The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  ‘That must have been horrible for you,’ he said, sympathetically.

  ‘It was awful. What’s going to happen if Patricia tells other people about it? Thanks to Paul, I’ll lose even more friends.’

  ‘Did you point that out to him?’

  ‘I tried to, Harvey, but he doesn’t listen.’

  ‘I’ll make him listen.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said as he tried to get up, ‘there’s something else you need to know.’

  When she told him about the second drawing of Sally Redwood, she was quivering with embarrassment. The news shocked and disgusted him. Ellen had to grab him to stop him charging off upstairs.

  ‘Don’t go, Harvey,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘I don’t care about that.’

  ‘I don’t want you to get involved in a row with Paul.’

  ‘Somebody has to, Ellen, and it’s not right to leave it to you. He’s got to show some respect for that girl. We can’t let him stalk her the way he did. It will terrify her. Paul has got to have the facts spelt out to him. He can’t go on like this or he’ll have to be put away somewhere.’

  ‘That’s what I said to Alice – and to Lily.’

  ‘Then it’s time it was said to Paul himself.’

  ‘Don’t be too harsh on him.’

  ‘How can you say that after the way he’s treated you?’ he asked. ‘He’s ignored you, insulted you and landed you in humiliating situations. That’s it, as far as I’m concerned, Ellen. I don’t care two hoots if it’s late and he’s asleep. I’m going to roust him out of bed and give him a good talking to.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll listen, Harvey.’

  ‘We’ll see about that!’

  With Ellen at his heels, he marched out of the room and up the stairs. Determined to confront their son, they went along to his room and pounded on Paul’s door. When there was no response from within, he knocked even harder then flung the door open and switched on the light. What they saw made them gasp. The room was empty. The bed had been made and everything had been tidied away. Most disturbing of all was the fact that the window had been left open and a stiff breeze was making the curtains swing to and fro. The window had clearly been his means of escape. Marmion tugged the curtains back and gazed down at the garden.

  ‘Where the hell has he gone?’ he exclaimed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was early when the telephone rang but Raymond Marmion was already up and about. When he heard his brother’s voice on the line, he anticipated good news.

  ‘Hello, Harvey,’ he said, hopefully. ‘Have you found out his name yet?’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘The murder victim, of course.’

  ‘No, we haven’t.’

  ‘Do you know who the killer is, then?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Marmion’s voice was strained. ‘That’s not why I rang.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I assumed that it was.’

  ‘Paul’s disappeared.’

  Raymond was stunned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly that,’ said Marmion. ‘When we went to his room last night, there was no sign of him. He’d put some clothing in a bag and climbed out through the window.’

  ‘That’s dreadful!’

  ‘I’ve been walking the streets all night. Ellen is distraught. That’s why I rang. I don’t suppose that Lily could find a moment to pop over here? I don’t like leaving Ellen alone. She needs company.’

  ‘Lily will be only too glad to help.’

  ‘They talked about Paul only yesterday. Lily was very supportive.’

  ‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’

  ‘None at all,’ admitted Marmion. ‘That’s what’s so upsetting, Raymond. He just left without a single word.’

  ‘Didn’t he leave a note of some kind?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Are there any friends he might go to?’

  ‘We can’t think of any. As you know, he joined up with the rest of the football team. Over half of them were killed in action. One of them, Colin Fryatt, was Paul’s best friend and that made a deep impression on him. The survivors from the team are still in a trench somewhere in France.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ve raised the alarm so the Metropolitan Police will be looking for him but he may not even be in London any more. He could be a hundred miles away. The worst of it is,’ said Marmion with concern, ‘that we don’t know why he went.’

  ‘Did you have a row with him?’

  ‘I was about to when we went to his room. But he wasn’t there.’

  ‘What a time for this to happen!’ said Raymond. ‘You’re already heading a murder enquiry and trying to recapture a prisoner on the run. How can you do either properly when Paul has vanished?’

  ‘That’s something I’ll have to discuss with the superintendent.’

  ‘Do that. As for Lily, I’ll send her over this morning.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘What about Alice?’

  ‘She needs to be told. I’ll leave a message at work for her.’

  ‘It must have been a terrible night for you, Harvey. I can hear the strain in your voice. You and Ellen have our sympathy.’

  ‘We just want to know where he is,’ said Marmion, trying to collect himself. ‘If he’s that unhappy at home, we can find somewhere else for him. We simply want reassurance, Raymond. You read frightening things about lads who’ve been injured in battle and sent home. Some of them are in despair over their disabilities and feel they have no future. There have been suicides.’

  ‘That’s not what’s happened in this case,’ said Raymond, firmly, ‘so you can put it out of your mind. Paul wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of packing some clothes if he’d decided to take his own life. We deal with despair all the time, so I know the signs. I didn’t recognise any of them in Paul.’

  ‘Thanks, Raymond. That helps.’

  ‘Ring me again if you need to.’

