.

  ‘I can’t say for sure what would have happened if the Jerry soldiers had trapped us in that house.’ Lennox looked at his passenger. ‘But something tells me it wouldn’t have ended well. Still, it can’t have been easy for the captain, having to grab that Dutch chap from behind and break his neck. But it was him or us. The captain knew that. So it had to be done.’

  27

  MADDEN AWOKE IN DARKNESS. Peering at the luminous dial of his watch, he saw that it was just after four o’clock. His brief sleep had been troubled by dreams, none of which he remembered clearly other than the last, in which he had found himself walking down seemingly endless passages which had turned first one way, then another, and had ended in a small room where a man was sitting at a table. His face seemed familiar, but it was only after he awoke that Madden realised the features were those of Tom Parsons, the club porter.

  Half an hour later, finding that further sleep eluded him, he rose and, donning his slippers and dressing-gown, went quietly down the uncarpeted wooden stairs to the floor below, where he proceeded to roam about the empty rooms retracing the tangle of thoughts that had kept him awake, a winding maze that called to mind the
passages he had stumbled through in his dream.

  Finally, worn out by his restless pacing, he sought refuge in the kitchen, where there was still a table with a chair beside it. Settling down there, he sat with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his cupped palms, staring into the darkness . . .

  • • •

  ‘What on earth are you doing here, Daddy? Have you been up all night?’

  Madden lifted a heavy head. He had fallen asleep in the kitchen. His daughter had found him still sitting at the table with his head resting on his folded arms. He blinked at her.

  ‘This isn’t like you at all.’

  Looking unusually elegant in a beautifully cut suit which she had acquired in Paris two years before while supposedly studying French, Lucy seemed bent on making the most of her discovery.

  ‘Did you remember to strip your bed? Shall I do it for you? I’m coming back in my lunch hour to collect the bedclothes and any other odds and ends we’ve forgotten.’

  Madden saw that she had a suitcase with her. It had been their last night in the house. Lucy was moving temporarily into the flat of a friend who was away for a few weeks and whose absence meant that Rob, whose ship was due to dock at Plymouth in a few days, would also be able to stay there with her when he came up to London.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll strip my own bed.’ Madden clung as best he could to the shreds of his dignity. ‘I must get dressed,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know what Mummy will say.’

  ‘Nothing, if you don’t tell her,’ he growled.

  ‘And what were you up to last night? I wanted to hear about your dinner with Sir Richard. I stayed up for ages, but you never came back. Why were you so late?’

  ‘We were busy . . . occupied.’ Rubbing his eyes, he dragged himself to his feet.

  ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ His daughter was disbelieving. ‘After everything we’ve been through together on this case? I can’t believe it . . .’

  Madden scowled. Gathering himself, he addressed her in a different tone.

  ‘I’ve said all I’m going to say, Lucy. I have nothing to add. You’re just going to have to accept it. Is that clear?’

  She stared at him, open-mouthed.

  ‘You’re using your voice,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘My what—?’

  ‘That’s what Rob and I used to call it. Daddy’s speaking in his “voice”, we’d say. We’d better do as we’re told.’

  ‘I wish I’d known that. I would have used it more often.’

  ‘Well, you’re not to take advantage of it now, just because I told you.’

  He tried to maintain a serious air, but it was hopeless. He burst out laughing.

  ‘There—that’s better.’ Satisfied, she kissed him. ‘You were looking so sad.’

  ‘Was I?’ He put his arms around her and held her close.

  ‘That’s my cab,’ she said as the doorbell rang. ‘I have to go.’ She kissed him again. ‘But you’re not to look sad anymore. I forbid it.’

  It was true. His spirits had sunk to a point so low he could barely bring himself to attend to the business that had brought him to London. He was faced with a dilemma he didn’t know how to resolve. The more he thought about it, the more intractable it seemed, and it stayed with him as he went upstairs to strip his bed and get dressed. When he returned to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea he was interrupted by another ring at the door. The callers proved to be a pair of removal men, and for the next twenty minutes he was occupied watching as they carried the last pieces of Aunt Maud’s furniture out of the house.

  There being nothing further to do—a set of keys had already been placed in the hands of the estate agent—he was about to call for a taxi to take him to Waterloo station when the phone rang at his feet. It was due to be disconnected at the end of the week. He bent to pick up the receiver.

  ‘Ah, I’ve got you, John! I was afraid you might have left already. Styles told me you’d be going home today.’

  Charlie Chubb’s voice sounded loud in his ears. The chief super seemed to be in good spirits.

  ‘What a night you must have had! I’ve seen a few things in my time, I can tell you, but a severed head all on its own: that’s something I’ve never clapped eyes on, not in forty years on the job. I hope it didn’t spoil your sleep.’

