The Enemy Within

by Edward Marston

  Miss Janet Latimer was an elderly maiden aunt of Ben Croft’s and she lived alone in a small, quaint, whitewashed cottage near the seafront. She had nothing but praise for him. Age had shrunk her size and bent her back but her memory was unimpaired. She talked fondly of the many holidays Croft spent with her as a boy and how she’d always been pleased to see him and his wife.

  ‘They’re such a lovely couple, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I haven’t seen them together, I’m afraid.’

  ‘They’re still so very much in love. It’s so touching.’

  She was clearly unaware of the estrangement between them and Keedy did nothing to disillusion her. On the principle that the more he learnt about Croft, the better, he listened to her meanderings without interruption.

  ‘When did you last see them, Miss Latimer?’ he asked when opportunity arose.

  ‘Oh, it must be four or five weeks ago – perhaps less.’

  ‘Did he stay here?’

  ‘It was just for one night. It was lovely to see him again.’

  ‘He came alone, I take it.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Have you any idea where he was going afterwards?’

  ‘He said something about sailing,’ she replied, sweetly. ‘In his heart, he’d have loved to have joined the navy, you know, but his parents wouldn’t let him. As a boy, he spent all his time on the pier, watching ships and boats through an old telescope.’

  ‘Did he tell you where he was sailing?’ pressed Keedy.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he say anything at all about his plans?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, he didn’t say a word.’ She screwed up one eye and studied him carefully through the other. ‘Why have you come all the way from London to ask these questions?’

  ‘I’m anxious to trace Mr Croft.’

  ‘That’s what the other man told me.’

  ‘What other man is that?’

  ‘The other detective,’ she replied. ‘He drove all the way down from London in search of Ben, though he wouldn’t say why. But he did tell me that he was from Scotland Yard, just like you. Why did you both have to come?’ she asked. ‘One was enough, surely. The superintendent could have told you what I said.’

  Keedy gaped. ‘Did you call him “the superintendent”?’

  ‘That was his name – Superintendent Claude Chatfield. He was charming to me. It was a pleasure to meet him.’

  Wally Hubbard had the feeling that he was slowly getting somewhere, picking up bits of information about his target and getting a clearer definition of him. He’d enjoyed his time with Janet Latimer, all the more so because she was the person who’d seen him last. She’d also saved him the trouble of going to Scarborough or Blackpool by telling him which members of the extended family lived there and why it was highly unlikely that Croft would be staying with them. Having shed his incarnation as a detective superintendent, Hubbard took the train back to London and wondered what his next step should be.

  Maisie Rogers was being followed. That much was certain. Nothing else could explain the fact that she hadn’t turned up the previous night. Her occupation meant that she’d spent many years walking home alone in the dark and was therefore attuned to danger. She would not be in touch with him until she felt it was absolutely safe. He accepted that. For the time being, he was on his own. Hubbard tried to while away some of the time by reading the newspaper he’d bought at the railway station in Brighton. It told him the name of the murder victim.

  ‘David Ackley, eh?’ he said to himself. ‘So how did you come to have Ben Croft’s papers in your briefcase?’

  Though he was keen to focus on the case in hand, Marmion spent the first five minutes of his visit to the hostel fielding questions from his brother and his sister-in-law. They wanted to know if there was any news about Paul and how everyone was coping with his unheralded departure. Raymond seized on a phrase.

  ‘Joe called him the “enemy within”?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marmion.

  ‘That’s very harsh,’ said Lily.

  ‘Yet there’s a grain of truth in it,’ said Raymond. ‘He was lying low and pretending to be one of the family until he was ready to show his true colours.’

  ‘And what are they?’

  ‘He wants to be independent, Lily. Paul wants to be his own man.’

  ‘If that’s really the case,’ said Marmion, ‘we can all stop worrying so much.’

  He spoke to a number of residents there and heard the same description of David Ackley each time. The man was shy, uneasy and avoided everyone. There was, however, an exception to the rule. When Howie Vernon spoke to the inspector, he talked about a different person altogether. Vernon was a hirsute old man with a patch over one eye and an almost total lack of teeth.

  ‘I didn’t like the sod,’ he declared.

  ‘Everybody else seemed to get on with him,’ said Marmion.

  ‘They didn’t know him like I did.’

  ‘How would you describe him, Mr Vernon?’

  ‘He was sly and nasty.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I was the one who had the fight with him, wasn’t I?’

  ‘But I was told how meek and mild he was.’

  ‘He wasn’t very meek the time I caught him in the bathroom,’ said the old man. ‘I didn’t mean to go in but the lock doesn’t work properly. If you shove hard enough, the door will open.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I went in there for a piss and he snarled at me like an animal. Anyone would think I’d gone in there to bugger him. Meek and mild, is it? The language that came out of him was foul. If I hadn’t got out quickly, he’d have attacked me.’

  ‘Was he in the bath when you went in there?’

