Hardcastle's Soldiers (23 page)

But still Superintendent Hudson was unsure. After all, Hardcastle was not the officer who would have to bear the responsibility. ‘It's taking a chance, Mr Hardcastle, and I do see your point. But just supposing that Berryman killed our gunman, we'd have God knows how much trouble on our hands. The coroner would have to decide whether it was justifiable homicide or even murder.'

‘A couple of rounds in our villain's direction, sir, and I reckon he'd throw in the towel.' Hardcastle was never a man to be pessimistic about the outcome of a police operation. ‘I reckon it's worth taking the risk.' What the DDI did not say was that if the operation was successful, the superintendent might get promoted, but if it were a failure, he would probably be looking at some sort of disciplinary sanction.

But Hardcastle's conversation with the superintendent was interrupted by the drone of a Gotha bomber right overhead. Seconds later there was an explosion as a bomb fell in a nearby street.

‘Bloody hell, that was near,' said Harry Marsh, the sub-divisional inspector. ‘I'll bet it was on my patch.'

Suddenly the air was rent with the sound of the anti-aircraft guns in Hyde Park opening up in an attempt to hit the German raiders, while the white fingers of the searchlights swung back and forth as they searched feverishly to find a target for the gunners.

‘Pity it didn't hit the Uttings' house,' commented Hardcastle.

‘You'd better take a look at where that bomb fell, Mr Marsh,' said Hudson. ‘It looks as though all our policemen are here. If you need any, I'm sure we can spare a few.'

‘Very good, sir,' said Marsh, and hurried away in the direction of where the bomb had fallen.

‘I think we'll take advantage of Colour-Sergeant Berryman's offer, Mr Hardcastle,' said Hudson, at last making a decision.

‘Very good, sir.' Hardcastle turned to Marriott. ‘Ask the colour-sergeant to join us out here, Marriott, and tell him to bring his rifle.'

‘Mr Sankey,' said Hudson, addressing the Rochester Row duty inspector. ‘Be so good as to rouse the occupants of the house opposite number seventeen, if they're not awake already, and ask them if we might put a man with a rifle in their upstairs window. If it's all right, signal with your lantern.'

‘Yes, sir.' Sankey sped down the road and banged on the door of number fourteen Francis Street, hoping that the gunman would not loose off a round at him.

A man in a dressing gown opened the door an inch or two.

Sankey barged through the door, and promptly shut it behind him. ‘I'm sorry to disturb you, sir,' he said. He deemed it unnecessary to explain that he was a police officer; he was in uniform. ‘But we have a man with a gun shooting at our officers from the house opposite.'

‘So that's what it's all about,' said the man.

‘I'd like your permission to put a sniper in your upstairs front window, sir.'

‘Well, I suppose it'll be all right, but my wife's in bed,' said the man, as he led the way upstairs to the front bedroom. ‘So long as she doesn't get hurt.'

‘We'll try not to disturb her, sir,' said Sankey hopefully, but he had time to consider that the appearance of a soldier with a rifle in the lady's bedroom would not exactly be viewed with equanimity by her.

‘It's all right, love,' said the man in a vain attempt at pacifying his wife, as he and Sankey entered the room. ‘It's only the police.'

The woman, her hair in paper curlers, drew the bedclothes up around her neck. ‘What on earth's happening?'

Once again, Sankey explained briefly what the police hoped to do, before moving cautiously to the window. Kneeling down, he held back the corner of one of the curtains and slowly slid up the bottom half of the window a foot or two. As quickly as possible, he leaned out and waved his lantern towards the group of policemen further down the road. That done he raced downstairs, ready to admit Colour-Sergeant Berryman.

By this time, Berryman had joined the little group of police officers, and was conferring with Superintendent Hudson.

‘D'you think you'll be able to hit this fellow without killing him, Colour-Sergeant?' asked Hudson.

‘Yes, sir.' Berryman spoke confidently. After his experience in the trenches, hitting a stationary target should present no problems. And, in any event, he was acting under police instructions, and any unfortunate outcome would be their responsibility, not his.

