SS-GB (21 page)

‘Are you sure you won’t have cream?’

Douglas shook his head. Kellerman tightened the window-fastening but it didn’t reduce the sound of the band. ‘The Reichsführer-SS was asking me about developments on this murder you’re working on – the one in Shepherd Market. I told him I knew very little…I felt rather a fool, to tell you the truth.’ Kellerman played with the coloured sugar in the bowl.

‘There’s nothing much to report,’ said Douglas.

‘I don’t understand why you went back to the house this morning?’

Douglas drank some coffee, and took his time. Huth had told him to keep the investigation secret, but without written instructions from someone superior to both of them, Douglas regarded General Kellerman as his senior officer. ‘One of my officers – Constable Dunn, working in plain clothes…’

‘The one who was murdered last night?’

‘Yes, sir. Dunn helped me. We found a photograph at the suspect’s home. It is a photo showing the men who worked with Professor Frick before the war. I sent him to investigate those men. I believe that Dunn realized he was being followed and slipped the envelope – it was already addressed to the Mafeking Street house – into the post, knowing that in such an inquiry the mail would eventually be forwarded to me here at the Yard.’

‘But you went to the house to get it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Does it seem odd to you that these Resistance men – and such groups always have ways of stealing mail in transit – not only had to go to the address to get it, but actually arrived too late to intercept the postman?’

‘The warden at the house must have phoned them,’ said Douglas. ‘He disappeared along with the people who attacked me.’

‘And you lost the photo of Professor Frick and his co-workers?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You needn’t look surprised at how much I know, Superintendent. Your police Constable phoned inquiries concerning Professor Frick to Registry, SS Central Archives and the Gestapo too. Naturally, inquiries such as that are reported back to this office.’

‘Of course, sir.’ Outside the German bands halted. After a brief pause they began to play ‘Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum’. Or could it be ‘The Red Flag’ thought Douglas? How convenient that the music was the same.

‘Professor Frick is dead. He died in the fighting last year. His staff are engaged on special work for the Reich.’

‘Special work?’ said Douglas.

‘Oh, that doesn’t mean that you will be asked to slacken the pace of your investigation. It simply means that you must leave Professor Frick’s scientists out of it.’ Kellerman used the spoon to scoop up a tiny fraction of the whipped cream and put it in his mouth. ‘And that order is on the authority of the Führer. Not even the Reichsführer-SS himself has the power to go against it. Have I made the position clear, Superintendent Archer?’

‘Crystal clear, sir.’

‘Good fellow!’ said Kellerman, pushing aside the cream jug as if he no longer needed it. He looked up, beamed and tossed his head to replace a lock of white hair that had fallen across his face. ‘I knew that with you, a nod would be as good as a wink.’

‘That’s for a blind horse, sir,’ said Douglas.

‘You will have your little joke, Superintendent,’ said General Kellerman.

The dusty yellow sunlight that colours London in autumn had followed the showers of morning rain. Douglas paused in the Embankment corridor and looked out of the window to see the combined bands marching along the street. They looked magnificent in their dress uniforms, with dozens of brass instruments shining in the sun, and the jingling Schellenbaum complete with horsetails that marked its origin as the instrument of the Janissaries. They had an imperious
splendour. Artfully the Germans used their military music to awe and pacify the conquered people of Europe. By the time Douglas got back to his office they were playing ‘Greensleeves’.

The communicating door to Huth’s room was open, and Douglas could see Harry Woods going through the official papers that were piled up on the Standartenführer’s desk. ‘What are you doing, Harry?’ Douglas sat down at his desk and began to sort through the backlog of paperwork.

‘Perfect timing, sir.’

‘I’m beginning to realize that you only call me “sir” when you are up to some damned mischief.’

Harry grinned. In spite of generous applications of Brilliantine his short-cut hair would not stay in place. It gave him a somewhat comic aspect. ‘Have a look at this,’ he said, waving a pink carbon copy of a typewritten report sheet. ‘I can’t read all the German, but I get the gist of it.’ Douglas went into Huth’s office but did not accept the offered form. ‘Read it,’ said Harry. ‘You’ll be tickled to death. Go on! Machiavelli won’t be back for five minutes or so; I’ve timed his bodily functions.’

Douglas took the report sheet.

‘What do you say about that?’ said Harry. ‘Sounds like you’re being short-listed for a staff job at Hendon.’ It was more of a stricture for Hendon than an accolade for his partner.

‘Am I really a humourless, conservative personality?’

‘You were all right until these bastards arrived,’ said Harry. ‘With these Huns breathing down your neck, we’re all losing our sense of humour.’ He took the report and pushed it back into the file. ‘And look at this one,’ he said.

‘I don’t want to look at any more,’ said Douglas. Outside the band was playing ‘D’ye ken John Peel’.

‘These German bastards love to rub it in, don’t they,’ said Harry. Douglas frowned, but Harry grinned back and said, ‘I mean our German visitors love to rub it in.’

‘They probably think that playing old English folk melodies is sensitive and endearing.’

Harry Woods made a rude noise.

‘A lot of people feel as you feel,’ said Douglas. ‘But they keep it to themselves.’

‘Then I wish they wouldn’t,’ said Harry bitterly. He leaned closer to Douglas. ‘Would you like to meet some of my friends?…they’d interest you, I know they would.’