  ‘What can I do for you, Charlie?’

  ‘Nothing, really, but if you’re heading for Waterloo, as I imagine you are, I thought you might like to drop in here on the way.’

  ‘Why should I want to do that?’

  ‘I’d rather tell you in person. I want to see the look on your face.’

  It was clear the chief super was enjoying himself.

  ‘What do you mean, Charlie? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, if you insist. . . . Wing’s body. It’s turned up.’

  ‘Good God!’ Madden was struck dumb. Seconds passed before he could speak again. ‘Where did you find it—in the river? Was it fully clothed?’

  ‘Fully clothed . . . ? That’s an odd question. I don’t know. But I can tell you it was unearthed in Bow Cemetery. Styles has just called me with the news. But he’ll be back here presently, so if you want to hear the full story you’d better look in as I suggested.’

  Madden didn’t hesitate.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said.

  • • •

  Billy cleared his throat.

  ‘The first I heard about it was just after I arrived for work. I got a call from the police in Tower Hamlets. One of their bobbies had received a report from a bloke who was walking his dog late last night and saw what looked like some men digging in the cemetery there. He was on the other side of the railings, of course, and some way off from where they were.’

  He paused to take a sip from his cup of tea. He had arrived in Chubb’s office accompanied by Grace and Lily Poole to find Madden already there, and the chief super in the process of pouring out tea from the pot he had had his secretary make for them.

  ‘He didn’t think anything of it at the time—he just went home to bed—but when he took out his dog again this morning he bumped into one of the local bobbies and told him what he’d seen. They went to the cemetery, which was open by now, and he showed the bobby where he’d spotted the men. There was a fresh grave there, all right, and when the bobby made inquiries he was told that a body had been buried at the same spot a couple of days earlier; it was all above board. But that still didn’t explain what this chap with the dog had seen . . .’

  Billy paused for another sip.

  ‘So the bobby got hold of the grave diggers who work there and asked them to take a look at it. They said they couldn’t be sure, but it looked like it had been messed with. The mound of sand wasn’t how they had left it; and it seemed bigger. That was enough for the bobby. He rang the station and a detective-sergeant came over to take a look for himself. He decided to have the grave dug up again and warned the diggers not to disturb the coffin. He knew he’d have to get permission from higher authority if they had to remove it and look underneath. But in the end it wasn’t necessary. They hadn’t even reached it when they found a body lying in the earth, and when the DS saw it was headless he got on the blower to me. He had read the report I put on the telex the night before. We went over at once. It was Wing, all right.’

  ‘How could you be sure?’ Chubb asked.

  ‘The body was dressed in seamen’s clothes. There was nothing in the pockets, but we found a money belt strapped around the waist under his shirt, which the people who buried him must have missed. Along with some cash it also contained a passport in the name of Wing, which meant he must have got into the docks using the other one he had in the name of Lee. That was missing.’

  Billy grinned.

  ‘And that wasn’t all,’ he said, ‘though we didn’t reali
se it at first. It was only after we’d got the body to the local mortuary and I had a chance to examine the passport that I found it had a handful of negatives clipped to one of its pages. They’ll need to be developed before we can be certain, but even looking at them now there’s not much doubt they’re the same ones Audrey Cooper had; the ones that got her killed. I’ve sent them up to the lab.’

  ‘Were there any prints with them?’ Chubb asked.

  Billy shook his head.

  ‘I reckon Wing must have sent those to Rex Garner,’ he said. ‘And Rex got rid of them double quick, in his fireplace, if you remember. But that was no skin off Stanley’s nose as long as he had the negatives. But when Garner couldn’t pay him and he topped him, it must have seemed like a lot of trouble for nothing. And I can’t see that they’re going to be much use to us now, not unless we decide to name Garner as Miss Blake’s killer. What’s your feeling on that, sir?’

  Chubb shrugged.

  ‘I can’t see it happening myself,’ he said. ‘We still can’t prove it. But it’s not my decision, thank God, and I’m not even sure it’ll be Cradock’s. The commissioner seems to have his own opinion on the subject. We’ll find out soon enough. I’ve got a meeting fixed with them both for this afternoon.’

  He turned to Madden.

  ‘Well, John, I hope you don’t feel I dragged you down here for nothing. But after the part you’ve played in this—for which I’ll thank you again, even if Cradock won’t—I thought you ought to be in on the final act. And of course Angus will want a full report, too. Let’s not forget that.’

  ‘Indeed not, Charlie.’ Head bowed, Madden had listened in silence to Billy’s account. Now he gathered himself to leave.

  ‘We’re near enough to lunchtime for me to invite you upstairs to the senior officers’ canteen, if you care to stay. I might say the cuisine there has improved somewhat since your day.’