  ‘No, he was fully clothed.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘He was sitting on the lavatory with that briefcase across his knees,’ said Vernon, bitterly. ‘And he was writing something in this thick notebook. Sly and nasty are the words for him, Inspector. He’d sneaked off on his own and, when I went in there by mistake, he bared his teeth at me as if he was a mad dog. Whatever was in that notebook of his, he was ready to defend with his bleeding life.’

  Keedy decided that it was time to rattle Felix Browne’s cage again. When he was asked to wait a few minutes, he didn’t burst into the man’s office as he’d done on his last visit. Browne’s secretary eventually came out and ushered him in. Browne was on his feet with his hands on his hips.

  ‘I see that you’ve mastered the art of waiting,’ he teased.

  ‘Every visit here is a learning process of sorts.’

  The other man laughed. ‘And what lesson will you take away from today?’

  ‘That depends on how honest you are.’

  ‘I’m known for my honesty, Sergeant.’

  ‘Well, I’m known for my lack of trust in people,’ said Keedy.

  ‘That’s a failing.’

  ‘I’ve learnt to live with my disability.’

  Laughing again, Browne indicated a seat. Both of them sat down and regarded each other warily. Keedy saw the photographs of properties on the desk.

  ‘Where have you put Hubbard this time?’ he asked.

  ‘I haven’t put him anywhere because I haven’t set eyes on him. Given the choice, I’d put him straight back in prison so that you could have a good night’s sleep at last. You look tired, Sergeant.’

  ‘I’m certainly tired of your lies, Mr Browne.’

  ‘It’s nice to find you so ready with your compliments.’

  ‘When did you last see Maisie Rogers?’

  Browne sniggered. ‘Why should I want to bother with a barmaid?’

  ‘She’d save you the trouble of seeing Hubbard in person,’ said Keedy. ‘Maisie could act as an intermediary – a go-between.’

  ‘I know what an intermediary is.’

  ‘Has Maisie been here?’

  ‘She can’t afford my pric
es, Sergeant.’

  ‘That’s no disgrace. Neither can I.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here – to negotiate a discount?’

  ‘I’m here to tell you that your friend, Wally Hubbard, is starting to take chances. He was seen talking to Maisie outside the Dun Cow, where she works. He’s also been breathing down the neck of Veronica Croft again. She gave him a list of her husband’s relatives.’

  ‘Why should I wish to know all this?’

  ‘You might care to warn him that we’re getting ever closer.’

  ‘Wally can look after himself.’

  ‘Unbelievably, he made a favourable impression on Miss Janet Latimer.’

  ‘Who, in God’s name, is she?’

  ‘She’s Croft’s dear old aunt in Brighton. I arrived at her house half an hour after Hubbard had left. Do you see what I mean about taking chances?’

  ‘I’ve no control over him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you’re still his friend.’

  ‘Of course I am. That will never change.’

  ‘Then you’re liable to offer him help, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oddly enough,’ said Browne, easily, ‘he’s never asked for any.’

  ‘Then how did he end up in West Terrace?’

  ‘Like me, he knows a good house when he sees one.’

  ‘When he ran away,’ said Keedy, ‘we retraced our steps to the property. There was no sign of the break-in you suggested. Are you sure you didn’t let him in?’

  ‘I’m certain,’ replied Browne, impassively.

  ‘It’s the kind of thing a good friend would do.’

  ‘A good friend wouldn’t be so stupid. Self-interest would get in the way.’

  ‘That might be your motto, Mr Browne.’

  ‘Yes, it might. Self-interest is my guiding star. It’s the reason I’ve done so well in a dog-eat-dog world.’

  Keedy got up. ‘Pass on a message to Hubbard for me.’

  ‘I’ve no means of doing so.’

  ‘There have been too many sightings of him. That’s carelessness on his part. Tell him that he’s making it too easy for us.’

  ‘What would you advise?’

  ‘He should give himself up.’

  ‘You’ve spent all this time chasing after Wally and you still don’t understand him, do you? He’s on a mission,’ said Browne, seriously. ‘He thinks about Ben Croft night and day. There’s no stopping missionary zeal, Sergeant, and I can tell you now that it flows through Wally Hubbard’s veins like hot lava.’

  Ellen did anything and everything to take her mind off Paul’s disappearance. She went out shopping, joined the sewing circle for an hour and returned to the house to clean every room with manic intensity. The one bedroom left untouched belonged to her son. She simply opened the window to its full extent and let the cold air blow in for a while. Like Alice, she’d been badly jarred by Keedy’s reference to Paul as an enemy, yet to some extent, she had to concede, it was an accurate description. Her son neither took part nor showed any interest in the family. He lived apart from them.

  The key to his strange behaviour, she believed, lay in his volatile attitude towards the opposite sex. As a tall, good-looking, amiable youth, Paul was never short of female attention at school. He’d had a series of girlfriends before settling on one in particular. Everything had been going well until war interrupted the romance. It survived his first leave but, on his second visit home, he was so coarse and uncaring that the girl was forced to break off the relationship. Nobody had taken her place until Paul had been approached by Mavis Tandy. Though he’d been remarkably secretive about her, he’d shown a keen interest in her, arranging three meetings in quick succession. After the first two, he came home with a sense of quiet elation. On the third occasion, however, he returned with his head down and ignored his mother’s greeting. Paul seemed to retreat from everyone. The treasured mouth organ belonging to his friend, Colin Fryatt, was never seen or heard again. Music of any kind vanished from his life.