  ‘You’ve already given me the sensible advice I needed,’ said Marmion, gratefully. ‘We must stop thinking the worst and try to be more positive.’

  Raymond was about to bid his brother farewell when an idea nudged him.

  ‘I’ve just had a stray thought, Harvey.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘No, no,’ said the other, having doubts, ‘I’m probably very wide of the mark.’

  ‘I’d like to hear what you’re thinking, nonetheless.’

  ‘Well, this may sound strange but … is there any chance that Paul might have gone off to join the army again?’

  Wally Hubbard was out of luck. Having learnt from Veronica Croft where she worked, he was outside the factory as people streamed towards it for their shift. He hoped to intercept her and get some more information out of her but the chance never came. When Veronica finally appeared, she was in the middle of a gaggle of women. They swept past without giving him so much as a glance. Hubbard waited until he saw a square-jawed, middle-aged man walking on his own.

  ‘Half a mo,’ he said, stepping in front of him. ‘You work here?’

  ‘Yes, why do you want to know?’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘It’s not bad. Money’s gone up since the war.’

  ‘What about all these women?’

  The man grinned. ‘They brighten the place up.’

  ‘Do they work the same hours as you?’

  ‘Same hours but less pay, thank goodness.’

  ‘That’s as it should be,’ said Hubbard with an ingratiating smile. ‘We can’t let them take over from us, can we? So what time will their shift finish?’

  ‘Six o’clock on the dot.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  After patting him on the arm, Hubbard began to pick his way through the oncoming crowd, resolving to be back when Veronica came out of the factory.

  Ordinarily, Alice Marmion took car
e to keep out of the inspector’s way as much as possible. Thelma Gale was a martinet. She set high standards for the women under her and was renowned for the severity of her reprimands. Alice had suffered at her hands a number of times. When she was summoned by the inspector again, therefore, she went in trepidation. Her fears were groundless. The woman actually smiled at her for once and handed her an envelope.

  ‘Your father left this for you,’ she said.

  Alice took it from her. ‘Oh, thank you, Inspector.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

  Alice hesitated, having intended to do so in private. Thelma Gale stood up.

  ‘Your father did indicate the gist of his message,’ she said, softly.

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have taken the trouble to come here unless it was important.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Alice, ‘he wouldn’t.’

  When she opened the letter, the first line was enough to make her blench.

  ‘I may have to ask for time off, Inspector,’ she said, close to panic.

  ‘Calm down, Constable.’

  ‘My brother has disappeared. I’m needed elsewhere.’

  ‘And where is that supposed to be?’

  ‘I don’t know but—’

  ‘Why don’t you read the rest of the letter before you start asking for leave?’

  Heart pounding, Alice did as she was told and saw that her father was actually advising her to get on with her patrol as usual then to go home to see her mother afterwards. He just wanted her to be aware of the emergency. Alice’s mind was in turmoil as she wondered why her brother had left and where he could possibly be. The inspector interrupted her febrile speculation.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said with uncharacteristic sympathy. ‘The word has gone out and everyone is looking for your brother. Listen to your father’s counsel. Get on with your job and try to remain calm.’

  ‘How can I do that?’ asked Alice, worriedly.

  ‘You’ve been trained to cope in an emergency.’

  ‘But this is my brother, Inspector.’

  ‘He’ll be found in due course. Meanwhile, you’ll be doing a valuable job in the Women’s Police Service. That will be all. Goodbye.’

  Alice left the office in a daze.

  Marmion was having a similar experience in Claude Chatfield’s office. He was finding reserves of kindness and compassion in his superior that he never suspected were there. On hearing the news about Paul, the other man had been quick to help.

  ‘Take as much leave as you require, Inspector,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t need any at all, sir.’

  ‘Of course you do. I’ll draft in someone to replace you.’

  ‘I’ve no wish to be replaced.’

  ‘But your son is missing.’

  ‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Marmion, lips tightening for a moment. ‘I have a light bulb in my brain constantly flashing that message. It’s one of the reasons I must stay at the helm of the two investigations. They’ll give me something else on which I can concentrate. That’s important to me.’

  What he didn’t say was that he was not going to yield up control to anyone else. Marmion was sufficiently vain to be stung by the threat of being replaced by a colleague. Having worked so intensely on the two investigations, he was eager to see both through to their resolution. He also knew how unhappy Joe Keedy would be if forced to work under a new inspector and having to explain everything to him painstakingly. Though Chatfield was showing genuine sympathy to someone in distress, Marmion refused the offer of time off.

  ‘How is your wife coping?’ asked the superintendent.

  ‘My sister-in-law is with her. She’ll be a great help.’

  ‘What about your daughter?’

  ‘She’s aware of what’s happened, sir.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how you and your wife felt at the moment of discovery.’

  ‘It’s not something I’d care to go through again, sir. However,’ said Marmion, straightening his back, ‘I’d prefer to forget about it for the moment and address myself to the problems in hand.’