‘Get down to number fourteen as quickly as you can, then,' said Hudson. ‘Mr Sankey will let you in. His signal means that he's arranged for you take a position in the upstairs room of that house. I'll try to reason with the man, but if I'm unsuccessful, I'll signal to you with a lantern. Of course, a couple of rounds near him might persuade him to surrender.' The superintendent was still hoping that the gunman would give up, or at best be wounded rather than killed.

‘I'll give it my best shot, sir,' said Berryman, with a grin. He ran down the road to number fourteen, his rifle at the trail, demonstrating clearly that he was more accustomed than the police to moving rapidly while under fire. The door opened, and Berryman went in.

W
aiting until he could see Berryman positioned in the bedroom window, his head just above the sill, Hudson took the megaphone from one of the policemen, and raised it to his lips. ‘This is the police,' he shouted. ‘Give yourself up, or we'll open fire.'

Hudson's message was met with an insolent shout of defiance from the upstairs window of number seventeen, followed by another shot.

‘All right, sir?' asked Hardcastle.

‘Yes, go ahead.'

Taking a lantern from one of the PCs, Hardcastle turned and signalled to Berryman.

None of the policemen heard Berryman's shot – the anti-aircraft guns were making it difficult to hear anything – but they saw the man's revolver fall into the front garden of number seventeen as the man himself reeled backwards into the room.

‘I reckon Colour-Sergeant Berryman's a good shot, Marriott,' commented Hardcastle drily. Turning to Catto, he said, ‘Take possession of that revolver in the front garden, and make sure you don't put your bloody dabs all over it.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Catto.

At Hudson's command, two policemen rushed at the front door of the Uttings' house and broke it down. The PCs were followed by Hardcastle, Hudson, Marriott, and some of the other officers.

One of the PCs opened the door of the sitting room to find a man, and a woman holding a baby, cowering on the floor in the corner furthest from the windows.

‘What's your name?' asked the PC.

‘Jack Utting,' said the white-faced man.

The policeman relayed this information to the DDI.

Having learned that Utting was not the shooter, Hardcastle led the way upstairs, moving extremely fast for so bulky a man. He kicked open the door that he knew, from his previous visit, was the front bedroom. On the floor lay a young man, moaning, and holding his left arm. There was blood seeping between the fingers of his right hand.

Hardcastle bent over the prostrate figure, and quickly checked that he was unarmed. ‘And who are you?' he demanded.

‘Go to hell!' muttered the man, and continued to moan. ‘I was nearly killed.'

‘D'you know this man, Mr Hardcastle?' asked Superintendent Hudson. ‘From your enquiries, I mean.'

Hardcastle was fairly sure that he had seen the man before, but did not know his true name. However, he had no intention of telling the superintendent until he had made certain. ‘Not to my knowledge, sir,' he said enigmatically, ‘but I'll sweat it out of the young bugger, you may rest assured of that.'

‘Yes, I'm sure you will, Mr Hardcastle,' said Hudson mildly.

‘Take Lipton with you, and get this man to hospital, Wood,' said Hardcastle to the sergeant who had followed him up the stairs, ‘and make sure that he's kept under guard until he's ready to be interviewed. Arrange with the station officer at Cannon Row for a round-the-clock uniformed presence, on my orders.'

‘Yes, sir.' DS Wood dragged the wounded man into an upright position, and he and Lipton hurried him downstairs into the street.

That matter out of the way, Hardcastle turned to DC Catto, who by now had been joined by Carter. ‘You and Carter search this room thoroughly, and then the rest of the house. Sergeant Marriott and me will be downstairs talking to Mr and Mrs Utting.'

‘What are we looking for, sir?' asked Catto.

‘You'll know when you find it, Catto,' said Hardcastle, and turned on his heel.

Having been assured that the danger had passed, Nancy Utting had put young Archie to bed, and went into the kitchen to make tea.

Hardcastle pushed open the door to the sitting room so hard that it crashed back against the wall. Unconvinced, despite police assurances, that the gunman had been captured, Jack Utting leaped to his feet in panic, thinking he was about to be shot.

‘Right, Utting, you've got a bit of explaining to do.' Hardcastle sat down in an armchair, now relieved of its packing case, and filled his pipe. ‘And you can start by telling me the name of that idiot who my officers are just taking to hospital, on account of him having been shot in the arm.'