Douglas wanted to confide in Harry, and tell him about the meeting with Mayhew, tell him he was already in contact with anti-Nazi groups. Douglas had always confided in Harry, ever since he was a child. He had asked Harry’s advice about every decision he’d made in his police career, and told Harry about his decision to get married even before he told his own mother. When Jill found she was pregnant, they called in to tell Harry the good news on the way to Jill’s parents.

But he did not confide in his old friend. ‘You’ve
always been a joiner, Harry. Back in the old days it was the Rugby Club and the Boxing. Then you became secretary for the Stamp Collecting Club…’

‘Philatelic Society,’ said Harry primly.

‘You’ve always enjoyed meeting and talking and –’

‘Boozing, that’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?’

Douglas held up his hands in a gesture of deference. ‘It’s what makes you a good copper, Harry. And it’s what makes us a good team. You’ve always done the footwork, buttonholing the snouts, chatting up the villains and filing it all away in that memory of yours. I’m not like that – I’m just the legal man.’

‘Talk to my friends, Doug. Talk to them,
please.’

‘Harry, you’re not making it easy for me. I came in here just now determined to persuade you to break free from these people. And here you are, trying to involve me too.’

‘Please, Doug.’ It was no more than a whisper but it was from the heart, and only with difficulty was Douglas able to do what he knew was logical and sensible. He shook his head.

From the corridor they heard the sound of boots on the mosaic flooring and the armed sentry coming to attention and murmuring, ‘Heil Hitler!’ The door opened and Huth entered. He was wearing a Luftwaffe black leather zipper jacket, and a pair of army trousers. Only his shirt and tie were part of his normal uniform.

‘Either of you two know a tailor? I need a new uniform.’ He did not seem to notice that his two subordinates were leaning over his desk.

‘There’s a man in Lambeth Road,’ said Harry, who always had an answer for such a question. ‘He does German uniforms. A lot of the Savile Row people subcontract jackets to him. Very good quality.’

‘I’m not competing in a beauty contest,’ said Huth. ‘Is he quick? I must have it by tomorrow night.’

‘I’ll phone him, boss.’ Huth did not react to being called boss, and Douglas guessed that this had become a regular form of address. Harry had not mastered the complexities of the SS rank system.

‘Harry,’ said Huth affably. ‘Would you send this up to the photo department and ask for three dozen copies and the negative. I need it within the hour. I’m preparing “wanted” posters.’ He passed to Harry the same picture of Professor Frick that had been stolen from Douglas. ‘And list everyone appearing on that photo on a Primary Arrest Sheet and bring it to me for signature.’

‘General Kellerman is the only person here authorized to sign the PA sheets,’ said Harry.

‘Not any longer,’ said Huth. Douglas looked at Harry, who raised an eyebrow.

When Harry Woods had departed to the photo department, and Douglas was working at his desk, Huth came and propped himself on the window-ledge alongside. ‘Sergeant Woods is a hard worker,’ said Huth.

‘He’s the best damned copper in the building.’

‘But that wouldn’t be any good at all, unless you were here to give him covering fire,’ said Huth.

‘What’s that mean?’ said Douglas without breaking off his work.

‘Sergeant Harry Woods is a liability to you – a dangerous liability. That’s what it means. How long do you imagine you are going to be able to protect him from the inevitable?’

‘How long do you think?’ said Douglas with a calm he did not feel.

‘Not long.’ Douglas looked up in time to catch one of Huth’s razor blade smiles edge-on. ‘Not long.’

‘This one needs your signature,’ said Douglas. He twisted the form round on the desk, so that Huth could read it. But Huth tugged a gold pencil from his shirt pocket and signed the form with no more than the merest glance.

‘Don’t you want to read it?’

‘It’s a memo from Kellerman,’ said Huth. ‘It tells me that one or the other of his administration conferences will be held on Tuesday in future – instead of some other time in the week. A lot of decisions will be taken on Tuesday in future. You see if I’m not right, Superintendent Archer.’

Huth took a packet of Players cigarettes from his pocket and lit one with all the casual skill of a movie cowboy. He inhaled and breathed down his nostrils. ‘Because I can’t be here on Tuesdays,’ he explained. ‘The General is frightened of what my remarks might put into the printed minutes of his cosy little conferences.’ Huth put away his cigarettes without offering one to Douglas. ‘General Kellerman is concerned that someone might take over this nice job he has in London. Flattering to think that he sees me as the most likely candidate, don’t you think?’

‘Very flattering, sir.’

‘You’re a fool, aren’t you, Archer?’

‘A lot of people have expressed that opinion recently, sir.’

Huth got to his feet and turned to look out of the window. Douglas’s telephone rang. It was his direct line. ‘Detective Superintendent Archer? This is Colonel Mayhew.’

Anxiously Douglas glanced at Huth but he was taking no interest in the phone call. ‘Yes?’ said Douglas guardedly.

‘I understand you will be visiting Miss Barga this evening.’

‘Yes,’ said Douglas quietly. He wondered if the switchboard man was monitoring the call.

‘I’ll see you there…about nine?’

‘Very well.’ Douglas replaced the phone without saying goodbye. He looked up at Huth, but the Standartenführer was still staring out of the window.

‘Am I to understand that you are ordering the arrest of everyone in this photograph?’

‘Correct,’ said Huth, without turning round.

‘For the murder of Dr Spode?’

‘For questioning in connection with the murder.’

‘There is good reason to believe his young brother murdered him. He was certainly at the flat that day.’

‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ said Huth. ‘I want all of them arrested.’

‘But if I find any of Professor Frick’s staff, you want me to arrest them, and ask them about it?’ Douglas was exasperated by Huth’s reticence.