The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  Joe Keedy had sharp eyes. When the curtain in the front bedroom twitched, he had a fleeting glimpse of a face he’d seen before. It was Wally Hubbard. Hurrying to the front door, he banged on it with his fist. Nobody came to open it. As he peered through the front room window, he heard a door at the rear of the house open and slam shut. Keedy identified the sound at once. Hubbard had bolted. Sprinting back to the car, he told the driver what had happened and ordered him to go slowly round to the opposite side of the block. As the car set off in one direction, he trotted in the other, then swung right, down the first turning. Between them, he hoped, they could cut off the fugitive’s escape down one of the side entries to the houses. By the time he reached the car again, Keedy had run well over eighty yards and was puffing slightly. Braced for action, the driver was standing beside the vehicle.

  ‘Any sign of him?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘No, sir,’ replied the man. ‘I kept my eyes peeled in case he popped up from one of the houses but he didn’t.’

  ‘It was the same with me. I didn’t spot him either.’

  ‘Do you think he’s hiding somewhere?’

  ‘He must be,’ said Keedy. ‘We’ll have to start banging on a few doors.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Ask people if they’ve seen someone climbing into their garden.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Let’s split up and get busy. Work your way back to the house where we first started – and be ready for a fight if you bump into him.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Hubbard is the kind of man who will always resist arrest.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning.’

  They began the laborious work of questioning residents. Since the block comprised eighty houses, it was going to take time and Keedy held out little hope of success. At the rear of the properties was a veritable rabbit warren of gardens, most with garden sheds or other convenient hiding places. Their quarry could have gone to ground anywhere. In fact, he was already three streets away, walking briskly along, then catching a providential bus that came around the corner. Hubbard didn’t care where it was headed. He just needed to put distance between himself and the police. He laughed at the thought of their futile efforts. Keedy and the driver were searching for someone who was no longer there.

  It was a curious experience for Marmion. Once he’d won the confidence of Helen Graydon, the conversation changed completely. She’d come to report the fact that she’d been deceived by someone claiming to be Inspector Marmion. Alone with the real inspector, she warmed to him quickly. He was kind, attentive and sympathetic. Moreover, he seemed to understand the suffering she’d been through. Instead of simply passing on information, therefore, Helen took the opportunity to talk honestly about her situation. The room was turned into a kind of confessional box.

  ‘You must think very badly of me, Inspector,’ she said.

  ‘Not at all, Mrs Graydon.’

  ‘In your eyes, I’m a scarlet woman.’

  ‘You’re someone who had the misfortune to be led astray. Having spoken to you, I’m quite sure that nothing like this has ever happened before.’

  ‘No, no, I swear it.’

  ‘The person who should bear most of the blame is Mr Croft.’

  ‘Don’t let me off the hook that easily,’ she said, eyes moistening. ‘What I did was wrong – very wrong – and I know it. Every time I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder how I could be so wicked.’

  ‘I’d say you were naïve rather than wicked, Mrs Graydon.’

  ‘If it had not been for the war, this would never have happened.’

  ‘We all have situations like that,’ he said, thinking of his son. ‘That’s not to excuse what’s happened. As you freely admit, it was very wrong of you. Only you will know if you can rebuild your marriage when your husband finally returns.’

  ‘Do you think I should tell Trevor?’

  ‘I can’t give advice on that score.’

  ‘But you must have an opinion.’

  ‘I’m a policeman, Mrs Graydon, not a parish priest.’

  ‘It’s so confusing,’ she said, face puckering. ‘Most of the time, I tell myself that what I did was unforgivable, but every so often’ – tears started to stream down her face – ‘every so often,’ she repeated, ‘I feel that, if I had my time over again, I’d do exactly the same thing. He made me feel so wanted, Inspector.’

