Where Death and Danger Go Page 11

  Clement checked his watch, the meeting with Morris still forty minutes away and McBryde due momentarily. He realised his meeting with Morris would preclude him attending the lunch at Caius. He pondered Rathbourne’s invitation but he couldn’t draw any conclusions. At least none that made any sense to him.

  With Fellows and students at tutorials and lectures, the lodge became eerily quiet. Clement went to the door and looked out. The front door was open and he could see the constable standing outside, his feet astride. Clement turned and stared again at the murder scene.

  Was there anything that didn’t look as it should? He walked towards Bill’s desk, stepping over the police rope and staring at the thick pool of blood on the blotter. While the stain extended over everything on the desk, most of it had flowed down the front and side of where Bill had been sitting. A pool of congealed viscous fluid lay on the rug beneath the desk. Although Clement hadn’t seen the body, he surmised Bill’s trousers and shirt would be soaked in blood. Clement lifted his gaze. If Bill had been shot in the chest as Edwards had said, surely there would be blood splatter on the shelves of books and files behind him? Clement walked to the shelves, his eyes squinting, searching for a bullet lodged in the books that lined the wall behind the desk. That there was no blood splatter anywhere made Clement shudder. No exit wound. Clement had seen it before but if the bullet had been subsonic, this altered everything. Subsonic bullets were not available to just anyone and that included the police.

  He stood by the fireplace, his gaze still on the desk blotter. Why was it not a head shot? Assassins, as he understood it, preferred head shots. Usually two. So why had Hayward been shot once in the chest?

  ‘What’s happened?’ McBryde said, walking into the lodge.

  Clement looked up at the porter, McBryde’s sudden entrance surprising him. ‘Mr Hayward has been shot. I’m sorry, but I know nothing more than this.’

  ‘Why are you here? Where’s Edwards?’

  ‘The Master sent him home and asked me to man the fort until you arrived,’ Clement answered. ‘But I’ll leave now you’re here.’

  Clement hurried away, his appointment with Morris in ten minutes. Hayward’s murder played on his mind. Had the man been shot in the chest rather than the head to conceal the wound so that anyone passing the lodge would think Hayward was asleep at his desk? Was this to buy time for the murderer to get away? Until Clement knew more about the man’s injuries there would be no answers. It troubled him that Hayward’s warning to him may have been overheard. Clement quickened his step. Why had Hayward thought it necessary to make the comment? Surely, if it had been overheard, it didn’t warrant his death?

  Clement weaved his way through a line of students coming along Trinity Lane. On the Parade, the streets were crowded but he almost didn’t see them as he wound his way towards St Andrew’s Street. His thoughts went to the other cold-blooded death; the man in Morris’s mortuary. The same impassive kill of an assassination and both shots to the chest, not the head. Was it the same killer? Hayward’s death had so few similarities to the man in Morris’s mortuary. No one knew the dead man from the copse but everyone knew Old Bill. Clement hurried on through the jostling crowds. He wanted to know what Morris had learned and to see if Hayward had suffered any other injuries prior to death that would indicate interrogation. Clement rounded the corner into St Andrew’s Street, the police station only minutes away.

  He entered the imposing building. People sat in chairs around a waiting area. None were people he recognised. He smiled at Sergeant Kendall at the duty desk.

  ‘Please go straight up, sir. Superintendent Morris is expecting you.’

  Clement nodded and took the stairs to Morris’s office. He knocked lightly at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Morris called. Clement opened the door. ‘Ah! Clement. Please, sit down. Quite a morning.’

  ‘What can you tell me, Arthur?’

  ‘Close range shot. Bullet to the chest.’

  ‘Silenced?’

  ‘And subsonic.’

  Clement winced. ‘I thought it had to have been. The Master sent Edwards home so I was able to have a quick look around the lodge before McBryde arrived.’

  ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘No. I should tell you that I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier. I did leave college last night after drinks with Father Rathbourne. It was just after ten. I returned to my room an hour later.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I went to see a friend.’

  Morris eyebrows rose. ‘I’m sure you’ll tell me about it when you can.’