  From that moment on, he’d never sought female company. When his mother invited Sally Redwood into the house, she did so in the hope that it would revive pleasant memories of their schooldays together. All that it did was to bring out the worst in Paul, turning him into a complete lout. He insulted the girl, tormented her in the shop where she’d just started work and, worst of all, made an obscene drawing of her for the sole purpose of throwing darts at it. Ellen winced at the memory of what she discovered in his bedroom.

  How could someone capable of love and tenderness stoop to such malicious treatment of a girl like Sally? Was he simply reverting to an old hatred of her or did she represent all young women and have to be punished on their behalf? Ellen didn’t have the answer but she felt that someone might provide it. With luck, she might even be able to say where Paul had actually gone.

  Mavis Tandy had to be found.

  Hubbard missed Maisie Rogers. She was much more than a compliant woman. At a time when he needed one most, she was a true friend. Now that she was being followed, he’d have to do without her for a while. Pacing up and down the living room, he kept one eye on the net curtains in the bay window. In case the police came unexpectedly, he’d be ready. Hubbard had already planned his escape route. He slept with his clothes on so that he could flee instantly.

  He was in the window when the shape of a car glided by. Immediately on the alert, he drew the curtain back an inch and peered out. Hubbard laughed. The car belonged to Felix Browne. His friend was getting a box out of the car. It contained provisions for his guest. Hubbard opened the door before Browne could press the bell. He took the box, checked its contents then put it on the kitchen table. The estate agent was at his elbow.

  ‘I had a visit from Sergeant Keedy,’ he said.

  ‘I hope that you gave him my regards.’

  ‘He came with a warning for you, Wally. You’re getting slack.’

  Hubbard tensed. ‘Who says so?’

  ‘Half an hour after you left someone’s house in Brighton, he turned up there.’

  ‘I was on the train by then.’

  ‘What if he’d come half an hour earlier?’

  ‘I’d have pulled rank on him,’ said Hubbard, chortling, ‘because I was acting as Superintendent Claude Chatfield at the time.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Wally.’

  ‘I enjoy being someone else.’

  ‘I know,’ said Browne. ‘You turned up outside the Dun Cow as a blind man but the trick backfired. You were recognised.’

  ‘Was I – who by?’

  ‘Does it matter? The fact is that you can’t go on like this.’

  ‘What else am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Leave London and go to ground somewhere else.’

  ‘How can I possibly find Croft if I do that?’

  ‘We don’t know that he’s here, Wally.’

  ‘He is. I feel it in my water.’

  ‘The longer you stay in London, the more chance there is of getting nabbed. And if you’re arrested in one of my properties, the coppers will come after me.’

  Hubbard grabbed his lapels. ‘Are you losing your nerve, Felix?’

  ‘I’d never do that.’

  ‘It’s beginning to sound like it.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ said Browne, brushing away his hand.

  ‘I’m starting to get somewhere,’ insisted Hubbard. ‘Croft’s aunt told me he’d sailed off somewhere but that was well over a month ago. He must be back by now. He can’t have gone far. Where the hell can you sail when there are German subs all round us? Croft is somewhere in this city. I can smell him, Felix.’

  ‘Right, so you smell him, you find him, you kill him. What happens next?’

  ‘I disappear from your life for ever.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I’ll go where the wind blows me.’

  ‘Will you be alone?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Hubbard, ‘I’ll be taking Maisie with me. After what she’s done for me since I escaped
, she deserves it. Her days of pulling pints for drunken lechers are numbered. It’s her turn to escape now.’

  Though Maisie couldn’t actually see the man, she sensed that he was there. He’d been waiting outside her flat and followed her to the bus stop. When she’d reached the pub, she could feel his eyes still on her. During her afternoon break, she walked to the park and had a late lunch, eating the sandwiches she’d made earlier and tossing some of the bread to the birds. If the detective was expecting Hubbard to turn up, he was bitterly disappointed. The only person to speak to her was the park keeper and he was far too old, short and stout to be the fugitive. Being continuously watched was both irritating and inhibiting but Maisie bore it well, carrying on as if totally unaware that she was being shadowed.

  ‘What was he writing, do you think?’

  ‘I wish I knew, Joe.’

  ‘It must have been something important if he lost his temper like that.’

  ‘Maybe I was right, after all,’ said Marmion, smiling. ‘It was a case of many a true word spoken in jest.’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said Keedy.

  ‘Chat and I were wondering what was in that briefcase of his. For a joke, I suggested that it might be a copy of Karl Marx’s Das Kapital.’

  ‘Did he laugh?’

  ‘Need you ask? Chat wouldn’t recognise a joke if it jumped up in front of him and sang the national anthem. As for the briefcase, I still reckon that David Ackley was hiding something of political significance in there. The trouble is,’ he continued, ‘that we may never know what it is.’