  Marmion was careful to avoid passing any moral judgements. In spite of her infidelity, he felt sorry for her. She was still partly in love with Croft. That being the case, he didn’t destroy her illusions by telling her that Croft had had a long string of dalliances before meeting her and that his wife was not ill at all. The important thing to remember, he felt, was that Croft had made her feel special. He’d transformed her humdrum life into something with a core of excitement. Rocked as she’d been by his disappearance, she nevertheless wanted him back.

  ‘You can imagine the shock I had this morning,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, seeing my photograph in the paper must have shaken you badly.’

  ‘It was not only that, Inspector. The murder victim’s name was given as Ben Croft. I thought at first that it was my … the man who’d been my friend. Thankfully, it was not. He’s still alive, isn’t he?’

  ‘We believe so, Mrs Graydon.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I wish we knew.’

  ‘And does the person who claimed to be you really want to kill him?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Then that must be the explanation,’ she said, almost cheerily. ‘Ben didn’t run away from me. He simply went into hiding from Mr Hubbard.’

  ‘That could be the explanation,’ said Marmion with a non-committal smile. He was touched by the way she’d confided in him but he was also a trifle embarrassed by her frankness. ‘When you and Mr Croft were … friends, did he take you anywhere?’

  ‘We had an occasional meal together at a quiet restaurant.’

  ‘What I meant was … did he take you away for the night?’

  ‘It was only that once.’

  ‘And where did you go?’

  ‘We stayed in Weston-super-Mare. He loved the sea. In fact …’ A memory surfaced to switch on a light in her eyes.

  ‘Go on,’ he encouraged.

  ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘it was probably only a passing remark.’

  ‘I’d be interested to know what it was, Mrs Graydon.’

  ‘Well, it was something he said the last time we were together. I paid no attention at the time, which is why I’d forgotten it until now. He told me that he’d have to sail somewhere fairly soon.’

  ‘But he didn’t tell you where he was going?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. I wonder if he was warning me that he had to go away.’

  ‘That may well be the case,’ said Marmion, pensively.

  ‘It must be.’ She became anxious. ‘Will that terrible man visit me again?’

  ‘The false Inspector Marmion? Oh, I very much doubt it.’

  ‘What if he does turn up?’

  ‘Pretend that you take him at his word, Mrs Graydon. It’s safer that way. And as soon as he’s gone, get in touch with me instantly.’

  Keedy did not stand on ceremony. As soon as he got back there, he marched across the outer office, banged on the door of Felix Browne’s sanctum and went straight into the room. Browne looked up angrily from the document he was studying.

  ‘You need to learn some manners, Sergeant,’ he said, frostily.

  ‘And you need to obey the law, sir. I have to ask you to accompany me to Scotland Yard for questioning.’

  Browne was relaxed. ‘On what possible grounds, may I ask?’

  ‘There are so many to choose from.’

  Keedy explained that, acting on instinct, he’d made a list of empty properties owned by Browne. Thinking that Hubbard might be hiding in one of them, he went from one house to the other. At the last property, he’d seen the escaped
prisoner.

  Browne was unruffled. ‘Where exactly was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Number 43 West Terrace.’

  ‘Come with me, Sergeant.’

  He took Keedy back into the outer office and unlocked a cupboard. On a series of hooks were the keys to all the properties he owned. Browne searched for the one in West Terrace and, when he found it, lifted three sets of keys off the hook. He dangled them in front of the sergeant.

  ‘They’re all here,’ he said, shaking them. ‘No set is missing.’

  ‘Then how did Hubbard get into the place?’

  Browne sniggered. ‘What a stupid question!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s unworthy of you, Sergeant. A man escapes from one of the most secure prisons in Britain and you ask me how he got into a house. He broke in, that’s how. It would have been child’s play for someone like Wally.’

  ‘Yes, but why did he choose that particular house?’

  ‘He liked the look of it, I suppose, and I don’t blame him. It’s a fine house. I daresay that he did exactly the same as you. He looked at our window display.’

  ‘Then he popped in here to pick up the keys.’

  ‘No, he didn’t – on my honour.’