  Clement smiled. ‘Thank you. However, I can tell you this. When I returned to college, I saw Hayward sitting at the porter’s desk. He didn’t look up. I thought he hadn’t heard me but it’s possible he was already dead.’ Clement told Morris what Bill had said to him.

  ‘Could they have known Mr Hayward had warned you?’

  ‘Only if I’d been followed and we’d been overheard. But why would it warrant his death?’

  ‘Perhaps he told his killer about it,’ Morris added.

  ‘Surely if that were the case his body would have been on the floor; shot while standing talking to his killer in the lodge. In my opinion, Arthur, if Hayward was seated at the time he was shot, he didn’t have time to either defend himself or shout out anything before he was killed. Further, I cannot see any similarities between the two deaths except that both were killed with shots to the chest. It just doesn’t make any sense. Were there any other injuries to Hayward’s body?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘I’ve asked myself if, perhaps, I’d been seen leaving college and Hayward’s death was timed to implicate me. If that were true, why has no one stepped forward to tell you this?’

  Morris leaned back in his chair. ‘Is there even the remotest possibility, Clement, that someone knows your real purpose in being in Cambridge?’

  Clement shook his head. ‘No. There are only four people, other than yourself, who know I am here; three are in the Service and the fourth works for me. And I trust him above anyone.’

  ‘Your friend in Cambridge?’

  ‘Yes. I was supposed to have lunch with Rathbourne and Armstrong today at Caius but in view of what’s happened, there’s no point in me trying to infiltrate this group now.’

  ‘That’s as well, Clement. Because until I have someone else, you’re my prime suspect.’

  Chapter 12

  Friday 6th June 1941

  Clement heard the key rotate in the cell door lock. He stood up from where he was sitting on the bunk. It had been a long cold night in the police cell.

  Morris entered, carrying Clement’s Fairbairn-Sykes dagger. He handed it to Clement. ‘We’ve searched your room. You may be interested to know, Clement, that we found a Luger under your mattress. There are no prints, of course. But we are telling the college that you have been taken into custody. ‘Did you bring any other weapons with you to Cambridge?’

  ‘You didn’t find the pistol I have secreted in the fireplace in my room?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry about this, Clement, but I actually think a prison cell is the safest place for you right now.’

  ‘I agree, Arthur. And for the record, I didn’t kill Bill Hayward.’

  ‘I never thought you did but things must look right. I’ll get Sergeant Kendall to get the pistol, if it’s still there.’

  ‘No need, my friend can get it. I missed the rendezvous with him last night so I’ll need to get a message to him anyway. He’s working at The Eagle.’

  ‘Of course. You can use the telephone in the interview room at the end. You won’t be overheard there.’

  Clement followed Morris out of the police cells and along the unadorned corridor to the furthest room from the front door of the police station. ‘Take a seat, Clement. While you make your phone call, I’ll arrange something for you to eat.’

  There was a knock on the open door and Kendall entered. ‘Sorry, sir. There’s a man at the front des
k asking to see the prisoner.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Says his name is Fearnley Maughton.’

  Clement smiled, replacing the telephone receiver. ‘He said he’d be looking out for me.’

  ‘Escort the man here, would you Sergeant. And bring some tea and something for Reverend Wisdom to eat.’

  Morris closed the door. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘My man in the shadows, Reg Naylor. You’ve met him. Last year in Fearnley Maughton,’ Clement said, sitting down.

  A few minutes later the door opened and Reg came in. ‘You alright, Clement?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Reg. You remember Superintendent Arthur Morris?’

  ‘Yes. The chief inspector from Lewes, isn’t it?’

  ‘The same. You involved with Clement currently?’ Morris asked.

  Reg nodded. ‘What are you doing here, Clement?’

  ‘Last night, one of the porters at Trinity Hall was murdered. It happened around the same time that I came to see you.’

  ‘And you think Clement did this?’ Reg said to Morris.

  ‘Of course not. But until I find out who did, prison provides Clement some degree of safety and oddly, some freedom of movement to come and go unobserved whenever he wishes.’

  ‘Reg, I need you to get my Welrod from my room.’

