That afternoon, a short distance away from where Mrs Phillips’ party had been on the beach, a group of schoolboys from the Russell Cotes Nautical School were walking along the cliffs from Bournemouth to Alum Chine. Whilst they were climbing, one of the boys, eleven-year-old Clive Miles, noticed something at the bottom of the cliffs, about seventy-five yards east of the entrance to the chine behind some beach huts.21 When the boys climbed down to the beach, Clive went and picked up the object he’d seen behind a beach hut.
It was Doreen Marshall’s black suede handbag.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Detective Constable Suter
6 JULY 1946
It was the policeman’s nose, I suppose, but it just didn’t tie up. The little bell was ringing.
George Suter, Bournemouth Echo, 5 November 1980
Sometime after 5.30 p.m., it was still bright and sunny and the temperature still in the low seventies when Brook arrived at Bournemouth Police Station, a 1930s brick-built building, fronted by a low stone wall.
At the reception desk he introduced himself to Detective Constable Suter.1 At the age of forty, Suter was tall, bald, square-jawed and broadly built. As a police officer, he had been in a reserved occupation during the war, but had volunteered for the Rifle Brigade in the winter of 1943–4. In February 1945 he had been at the crossing of the Rhine and was amongst the first troops to liberate Belsen. Though he never discussed his experiences with his family, they were aware that he had witnessed scenes of great horror during his time in the army. After the German surrender, his unit was based on the Danish border until he was demobbed in early 1946, at which point he went back to his pre-war occupation with Bournemouth police.2 He had been back behind his desk at Madeira Road for a matter of weeks, mostly preoccupied with a spate of hotel burglaries that had taken place over the summer, before he became involved in the enquiry into the disappearance of Doreen Marshall.3
When Brook arrived, Suter showed him into the enquiry office on the ground floor of the station. Suter was puzzled from the start of the interview with Group Captain Brook. Brook wasn’t wearing a tie, but had his shirt buttoned to the top, hardly in keeping with the dress of an RAF officer. Suter would have thought he’d wear a tie or at least a cravat. ‘His dress did not tally with his station in life,’4 he later stated. Also, granted the weather was still bakingly hot outside, but it did seem odd that throughout their conversation, Brook continued to wear his RAF-issue sunglasses.5
‘I’m Brook from the Tollard Royal Hotel. Are you Suter?’
‘Yes, sir. Now, I have been making enquiries about a young lady who was at dinner at the Tollard Royal Hotel on Wednesday evening.’
‘Yes, I had a young lady to dinner with me on Wednesday evening.’
‘Probably this was the same person about whom I’ve been making enquiries. Could you take a look at this photograph?’
Suter showed Brook a photograph of Doreen Marshall.
‘That’s her,’ Brook said. ‘Beyond a shadow of a doubt. She has a lock of grey hair here.’ Brook indicated his own right temple. ‘You can just see it in the photo.’
At that moment, there was some interruption in the office, so Suter invited Brook upstairs into the sergeants’ office where it was quieter. Suter asked Brook to carry on with his story.
‘Will you tell me all about it from the beginning?’
‘Yes. I met her on the beach on the Wednesday afternoon.6 She was then with another girl named Peggy and I had previously met Peggy at the Pavilion. I gained the impression that it was a fresh acquaintanceship between the two girls. I asked Doreen to dinner at the Tollard Royal Hotel on Wednesday evening and she accepted. At about midnight – or just before – she said she was going home and she said she would walk. We sat on the front for a bit, then walked to the sea side of the gardens – near the Pavilion. Doreen said she would be busy for a few days but would ring me on Sunday and would be going back to London on Monday. She didn’t want to go any further and she walked back to her hotel. That would be about 1 a.m. She did say she would be going back to London earlier and that she had been ill and felt a bit browned off. She told me about an American friend, that she went to Poole with him and for a ride to the country in a car and that he wanted her to go to Exeter with him but she did not want to go.’
‘What was she wearing?’