  ‘Let’s not use words that have no meaning,’ said Keedy, cynically. ‘Honour and you are complete strangers. Just look at the facts. Hubbard needs a place to hide and you provided it.’

  ‘I did, but it was unwittingly.’

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that, Mr Browne?’

  The other man put the keys back on the hook and locked the cupboard door. He then led Keedy back into the privacy of his office and squared up to him.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘I’d rather you didn’t hurl baseless accusations at me in front of my staff. I’ll be happy to accompany you anywhere you wish to answer your questions. But if you’re foolish enough to apply for an arrest warrant, then I must warn you I have an excellent lawyer.’

  Keedy was checked. He was certain that Browne had provided a place of shelter for his friend but the evidence could be contested. Unless he could prove that the man had handed over the key to the property, he could not secure a warrant.

  ‘I know you don’t believe me,’ said Browne, solemnly, ‘but I give you my word that I have not set eyes on Wally Hubbard since he broke out of Pentonville. I don’t want to see the mad fool until he’s safely back in prison where he belongs.’

  ‘That’s very public-spirited of you, sir.’

  ‘I revere the law.’

  ‘Only because you’re cunning enough to circumvent it,’ said Keedy, looking him up and down. ‘Be so good as to give Hubbard a message from me. I found him once and I’ll damn well find him again.’

  ‘I hope you do, Sergeant. Look,’ he went on, feigning amiability, ‘I can’t say that I enjoyed seeing you charge into my office like an enraged bull but, since you are here, would you care for something to wet your whistle?’

  Keedy left at once.

  While it had been an enjoyable reunion with Raymond and Lily Marmion, Ellen did not stay long because they were obviously under great pressure. They’d had some petty crime at the hostel in the past but nothing as serious as a murder, especially one that was shrouded in mystery. Because his family was involved, Marmion was at last in charge of a case that he could discuss in detail with his wife. Ellen looked forward to his return that evening. She’d been in the house less than ten minutes when there was a loud knock on the door. Opening it, she was confronted by the angry figure of Patricia Redwood.

  ‘Oh, hello, Pat,’ she said, standing aside. ‘Come in.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said the other. ‘I’m not staying. I just want to say my piece.’

  ‘Why – what’s happened?’

  ‘You son has behaved atrociously.’

  ‘Yes, I know and I’ve apologised for that. It was bad of him to be so rude to you and Sally when you came here for tea.’

  ‘I’m not talking about that, Ellen.’

  ‘Then what’s upset you so much?’

  ‘You obviously don’t know, do you?’

  ‘I’ve been out all afternoon. I’ve only just got back home.’

  ‘Sally started her new job today,’ said Patricia, tight-lipped.

  ‘Oh, yes – how did she get on?’

  ‘She got on extremely well until the end of the day. Sally was putting things back in the window when Paul pressed his nose against the glass and made a filthy gesture at her. I think it’s high time you learnt to control your son, Ellen.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s what he did?’

  ‘Sally doesn’t tell lies. She was in tears when she got home. Sally was terrified that your son would follow her. Newsome’s is her place of work. What’s the manager going to say if Paul keeps turning up to mock our daughter?’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ promised Ellen.

  ‘It should never have happened at all.’

  ‘I agree, Patricia. I’ll tackle him straight away.’

  ‘If you don’t, my husband will do so. He’ll be as disgusted as I was when he hears what Paul did. Please control your son.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Patricia.’

  ‘I don’t want empty apologies. I want your son to stop frightening Sally.’

  ‘He will,’ said Ellen, grimly. ‘I give you my word.’

  ‘As for the sewing circle,’ said the other, curtly, ‘you may as well tell them that I won’t be able to come any more. If they ask why, say that I’m no longer happy with the company I keep there.’