  ‘Done, Clement,’ Reg said, taking the weapon from his coat pocket and placing it on the desk. ‘When you didn’t show up I knew something was wrong.’

  Clement wrapped the underarm holster around his chest and inserted the Welrod.

  ‘Now to bring you up to speed with what we are doing, Clement,’ Morris began. ‘I’ve got Trinity Hall under constant surveillance. So far only students and the occasional Fellow seem to use the front. No one suspicious at this stage.’

  ‘You won’t find your man or men using the front door, Morris,’ Reg said. ‘If you want to see who comes and goes, you have to be in The Backs. If there are steps to anywhere, someone is using them. And there are steps from Trinity Hall College to the river. I’ll tell you something else. They are in use. By promiscuous students mostly but also others. Students use them from midnight to around three. Others, a lot older than students, use them in the early hours, just before dawn.’

  ‘I saw a dinghy tied up there yesterday. Any ideas who’s using them, Reg?’ Clement asked.

  ‘From your description, I’d say your young Mr Armstrong. I’ve been watching for three nights. Tuesday night, well, early Wednesday morning in fact, a rowboat left from the steps at the rear of the college at five in the morning. Same routine Thursday morning and again this morning. I got the sense that it wasn’t unusual.’

  ‘How?’ Clement asked.

  ‘Oarsman knows Armstrong. Even though nothing was said, there was a familiarity between them. Even their actions, how he got into the boat, everything seemed to be familiar ground and as I said, there was no conversation as to where to sit or where to go. Then it returned about three hours later. But not with young Armstrong. Just the oarsman who ties it up and disappears up the college steps. Then this morning, right on cue at five, Armstrong and the oarsman leave together from the college steps again but as yet the boat hasn’t returned.’

  ‘So where does Armstrong go?’ Morris asked.

  A knock at the door halted conversation. Kendall poked his head around. Entering, he placed a tray on the table with some tea and sandwiches. ‘Something you should know, sir.’

  ‘What is it, Kendall?’

  ‘We’ve just received a telephone call from Ramsey, sir. The Abbey School has had a break-in. In the early hours of this morning, a cleaner saw a torch light through the headmaster’s office window. They went immediately to the principal’s residence to alert him but by the time they got back to his study, the intruders had vanished.’

  ‘What happened?’ Morris asked.

  ‘Ransacked the principal’s office. Emptied filing cabinets and spread the contents all over the floor. Will I tell the headmaster you’ll be out to see them later, sir?’

  Morris turned to face Clement. ‘With your permission, Clement, it could be a good idea if Sergeant Kendall knows what’s going on.’

  Clement looked at the sergeant then at Morris.

  Morris must have seen his hesitation. ‘Sergeant Kendall has been my bagman since I arrived in Cambridge. You can trust him, Clement.’

  ‘If you think it advisable.’

  Morris looked up at Kendall. ‘Close the door, Sergeant. You recognise Reverend Wisdom, of course, but I think it could be a good idea if you were a little more involved. These men, Kendall, are members of our Secret Intelligence Service. Reverend Wisdom is here only to provide him with a safe place. While I want the community to think he is detained here, he is here for his protection and ease of movement. If he wishes to leave at any time, you will not hinder his going or coming back for that matter. The same applies to this man, Mr Naylor. In fact, you are to give them every assistance. One more thing, Kendall; you are not to mention this to anyone. Anyone, is that clear? Lives depend on it. Tell the headmaster I will be there this afternoon.’

  The door closed.

  Clement leaned back in the chair and glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Why did they leave it till midday to telephone you?’

  ‘Good question,’ Morris said. ‘I’ll ask them.’

  ‘We must now assume that whoever these people are, they have learned where the boy lives.’ Clement told Reg about Michael Hasluck.

  ‘I’ll visit the school then go to the boy’s home,’ Morris said.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Clement?’ Reg asked.

  ‘Catch a few hours’ sleep, Reg. Then meet me here in the police car park out the back at midnight. I want to see if the Lagonda is still in the garage in Tenison Street. Then I want another look at the porter’s lodge at Trinity Hall. Something’s there.’ Clement shook his head. ‘Arthur, can you take your constable off the front door to Trinity Hall tonight?’

