Pauline Rowson - In for the Kill

‘Could have done,’ Percy mumbled. I could see he wasn’t convinced, and neither was I.

We turned round and started walking back. The lifeboat had reached the container ship, but we couldn’t see what was happening. It was too far away.

‘He didn’t sound German,’ Percy went on.

‘They all talked nice, you know, posh like.’

Percy fell silent. His wrinkled face was glum.

His eyes troubled. I thought over what he had told me. Had they really been helping to rescue Jews from Hitler’s clutches, not only in 1939, but later, after Hitler had closed the borders?

Percy was talking about overhearing this second conversation after the radar station was bombed, which was after Dunkirk. Northern France would have been occupied. It would have been highly dangerous. What did Max mean about going to the authorities? As I had said to Percy, it was a long time ago. I brought my mind back to the present. What I had to ask Percy was delicate, and I didn’t want to cause the old man any further distress, but I had to know.

‘Percy, did you see how Deeta was killed?’ I asked gently.

Percy shuddered. ‘Strangled with bare hands by the looks of it.’

Like Westnam. So someone had been facing her. Had it been someone she knew? Or had it been a stranger who had struck up a casual acquaintance with her and then attacked her?

‘Was her rucksack beside her?’ She’d been carrying it when she had left my houseboat.

Percy frowned in thought. ‘Yes. It was open and some of her things had spilled out onto the beach.’

‘Did you see a small maroon book, like a diary?’

I didn’t hold out much hope of him remembering in the shock of discovering Deeta’s body.

‘Can’t say that I did.’

I would need to return to the houseboat and check if it was still there. We had reached the car park. I was worried about Percy. He was very pale and shaky.

‘Would you like me to see you home?’ I volunteered, but he refused my offer.

‘I’ll be all right,’ he replied sadly and began to shuffle away. He had only gone a few paces when I hailed him.

‘You mentioned the three men: Max, Edward and Hugo. My grandfather was drowned. Max disappeared. What happened to Hugo?’

Percy turned to face me; his lined old face was drawn and fearful. ‘Hugo Wildern was hanged, for being a German spy.’

CHAPTER 14

Percy’s words gnawed away at me. It would have made more sense if Max had been arrested for treason, not Hugo though I was viewing this with the benefit of hindsight. Max, I guessed from Percy’s conversation, had betrayed Hugo to the authorities, but for what?

Telling the Germans about the radar station? It was possible. Had Max been the spy and not Hugo, which seemed more likely. In that case Hugo had been falsely betrayed. But what did this have to do with me? Nothing I told myself but still I headed for the library.

Before I reached it I glanced across the road at the village hall. The doors were open and a policeman and policewoman stood at the entrance talking to a couple of middle-aged men.

Opposite, outside the bakery, a small crowd had gathered, they were gossiping and glancing across at the police officers. The little coffee shop in the bakery was doing a roaring trade, as was Bembridge itself. Far from putting people off coming to the village the murder had attracted more visitors.

I could find no record of Hugo on the Internet for having been tried and hanged for treason.

Four people had been convicted under the High Treason Act: William Joyce, commonly known as Lord Haw Haw, John Amery, Walter Purdy and Thomas Cooper. Theodore Schurch was convicted under the Treachery Act of 1940. Of these men Purdy and Cooper had their sentence commuted and were eventually released. Amery was executed on 19 December 1945, Joyce on 3

January 1946, both at Wandsworth Prison, and Schurch on 4 January 1946 at Pentonville Prison.

I could check with the Public Record Office but Percy must have got it wrong. It was probably the gossip at the time. Percy always did like to embellish. I looked under German spies and agents but whatever happened to Hugo Wildern it was never recorded.

I glanced at my watch and saw that it was time I made for Camp Hill Prison. The thought brought me out in a cold sweat. Long before I reached the prison gates my heart was pounding violently. I stepped inside the magnolia-painted visitors’ room and my stomach heaved at the prison smell and the fact that I was once again incarcerated. I told myself that at least I could walk out of here a free man. Yet, I wasn’t free.

Rowde was pulling the strings and I could do nothing but jerk in his direction.

Ray greeted me with smile and a ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ kind of look whilst the screws eyed me with suspicion. When I had telephoned to arrange the visit I had made up a story about Ray asking me to call on his brother in Portsmouth who had Multiple Sclerosis (that much was true, apart from my visiting him) and that Ray’s brother had pleaded with me to pass on a personal message for forgiveness. They’d argued bitterly and fought physically before Ray had been caught and sentenced for burglary, and it was time to kiss and make up. I was sure they didn’t believe a word of it but here I was, so I didn’t care much what they believed.

‘Who worked you over?’ were Ray’s first words.

‘Rowde, or rather one of his thugs.’

Ray raised his eyebrows. The screws hadn’t commented on my battered appearance.

‘Rowde’s after me for the money I don’t have,’

I said, making sure the prison officer was far enough away not to hear my lowered tones. ‘I was banged up with him in Brixton for a while.

It wasn’t a very pleasant experience.’

‘He’s a head case. A vicious sod.’

‘With a long memory, it seems. He wants the money and unless I give it to him by Tuesday morning he’s threatening to harm my sons. I believe him. I’ve got to find out where that money is. It’s my only chance, short of killing Rowde, and I’ll do that if I have to and willingly serve time for it if it means my boys are safe.’

Ray rubbed his large fleshy nose. His malleable face screwed up with thought or concern, or both, I wasn’t quite sure. Thief he might be but he wasn’t, and never had been, violent. I told him about DCI Clipton’s heart attack and Joe’s murder but I said nothing about Westnam. Then I told him that I’d been to see Roger Brookes’

widow and daughter.

‘The daughter, Joanne, is living with a man called Jamie Redman. I asked about him in the local pub and learnt that he’s a “flash git” according to the barmaid, and not that well liked.

He moved to the Cotswolds with Joanne three years ago and doesn’t quite blend in with the local gentry and county set.’

‘So?’ Ray took a cigarette from one of the packets I had brought him and lit up.

‘He smells dirty. The barmaid says he’s into importing and exporting classic cars. Joanne’s well off in her own right. Daddy sold his business to a conglomerate and she split the money with her mother. She’s not right either, Ray. The whole set-up stinks. Mother and daughter have a secret that they’re very afraid I might discover.’

Ray squinted his eyes as he exhaled. ‘And how will this lead you to the money?’

‘Christ knows!’ I cried, flinging myself back in the chair and pushing a hand through my hair.

The screw eyed me with suspicion. Ease up I told myself. I tried to relax and look natural. ‘If I could find out why Andover could so easily blackmail Brookes it might lead me to him. I need you to ask around about Jamie Redman. Is he clean? Has he any dodgy associates? Is he known to anyone?’ Ray may be inside but there was a hell of a lot he could find out by asking certain inmates.