‘A yellow swagger coat, either black or dark blue frock. Carrying a handbag and wearing a string of pearls. She used a blue powder compact. With a cracked mirror. She told me she was always breaking things. The light streak in her hair was very noticeable.’
Brook had been upfront and honest and seemed to have nothing more to say, let alone anything to hide, so Suter wound up the interview.
‘By the way, sir, I have not taken your full name or address.’
‘Rupert Robert Brook, Thurmaston Aerodrome, Leicester.’
At this point, an extraordinary twist of fate began to draw Brook further into the hands of the police. As Suter’s interview with Brook was ending, a clerk came up from the enquiry office and interrupted the conversation.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, addressing Suter. ‘There is a Mr Marshall downstairs waiting to see you.’
‘That will be the young lady’s father,’ said Suter, who turned to Brook. ‘May I contact you at the hotel if I need any further information, sir?’
‘Yes – at any time.’
Suter led Brook downstairs to the enquiry office where they were met by Doreen’s father. He was also accompanied by Joan, the missing girl’s sister. Aside from Doreen’s shock of grey hair, the two young women looked incredibly alike, dark-haired and petite. Suter had already met Mr Marshall and his daughter in the investigation of her disappearance and now introduced them to Brook.
‘This gentleman had dinner with your daughter on Wednesday night.’
Brook repeated the story that he had already told Suter. Then, turning to Doreen’s father, Brook assured him that he shouldn’t worry about her.
‘Doreen told me she would be busy for a few days. I wasn’t expecting her to ring until Sunday. If there’s any other way I can help?’
Mr Marshall thanked Brook for his concern. Brook went on.
‘In all probability, she’s with her American friend.’
But this reassurance didn’t calm Marshall’s worries. She wasn’t the sort of girl to go off without telling anybody with a man she had only just met. Mr Marshall noticed that throughout the conversation, Brook didn’t take his eyes off his daughter, Joan. Mr Marshall thought that Brook had a ‘sickening conceit’ and increasingly felt that this man was responsible for his daughter’s disappearance.7 Joan also had an instinctive feeling that Brook was involved. He had said he left Doreen at the Winter Garden near the Pavilion. It was after midnight and her hotel was only a few hundred yards from where he claimed they parted. Joan asked him directly, ‘Why didn’t you see her home?’ Brook simply shrugged his shoulders. Joan had a dreadful sick feeling that her sister was dead and that the superficially charming man in the dark glasses had killed her.8
As Brook was talking to the Marshalls, Suter had the opportunity to scrutinize his handsome features at close quarters. Had his demeanour changed when he was brought face to face with Doreen’s family – and particularly the girl’s sister? Suter began to feel a growing sense of recognition about Brook’s face. He had seen it somewhere before – recently. He recalled a photograph of a wanted man in the Police Gazette, pinned on the noticeboard upstairs in the CID office. Was there a similarity, or were his eyes playing tricks? Excusing himself from Mr Marshall and his daughter, Suter took Brook to one side.
‘I think you must have a double, sir.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Yes. We have a photo of a chap who is wanted and you are not unlike him. Come up and have a look at the photo.’
Apparently bemused, Brook followed Suter upstairs to the CID office where Detective Sergeant Leslie Johnson was sitting behind his desk.9 Johnson also not
iced that Brook continued wearing his sunglasses. It was now about 5.45 p.m. Suter pointed to the noticeboard and showed Brook the Police Gazette photo of Neville Heath, wanted in connection with the murder of Margery Gardner at Notting Hill.
‘You must admit there is a striking resemblance,’ suggested Suter. ‘Is that you?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ said Brook. ‘I agree, it is like me.’
He turned decisively and walked out of the office. Suter followed him, but not before deliberately dropping his notes from his interview with Brook on the floor. With nothing said between them, DC Johnson picked up the notes10 and immediately got on the phone in an attempt to contact Notting Hill police.11 Suter and Brook returned downstairs to Doreen’s father and sister where Brook jokingly said something about his similarity to the portrait. Everyone laughed.
