Douglas Brodie 03 - Pilgrim Soul

by Ferris, Gordon

  ‘Shall we start with introductions? I like to know who’s in my house. I know Mr Belsinger and Mr Feldmann, of course.’

  ‘My name is Malachi Herzog.’

  ‘And who or what are you, Mr Herzog?’

  Malachi looked startled, but then grinned. ‘I am a Marxist, Miss Campbell. What are you?’

  Before Sam threw him out, I sat forward.

  ‘Rather than debate dialectical materialism, can I suggest we focus on the Nazi escape routes? Malachi, you said you had documents. That you would share them with us. Please.’

  Sam looked miffed at not getting a verbal battle. So did Malachi. He pulled at a gas-mask case round his body. He dug out a brown envelope and laid it on the table. From it he produced a small pile of papers.

  ‘This is the passport Dragan used. It is in the name of Victor Galdakis. You will see it is a full displaced person’s passport issued by the International Committee of the Red Cross.’

  He slid the document to Sam who flicked through it, studied the stamps and signature and passed it to me. I picked it up.

  ‘It looks like the real thing. I saw plenty of these after the war.’

  Malachi interjected. ‘It is the real thing. Look at these.’ He placed other papers alongside. We examined them.

  ‘Good grief, this is the seal of the Vatican,’ I said. ‘The Pontificia Commissione di Assistenza – the Vatican Refugee Organisation.’

  ‘And this is a letter signed by Bishop Hudal,’ Sam chimed in. ‘It’s in Italian but I get the gist.’

  ‘Let me see.’ I took it and read it aloud in a halting translation. ‘This is to testify – certify – that Signor Victor Galdakis is a true friend of the Church and is to be accorded all necessary help . . . without let or hindrance . . . And so on, and so on. Enough backing to get him into the kingdom of heaven.’

  There were other letters in German, Italian and French, all supporting the refugee status of the impersonator.

  ‘How did he come by these? Do you know?’

  Shimon spoke. ‘We don’t have answers, Brodie, just more questions. There is talk of these escape routes running across Europe.’

  Isaac nodded. ‘There is considerable panic in our group. When we heard about Draganski, that was bad enough. But to learn there are others out there! Mein Gott!’

  Malachi leaned forward. ‘We know there are. And we think there may be a big fish. Someone important.’

  Sam asked, ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘These papers. They are expensive to obtain. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble for a junior SS guard. He had gold ingots. So did others. Surely only the top Nazis got their hands on gold? We think minions like Dragan could have been hired as guards. To protect someone much more important.’

  The room went quiet for a moment while we looked round at each other.

  Isaac lifted the passport and waved it at me. ‘Douglas, I know you have been through much. You have seen much. For you, these Nazis are shadim – demons. We are asking a lot of you. But we need your help. Find the big fish!’

  I sat with Sam after they’d gone. Horrors that I’d stuffed away in the dark corners of my mind were slithering out.

  ‘What was I saying about evil seeping into our lives?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s why I should act.’

  ‘Not just the money, then?’

  ‘If Herzog is right – and I believe he is – then I know what we’re looking for. I met them. The type.’

  ‘If you believe Herzog. I don’t like him.’

  ‘Because he’s a commie?’

  ‘Partly. I loathe what they stand for. Stalin is just as much a monster as Hitler. But apart from that, I just don’t like Mal. Even his nickname means bad. He’s trouble.’

  ‘I agree. Have you heard anything about these rat lines at the trials?’

  ‘No. Nothing. Of course we’re dealing with the ones we caught, not the ones that got away.’

  ‘That’s not to say none of them knows about it.’

  ‘But just to mix up our metaphors thoroughly – rat lines and big fishes – do you really think Glasgow is part of a Nazi escape route? I mean, Glasgow?’

  ‘Why not? Some of them will have been planning this for a while. Germany lost the war when they were defeated on the Eastern Front in ’43. Hitler wouldn’t admit it. He’d rather burn the house down about his ears. But not all of his scummy pals were ready to join their boss in the last bunker. They’d be tucking away gold for a rainy day, and making exit plans.’