‘I don't know who he is, Inspector.'

Hardcastle inspected the tobacco in his pipe, and then lit it. ‘You'll have to do better than that, my lad,' he said mildly. ‘You've had a man in your house attempting to murder my policemen, and you're telling me you don't know who he is. Pull the other one.'

‘All I can tell you is that he's Cora's fiancé.'

‘Who's Cora?' Hardcastle knew of the existence of Cora Utting. DS Wood's searches at Somerset House had revealed that she was Utting's sister.

‘She's my sister.'

‘What was he doing here, then, this fiancé of your sister Cora? Just drop in for a cup of tea and a chat, did he, before keeping his hand in with a revolver?'

‘No, he came round to give me a message from Cora.'

‘Really?' Hardcastle's sarcastic, one-word response indicated that he was not taken in by Utting's statement. ‘And he didn't tell you his name? And you claim not to know it.'

‘No, I've no idea.'

‘And what was this message?'

‘I don't know. He never had time to tell me. It was then that there was a knock at the door, and he looked out of the front-room window. Then he said there was a copper at the door, and with that, he ran upstairs.'

‘That's what I call guilty knowledge,' commented Hardcastle mildly. ‘Where does your sister live?'

‘With my parents.'

‘And where do your parents live?' Hardcastle's temper was beginning to shorten quite dramatically.

‘Clapham, in Acre Lane.'

‘How long has your sister been going out with this mysterious stranger?'

‘I don't know.'

‘But you knew that this man was your sister's fiancé?'

‘Yes.'

‘I see. Let me get this straight, Utting. Your sister Cora gets herself promised to this mystery man, but she doesn't tell you his name or where he came from, and neither did he. Is that it?'

‘Yes,' said Utting unconvincingly.

‘Wasn't there an engagement party, then?' asked Marriott, who was standing near the door.

‘I mean you'd have been invited, being her brother,' put in Hardcastle. ‘Wouldn't you?'

‘She never held one, Inspector.' Utting was beginning to sound desperate in the face of the detectives' persistent questioning. ‘She said as how they oughtn't to have a party, what with the war and the shortages, and everything.'

‘How very patriotic,' said Hardcastle, with icy sarcasm.

There was knock at the door, and a PC looked into the room. ‘The All Clear's been signalled, sir. Mr Hudson asked me to tell you that the air raid was over. Oh, and that bomb fell in Vauxhall Bridge Road.'

‘All right, lad, thank you,' said Hardcastle.

‘How often have you seen this boyfriend of your sister?' asked Marriott.

‘I never met him before.'

‘So tonight was the first time you'd set eyes on him, was it?' persisted Marriott.

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘Why isn't he in the army? Looks to be the right age to be serving. Not a conchie, is he?' Marriott knew that many eligible young men had claimed to be conscientious objectors to fighting in the war, but with his brother-in-law at the Front, he had no great sympathy for people he regarded as shirkers of the worst possible kind. Particularly as Ted Kimber, one of Cannon Row's detectives, had been killed at Neuve Chapelle two years ago while serving as a lieutenant with the Suffolk Regiment.

‘I don't know,' said Utting. ‘I don't know anything about him.'

Hardcastle stood up, and knocked the tobacco out of his pipe on the fire grate. ‘Jack Utting, I'm arresting you on suspicion of being involved in the murder of Herbert Somers at Victoria railway station on Wednesday the eleventh of July, and conspiring with a person unknown to attempt to murder police officers.'

Utting's face paled and he swayed to such a degree that Hardcastle thought he was going to faint. But the DDI just stared at him with a cynical expression on his face.

But Utting's surprise was as nothing compared with Marriott's shock at his DDI's sudden decision to arrest the man without any apparent evidence.

Having handed his prisoner over to the custody of DCs Catto and Carter, Hardcastle walked out to the street in time to meet SD Inspector Marsh.

‘Where's the guv'nor, Ernie?' he asked.

‘I'm here,' said Hudson, appearing out of number seventeen.

‘The bomb fell in Vauxhall Bridge Road, sir,' said Marsh.

‘Yes, I heard. Casualties?'

‘Four dead, three seriously wounded, sir.'