At that point a uniformed officer joined Suter and told him he was wanted on the telephone. Upstairs DS Johnson told Suter that he had called Notting Hill Police Station in order to verify some details about Brook and to ask for a detailed description of Neville Heath. But with only an instinctive suspicion that Brook was not all he claimed to be, Suter had no reason to detain him. There was no evidence that Doreen Marshall’s disappearance was sinister. Many young women disappeared for a couple of days at holiday resorts for their own reasons and then turned up again quite safe. Brook had also come to the police station of his own free will – extremely unusual in the case of a murderer on the run. All this put Suter in a quandary as he was now under pressure from his senior officer Inspector Gates to let Brook go. The group captain was clearly a gentleman and ‘a gentleman’s word should be accepted’.12 But Suter was convinced the man was Heath and was prepared to stake his job on it. He went back downstairs where Brook was still in conversation with Mr Marshall and his daughter. After asking Mr Marshall where he could contact him, Suter wished the Marshalls goodbye and remained with Brook.
By this time, Brook had manouevred himself back outside the police station, leaning casually against the low front wall in the late afternoon sun, his eyes still shaded by his sunglasses. Freedom was imminent. Desperate to keep hold of him, Suter kept Brook talking about the wonderful weather, holidays and what his stay was like at the Tollard Royal. Shortly afterwards, they were joined by DS Johnson, who also entered into the conversation. Together, Suter and Johnson were determined not to let Brook go.
‘I am a detective sergeant,’ said Johnson. ‘What do you say your full name is?’
‘Brook. Group Captain Rupert Robert Brook. Why?’
‘You answer the description of a man called Clevely Heath who is wanted for interrogation regarding a recent murder in London.’
‘I know, he has said so,’ said Brook, indicating Suter. ‘Look, do you think I would come here if I was that man?’
‘I don’t know. You might. Have you any documents to substantiate your name to be Brook?’
‘No,’ said Brook, ‘but I have at the hotel. Can we go there and I’ll show you? I’ve got my “A” pilot’s licence, identity card and letters.’
‘No, for the time being I must ask you to remain here whilst enquiries are made. Firstly, what are you doing in Bournemouth?’
‘I am here on holiday.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Leicester. Thurmaston Aerodrome. I’m stationed there, but you won’t find anyone there on a Saturday.’
‘Can you give me the name of anyone at Leicester who can vouch for you?’
‘Yes,’ said Brook. ‘Any amount.’
‘Who is your immediate chief up there?’ Johnson was taking notes.
‘Mr Walters, the chief test pilot for Austers.’
‘I wonder if you would come back into the station, sir, whilst enquiries are being made?’13
Brook assumed an exasperated umbrage.
‘Well, this is the last time I shall come to the police to give any assistance. By the way,’ asked Brook, ‘am I under arrest?’
‘No,’ replied Johnson, ‘not at this stage.’
‘That’s all right then,’ said Brook. ‘By the way, when you are satisfied that I am not this man “Heath”, will you give me a chit that I can show, if I am stopped again?’
‘Yes, if you wish, and so soon as we are satisfied that you are not Heath.’
Brook, Suter and Johnson went back into the police station to the sergeants’ office where Suter sat down with Brook. He kept the conversation to their wartime experiences – always bonding chat for men of their age at the time. Meanwhile, Johnson telephoned Scotland Yard again and was put through directly to Reg Spooner at his office in Hammersmith. Spooner outlined Heath’s description and said he would verify Brook’s story about his background in Leicester, but on no account must they let him leave the police station. Whilst waiting for Scotland Yard to get back to them, Johnson observed Brook sitting with Suter, chatting about the war. As he was watching, Brook dropped his pipe on the floor. As he bent to pick it up, Johnson noticed that Brook had an inch-long scratch on the right side of his neck showing half an inch and running parallel with the collar of his shirt. It was not fresh but had a thin scab for the whole length. Little by little the officers’ instincts were feeling more and more justified. They now needed to play a waiting game as the Metropolitan Police verified that ‘Brook’ was the man they were looking for.