  I went for a swim after work the next day, so that by the time I got home, Sam was already back. She had news.

  ‘I gave Iain Scrymgeour a call. He’s in Edinburgh till next week. He says he’s heard about your ratty lines. At least about the ones to the Argentine. The idea of a Scottish link had him spitting out his porridge. But he agrees it’s feasible. There’s no reason why there shouldn’t be a northern escape route. He wants to hear more.’

  ‘I’ll give him a call.’

  She gave me a strange look. ‘You can do better than that.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He wants to meet you.’

  ‘Edinburgh?’

  She cocked her head to one side. Wondering how I’d react.

  ‘No, actually. Hamburg.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Neither Iain nor I have time to question the defendants about this. We’re running to stay on top of things as it is. You could come out and see what you can dig up. We have a captive audience.’

  ‘I’m not going to Hamburg.’

  She ignored me. ‘There’s another thing. Iain had asked me about this back in December. I didn’t want to raise it with you. I knew it would upset you. But he’s asking again.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You know some of the folk you interrogated are facing trial. I’ve told you how much Iain admired your reports. He says your corroborating testimony would make a difference. He’s right, Brodie. If you can get a witness in the stand describing events it’s worth ten times the value of a bit of paper.’

  ‘But it all happened over a year ago.’ That sounded weak even to me. An unexpected surge of anxiety swept through me, as if I were being threatened. Bile rose in my craw and I had to swallow to cut the gag reflex.

  She eyed me sharply. ‘What’s the matter, Brodie? Have you forgotten? Forgotten them?’

  Forgotten the instigators of my nightmares? Forgotten how ordinary they looked and how extraordinary their vile deeds?

  I said slowly, ‘No, Sam. I haven’t forgotten.’

  As much as I tried to, I hadn’t erased the images. I’d stilled some, obscured others, and caged away my emotions. But when it came to the men and women I’d interrogated, their faces popped up in vivid detail like jack-in-the-boxes.

  ‘There’s a third reason. You could keep me company.’ She smiled in what she thought was a seductive manner. But it was as seductive as the smile from a dental nurse holding a pair of pliers behind her back.

  NINETEEN

  I lay on my lonely bed in the dark. Only the light from my cigarette punctured the night. Outside a steady rain drummed on the streets and sluiced my window. Sam’s suggestion had upped the ante. Yet I was calm. As if I were accepting my fate; that no matter how hard I tried to put distance between me and my past, it wasn’t going to work. It was annoying. I’d long since stopped believing in a higher power and yet here I was acknowledging that I’d been dealt a hand and had no choice but to play it. I couldn’t throw in my cards and leave the table.

  Could I?

  Was I really not master of my fate? Is there no self-will for any of us? Or just me? It didn’t seem tolerable. I wouldn’t tolerate it. I came to a clear decision. In the morning, I’d simply say no. Let this cup be taken from me. I wasn’t going through another war crimes trial. I wasn’t going to bloody Hamburg. They couldn’t pay me enough to compensate for the guaranteed future of sleepless nights and daytime nightmares. I drifted off to sleep, full
of resolve.

  Sam and I collided at breakfast. I was about to tell her about my decision.

  ‘Oh Douglas, Izzie was doing our laundry yesterday. Boiling the hankies. She says she found some of yours with blood on them. Nose bleed?’

  I started. ‘Yes. Yes, the other day. Sorry. I should have put them in cold water. Did they come out?’

  ‘They’re fine. Look, must dash. I’m in Edinburgh this morning. I have a review with the top brass in Farquharson Stable.’ She gulped down her tea, kissed me on the cheek and shot up the stairs.

  As the door slammed I examined my left hand. The thumb was covered in tiny bruises. Pinpricks. I licked it. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the Seaforth cap badge. I rubbed the stag’s head gently and fingered the motto: ‘Cuidich ’n Righ’ – ‘Help the King’. I slid it back in my pocket. As the thunder of Izzie’s hoover roared down the stairwell I made for the door before she started questioning me too.