  The snub was like a punch in the stomach for Ellen. Though she tried to reason with Patricia, it was pointless. The visitor turned abruptly and walked away. Ellen was furious that she’d been put in such an awkward position. Closing the door, she went straight upstairs to Paul’s room and called his name aloud. When there was no reply, she opened the door and went in. The room was empty but there was a disturbing new development. Another drawing of Sally Redwood had been pinned to the dartboard for target practice. The earlier one had simply shown her face. This one was a full-length portrait. What made Ellen turn her head away in revulsion was the fact that the girl was stark naked.

  When he got back to Scotland Yard, Keedy went immediately to Marmion’s office to tell him about the sighting of Wally Hubbard. He described his interview with Felix Browne and was patently annoyed that he didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him.

  ‘It had to be Browne who gave him access to that house,’ he argued.

  ‘I agree, Joe.’

  ‘He’s too clever by half. He taunted me about having him followed.’

  ‘At least we know where Hubbard was holed up. That’s the second report about him today.’

  ‘Second?’

  ‘Yes, Joe. He’s gone back into the acting profession.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘After impersonating a prison officer so well, he pretended to be a detective and passed himself off as Inspector Marmion.’

  Keedy was incredulous. ‘You’re joking, Harv.’

  ‘I’m not, honestly. Wally has the cheek of the devil. He rolled up on the doorstep of one of Croft’s mistresses and told her that he was me.’

  ‘Did she believe him?’

  ‘Mrs Graydon had no reason not to believe him. It was only when she saw my photo in the newspaper today that she realised she’d been misled. Side by side, Wally and I look nothing like each other.’

  ‘Thank goodness this woman had the sense to report the incident.’

  ‘Given her relationship to Croft,’ said Marmion, ‘it was very brave of her to come forward. She’s a married woman, after all. To admit to adultery was a big decision for her.’

  He gave Keedy an edited account of his conversation with Helen Graydon, carefully omitting the fact that she’d used him as a sort of father-confessor. The sergeant was inquisitive. ‘How did Wally know that she had any connection with Croft?’

  ‘He didn’t tell her that.’

  ‘
Didn’t she ask him?’

  ‘I think she was too humiliated to be found out,’ said Marmion. ‘In the wrong hands, that information could be dangerous. Someone could blackmail her. Luckily, all that Wally was after were details of Croft’s whereabouts. She couldn’t help him. As for how he knew about her little secret, I think I know the answer to that.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Keedy. ‘He went to see Veronica Croft.’

  ‘We’re going to do the very same thing.’

  ‘We can ask her why she didn’t report Wally’s visit to us. That amounts to withholding crucial information from us about an escaped prisoner.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not the only thing we have to tax her with, Joe.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Well, it turns out that the papers found in the briefcase are not fakes at all. They appear to be genuine. We can show them to Mrs Croft and ask her if she’s seen that briefcase before.’

  ‘Were any fingerprints found on it?’

  ‘Quite a few,’ replied Marmion, ‘but most of them would have belonged to the murder victim. His killer must have handled it but we can’t separate his fingerprints from others on there. Chat seemed to think that we’d find Wally Hubbard’s dabs on it because of the way disguise was used. I disagreed. Wally might dress up as a prison officer and claim to be Inspector Marmion without turning a hair, but he was not inside that stolen Salvationist’s uniform.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘He had no motive to kill a stranger.’

  ‘The briefcase is still with Chat,’ said Keedy. ‘We can tell him about the two sightings of Wally Hubbard when we reclaim it from him. We know what he’ll ask, of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘Where is Hubbard now?’

  Maisie Rogers was a creature of habit. She always caught the same bus for her evening stint at the Dun Cow. The woman beside her tried to engage her in conversation but Maisie’s mind was elsewhere. She nodded as if she’d heard every word and even contributed the odd comment but she was preoccupied with memories of her time with Hubbard the previous night. She was in a cleft stick. If she deserted him, she might ensure her own safety but she’d lose the friendship of someone who’d been very close to her. Yet if she stayed with him, she risked being dragged into a murder as an accessory. Whatever choice she made, it involved pain and remorse. Maisie was still trying to come to a decision when she got off the bus.