  ‘You have my utmost admiration.’

  It was such an unlikely compliment that Marmion was tempted to ask for a written version of it, if only to astound his colleagues. None of them would believe that the peppery and self-regarding superintendent could be so considerate.

  ‘Did you do what I suggested?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Chatfield. ‘I’ve arranged for you to interview the head of the Civil Service this very morning. He’s expecting you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘He’s a crusty old fellow so don’t expect too much from him.’

  ‘What about my other advice?’

  ‘That’s more difficult to follow, Inspector.’

  ‘There must be some way of making contact, sir.’

  ‘Not at our level, alas,’ said Chatfield. ‘British Intelligence is, by its very nature, notoriously secretive. I certainly have no authority to secure a meeting. The only person who can do that is the commissioner.’

  ‘I’d be happy to go with Sir Edward,’ volunteered Marmion.

  ‘He’s better off on his own. He speaks their language.’

  The sight of two well-dressed, well-groomed elderly gentleman seated in high-backed armchairs as they drank tea would have made most observers assume that they were old friends discussing their retirement plans. In fact, each of them was still highly active in his respective post. Sir Edward Henry was the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and his companion, Patrick Fielden, was, in addition to being a deputy commissioner, the Head of Special Branch. Well known to each other, they were in the latter’s office. Fielden was a fleshy man in his sixties who’d cultivated a luxuriant moustache to replace his thinning hair. He had a gift for talking at great length yet giving nothing whatsoever away. The commissioner had spoken on the telephone to him the previous day and explained what he wanted.

  ‘I’m not sure that we can help you, Sir Edward,’ said Fielden.

  ‘That’s disappointing.’

  ‘I understand your problem. When you have a murder of a man with a fake identity by an unknown assailant, it’s tempting to think – among other possibilities – that you may be dealing with a crime that involves an enemy within.’

  ‘It’s a theory put forward by Inspector Marmion and I hold his instincts in high regard. His report noted how swift and professional the killer had been.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he’s a German spy,’ warned Fielden. ‘He could equally well be an Irish Republican. Since the Easter Rising, they’ve been causing us major headaches. Some of them are trained assassins.’

  ‘We feel that there’s a German element somehow.’

  ‘That’s only supposition.’

  ‘This fellow, Croft, had a mother who was born in Freiburg.’

  ‘Yet his father, you say, is a true-born Englishman and therefore more likely to have had the major influence over the son. When the war broke out,’ said Fielden, as if addressing a larger audience than one man, ‘we had some 50,000 or so Germans living in these islands. That’s the largest immigrant group after the Irish and Jewish communities. We acted promptly and introduced the Aliens Restriction Act. Within a month of the start of hostilities, we interned over a third of German residents and many more have been added since.’

  ‘What are you telling me, Patrick?’ asked the commissioner.

  ‘Don’t give way to overexcitement.’

  The commissioner smiled. ‘I’ve never been accused of that before.’

  ‘Spy fever is something that was foolishly whipped up by the press and there are sensational novels to make it worse.’

  ‘You don’t need to lecture me on that subject. In the autumn of 1914, my officers arrested 9,000 people suspected of being German agents. We were left with red faces when not a single one was convicted.’

  ‘There are German spies at work here
but we’ve been able to catch or neutralise most of them. What they seek is intelligence about secret government decisions. I doubt if any of them believe that they can find it in a Salvation Army hostel.’

  ‘That depends on what was in the murder victim’s briefcase.’

  ‘Have you ever considered that it might simply have been money?’

  ‘Yes, of course we have.’

  ‘Murder for gain is an obvious motive.’

  ‘My detectives are too experienced to plump for obvious motives,’ said the other, tartly. ‘They like to look beneath the surface of a crime. In this case, they’ve identified a possible connection with a German agent.’

  ‘Which one is he?’ said Fielden, quizzically. ‘Is he victim or killer?’

  ‘We have no idea, Patrick. I trust you to assist us on that score.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You have insufficient evidence.’

  ‘I gave you the name of Ben Croft. Have you found him in your records?’

  ‘No, we haven’t.’

  ‘May we have access to them?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know where to look. They comprise 250,000 report cards and some 27,000 personal files on potential dissidents. Besides, they’re strictly confidential.’

  ‘We expect cooperation.’

  ‘Then you must bring more compelling evidence.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be quite so obstructive, Patrick.’

  ‘We have our job to do, Sir Edward, and you have yours.’

  ‘Part of my job is to assist Special Branch. I’m shocked that you are unable to reciprocate so willingly. It’s a matter I’ll take up with the Home Secretary.’

  ‘He’s a busy man. You may have a long wait for an answer.’

  The commissioner gave him a long, hard look. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re concealing something from me?’

  ‘I’ve told you the truth. We have no interest in Ben Croft.’

  Fielden talked at length about his remit and his support from the highest reaches of government. The commissioner knew that the other man was creating a deliberate smokescreen. When he rose to go, he asked a final question.