  I went off for a swim and then headed straight into the Gazette. At Sunday’s meeting with Shimon and Malachi I’d left it that I would let them know if I was prepared to pursue this case further. My answer was no. I was going to pass on this one. In the same determined vein I planned to see Sam this evening and get her to call Scrymgeour to say I wouldn’t be coming out to Hamburg to testify, far less go on a wild-rat chase.

  I spent the morning shaping an article on the black market in counterfeit Co-op coupons. If it weren’t for the constraints of column inches, not to mention deadlines, and subs killing my darlings, this job would suit me. Maybe I should give it a bit more time? Use it as a springboard to a full writing career: short stories, novels . . .

  It was nearly noon and I looked up to see what the commotion was at the door. I was just in time to see Eddie pointing directly at me. Alongside him was a much taller figure. In uniform. Police uniform with lots of glinting silver on his shoulder and his cap peak. God, what had I done? And why did it merit arrest by the top man?

  Eddie saw me looking and summoned me with his hand as though he was conducting traffic. I got to my feet, slipped on my jacket and walked towards trouble. Eddie was flushed and stretching up and down on his toes.

  ‘Ah, Brodie. This is Chief Constable McCulloch.’

  McCulloch pulled off his leather glove and held out his hand. ‘Mr Brodie, it’s good to meet you in person at last.’

  I shook his hand. ‘And you too, sir.’

  So I wasn’t being arrested. I’d seen his photo plenty of times in the papers and viewed him in the flesh years ago, before the war, at a parade in the city centre. He would have been a superintendent then. I had been a uniformed sergeant before shifting across to detective duties. He and I had spoken once, by phone, last September. At the bloody end of the Glasgow Marshal vigilante case. He’d offered me a job. I’d declined. Had he come in person to twist my arm?

  ‘I wonder, Mr Paton, if I could steal Mr Brodie from you for a short while? Is there somewhere we could talk? Privately?’

  ‘Of course, sir. Right this way, sir. Elaine! Get some tea thegither for the Chief Constable. Follow me, sir.’ Eddie all but bowed as he retreated like a flunky leaving his king. I exchanged a look with McCulloch, and followed them out. Eddie showed us into the conference room and left us to it, McCulloch having declined tea in favour of privacy. We sat. He took off his cap and remaining glove. He was a big well-set man, I’d say in his early fifties. Bald head, amiable face but scrutinising eyes.

  ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

  ‘Well, you can start by calling me Malcolm. What do you prefer, Mr Brodie?’

  ‘Brodie is fine . . . Malcolm.’

  ‘Good, well, Brodie, I’m not here to try to convince you that you should take up my offer of a job. Though it’s still on the table if you change your mind.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ve got my hands full here. Taking a back seat.’

  ‘Really? That’s not what I hear.’

  I wondered whom he’d been talking to, and how much he knew. I smiled inscrutably.

  ‘You have been busy, Brodie. And now’s my chance to thank you in person for – shall we say – your help in dealing with the Glasgow Marshals. Not to mention the Slattery gang before that.’

  ‘It wasn’t something I went out looking for.’

  ‘It just came your way, eh? And it seems you have friends in high places.’

  ‘Really? I’m only aware of those in low places.’

  ‘Well, let’s just check a few things. You are Mr Douglas Brodie, formerly Major Brodie of the Seaforths? You did carry out special duties in Germany after the war including interrogation of some senior Nazis? And you were directly involved in the Belsen war crimes trials.’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’ How the hell did he know about Belsen? It wasn’t something I ever talked about, even to myself.

  ‘You’ve also been . . . how shall I put this? . . . helping us with some enquiries into some thefts among the Jewish community? And related murders?’

  ‘Just from a reporter’s perspective.’ Duncan been blabbing? Sangster?

  ‘Indeed? In that case, I have the right man. I received a call this morning from the head of MI5.’

  TWENTY

  I was in real trouble.

  ‘You know who that is?’