  Morris nodded. ‘Of course. What do you suspect?’

  ‘I don’t believe Hayward was killed because of what he said to me. He’s been there such a long time, his loyalty wouldn’t be in question.’ Clement looked away, his mind sifting facts. ‘There was no indication of a struggle in the porter’s lodge. Does that mean Hayward was threatened and when he didn’t comply instantly, he was shot? Or was it because he knew something or had just learned something that the killer didn’t want passed on?’

  ‘A callous act whichever way you look at it,’ Morris added.

  Clement pondered Hugh Armstrong, a man who Clement believed would do whatever was required. As would either of Rathbourne’s watchdogs. ‘After we’ve checked the car, we’ll pay the lodge a visit. Then Reg and I will check The Backs around five tomorrow morning.’

  Reg stood to leave. ‘See you at midnight, Clement.’

  It was late afternoon when Clement heard the key in the cell door. Morris entered. ‘Just back from Ramsey. No real damage at the school. Hetherington is treating it as just naughty boys which is why he didn’t telephone us earlier. Apparently the Deputy Head was insistent the police should be called in. Hetherington is conducting his own investigations within the school.’

  ‘Do you believe it?’

  ‘Hetherington’s a quiet man. Doesn’t give much away. But I’m inclined to think he may be correct. If it were a burglary, something would surely have been taken. Remember they were undisturbed for some time before the headmaster arrived. And Hetherington says that despite the mess, nothing has been stolen. If, on the other hand, it was someone interested in young Michael’s whereabouts, nothing would be out of place because they wouldn’t want anyone knowing they’d been there.’

  ‘And what of the boy?’ Clement asked.

  ‘More interesting. Lives at a place called Wilstock House near Lode. I’ve been there before. Six or more months ago, about a burglary. It’s a large house. The boy is the only son of Sir Cedric and Lady Ellen Hasluck. According to the butler a
t Wilstock, the family is in Portugal. The boy was at the house only one night before his uncle came and took him away. The butler doesn’t know where.’

  Clement leaned back, his head resting on the wall. ‘Do we even know if the boy has an uncle?’

  ‘If it’s genuine, the boy is fine,’ Morris said. ‘If not, kidnapping is a police matter anyway, not SIS. I’ll check on it.’ Morris left him but Clement noted the door wasn’t locked.

  The boy’s whereabouts worried Clement but other than a chance encounter with Armstrong in Ramsey, there was nothing to connect young Hasluck to Armstrong. Clement hoped he was worrying needlessly.

  Clement sat alone in the police interview room and closed his eyes. He tried to push everything from his mind, to allow his subconscious to sift what he knew. He visualised his garden in Oxford; the oak tree and the sound of the sparrows at sunset. But Michael Hasluck refused to be ignored. For the first time in days, he prayed. Mostly for the boy’s safety but also for his current mission. Old Bill Hayward’s death puzzled and disturbed him. So callous, so cold-blooded. Was it even connected to the dead, unidentified man found in the Cambridgeshire fenland? Clement’s mind drifted to Hugh Armstrong, Rathbourne and his two watchdogs. He felt the icy chill of conspiracy. But something about it worried him. If the deaths were connected then whatever this was, it had tentacles that traversed miles, counties even and crossed social barriers. He felt sure it was something more complex than the resurgence of the far-right group. Or was it a network of Nazi spies? He thought of Jakobs and the other German spies at Latchmere House. What if there were other spies that hadn’t been caught? Both Jakobs and the other man, Richter had been carrying large sums of money. What was that really used for? He had no way of knowing. He pondered the corpse in Morris’s mortuary and the discovery of Old Red Sandstone found in the turn-ups. Did a type of rock found only in Scotland’s north make for a Scottish connection? The thought sent shivers through his body. Yet, despite all that had happened and all his conjecture, it was still just that. There was no hard proof of any connection between the boy and Armstrong or between Armstrong and the man in the mortuary, or to the murder of Bill Hayward. Regardless, C needed to be kept abreast of developments and that meant a call to Nora Ballantyne.