Brook’s patience was now wearing thin and he said that he wanted to leave. Suter and Johnson referred him to their senior officer, Detective Inspector Gates. At about 6.35 p.m., Gates told Brook that he would need to be searched.14
‘I understand that your name is Brook. Have you any means of identification with you?’
‘No, I have nothing on me. But I have at the hotel. I have told your officers all about myself. My name is Rupert Robert Brook and I’m known at the Devonshire Club in London. I live in Leicester and have a banking account at the Westminster Bank there. Look, I admit that there is a resemblance to Clevely Heath. I have seen the police notice, but I am not this man, Heath.’
Gates searched him. All he had in his possession was four £1 notes, 3s. 6d. in silver, two three-penny pieces, a pipe and tobacco pouch, some Churchman cigarettes, a box of Swan matches, five-pence halfpenny in copper, a handkerchief and his sunglasses.15
Brook asked if he could go back to the hotel and then come back to the station. Gates told him that enquiries were being made at the hotel by the police and he was being detained. Brook then said that he was feeling cold. Could somebody pick up his jacket for him? He had left it with the porter at the hotel, Harry Brown.
Gates arrived at the Tollard Royal at about 7 p.m. and sought out the porter. He handed Gates Brook’s brown sports jacket. Searching the pockets of the jacket, Gates came across what was to become some crucial – and damning – evidence. In the right-hand pocket of the jacket he found one half of a first-class return railway ticket (number 10130), valid for travel from Bournemouth back to Waterloo, issued on 28 June 1946 – the day that Doreen Marshall had travelled alone to Bournemouth. There was also a 4d. railway cloakroom ticket (number 0800) issued at Bournemouth West Railway Station on 23 June – the day that Brook had arrived in Bournemouth.16
Just before 9 p.m., Gates arrived at Bournemouth West Station and interviewed William Gillingham, the chief clerk. Gates submitted the cloakroom ticket and took possession of a leather suitcase. Opening it, there was a soft hat, a mackintosh, a leather luggage-label holder bearing the name of ‘Heath’, and most significantly, a leather riding whip with a distinctive diamond-weave pattern – stained with blood.
There was now absolutely no doubt. They were holding Neville Heath, the most wanted man in the country.
Back at Bournemouth Police Station, DS Johnson received a call from Scotland Yard. It was exactly the information he had suspected. Nobody had ever heard of Group Captain Brook at Thurmaston. His entire story was false. Spooner told Johnson to detain Brook at any cost. He wanted them to go to the Tollard Royal and search Brook’s room for
anything that might confirm his identity, but that there should be no further searches in order to preserve any evidence. Johnson returned to Brook, who was still talking with Suter.
‘Enquiries have been made from the particulars you have supplied about yourself and I am satisfied that they are false. You are not known at Leicester to the Auster aircraft company. No person by the name of Brook as test pilot is known to them. Nor do they know a Mr Walters. You will be detained pending further enquiries as to your identity since I believe you to be the man, Clevely Heath. Is that your name?’
‘Well, I am not Heath,’ said Brook.
Johnson replied, ‘Would you care to furnish any further particulars regarding your identity? You can if you wish. If you still maintain you are not Heath, someone will shortly be able to come to this station and confirm that.’
‘I do not want to give any other particulars. If someone is coming down here who knows this man Heath, that will be sufficient proof. Surely it’s no criminal offence to give false particulars of identity?’
‘Yes it is. If false particulars are entered into an hotel registration book.’
‘How do you know that I have? Have you been up there?’
‘Yes.’17
Stumped by the cold, hard facts, Brook made no further comment. At 9.15 p.m., Gates arrived back at the police station and approached Brook, who was with DS Johnson.
Handsome Brute: The True Story of a Ladykiller Page 29