  ‘Your predecessor. Sir Percy Sillitoe.’

  ‘Exactly. He told me about the possibility that this fair city of ours is harbouring escaped Nazis.’

  ‘How did he hear?’

  ‘Sir Percy took a personal phone call last evening from the British legal representative at the Hamburg trials.’

  I felt the tidal wave of fate lapping at my knees.

  McCulloch was continuing: ‘Do you know what he asked Sir Percy to do? And therefore why I’m here?’

  I sighed. ‘I’m beginning to guess.’

  ‘They would be very grateful if you would make your way to Hamburg. You can travel with your colleague Advocate Samantha Campbell.’

  Colleague? What sort of euphemism was that? Was he trying to make this sound like a wee holiday? A jaunt with my girlfriend down the Elbe? It might be more tempting in springtime, but it would be bloody freezing just now. And I didn’t imagine it would involve a lot of jolly beer-swilling and lederhosen-slapping.

  ‘Malcolm, I’m honoured and, frankly, astonished that you’ve come in person to deliver this message. I have to ask why. You’re a busy man. A phone call would do. In fact Sillitoe could have called me himself and saved you the bother.’

  ‘He wanted me in the loop. Correctly. This is my city. As for this personal invitation, would it have worked if I’d called you? The last time I phoned you to do something you turned me down. You have a certain reputation for stubbornness, Brodie. Percy made it clear that he won’t take no for an answer. Besides . . .’

  ‘Besides?’

  McCulloch’s face suddenly lost its openness and charm. He bared the steel. ‘We’ve had four deaths, Brodie. Four! If there’s a viper’s nest in Glasgow, I want it ripped out and the creatures crushed underfoot!’

  ‘Right.’ The force of his anger seemed to reverberate round the room. ‘I can understand your interest. But why is Sillitoe engaged?’

  ‘Why do you think? He’s MI5. His department is responsible for rooting out and returning these escapees for trial by the British authorities. If there is an international network operating in Britain with links to the Red Cross and the Vatican – good God, the mind reels just talking about it – he wants to know about it. Wants to stop it. This is a threat to the safety of the kingdom.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he just ask for the information from the Hamburg legal team?’

  ‘Ah, the very point I made to Percy myself.’ He smiled. ‘It seems the team out there have very little knowledge of these rat lines. Just a few snippets. More whispers than hard facts. They’re also up to their legal eyeballs preparing for the next round of trials and don’t have the time to spare on digging into this matter. They’re short-staffed and need
a hand. You have the German, Brodie, and can have a second go at chatting up the accused. Find some facts. Some names.’

  ‘Why are any of these detainees going to talk to me?’

  ‘I assume they will have little say in the matter. It’ll be up to you to get them to spout, of course. Brodie, we’re desperate for leads. You’re our best hope of stopping more killings.’

  ‘Then you’re in bother.’

  He ignored me. ‘There’s another reason for your going out there. The legal team and indeed our government are being pressured by the Polish authorities. The Poles want to take over the trial.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Overtly? It’s all about statehood, showing they’re a competent democratic government again. They’re not. The communist parties – backed by the USSR – staged a vote last year. Poland is a satellite of Russia in all but name. In a week’s time there will be parliamentary elections. They will be rigged. The communists, manipulated by Stalin’s agents, have flung all opposition in prison.’

  ‘What impact would this have on any trials?’

  ‘The Poles would kill the process or, at best, delay it for years.’

  ‘Why would they kill it?’

  ‘There’s a lot of uncomfortable history out there. A lot of Poles and Russians were willing accomplices in getting rid of their Jews.’

  ‘But what good would I do?’

  ‘We want quick justice in the British occupied zone. Calm things down and move on. They think it will considerably strengthen our case if you take the witness stand to support your own reports. Confirm identities and statements. Cometh the hour, cometh the man, Brodie, eh?’

  The waters were now up to my neck. I tried one last lunge for the lifeboat.

  ‘I don’t have to do this, Malcolm, do I? I have the choice?’