The Girl in Berlin (35 page)

‘He’d still have got in trouble if he was trying to nail Kozko.’

‘We’d better go down. Slater’s starting the interview at ten.’

‘Before we go, there is one other thing.’

‘Okay. Make it quick.’

They were standing, ready to go, but when McGovern heard what Jarrell had to say he sat down again, causing his chair to swivel round, unsettling him even more.

‘You saw this Ukrainian with
Kingdom
? How did you know it was him? You’ve never met him.’

Jarrell’s smile hovered between creepily sly and sickeningly modest. ‘I followed you once, sir. One time you were going to meet him. I thought it might be useful to know what he looked like. And it was.’

McGovern was winded. ‘You cheeky wee devil! You’ll go far, Jarrell. If you don’t get cashiered first.’

‘Inspector Slater doesn’t like being kept waiting, sir.’

‘Shut up, Jarrell. Just give me a moment. I need to think about this.’

When McGovern arrived home from Berlin, his first act on reaching his flat had been to try to ring Lily, but his second had been to try to arrange a meeting with Kingdom, only to be told that Kingdom had gone on holiday. What he would have said had they met, he wasn’t sure. He had only suspicions. Kingdom might not be the interrogator of whom Frieda had spoken, her father’s sinister contact in the ruins of postwar Berlin. Yet if he had been, if some infernal deal had been made, it would explain why Schröder had gone free. Yes, Schröder had gone free; that didn’t prove it had been Kingdom who’d interrogated him and let him go in order to fulfil his own desires. McGovern did not ultimately believe that Kingdom
could
have been that man, but he fitted Frieda’s description and McGovern was racked with suspicion and uncertainty. To be told that Kingdom was on holiday had come as a relief, but it only delayed the confrontation there must be.

Now there was this new and horribly unexpected link with the man who had almost certainly murdered Konrad Eberhardt. McGovern sat, winded, for a few minutes, but then he stood up and pulled himself together. ‘Yes, we’d better go.’

Mihaili Kozko lived up to the caricature of a thug, with his near-shaven head and truculent expression, his muscular arms and stocky build. At first he denied everything. He couldn’t
remember what he was doing on the day of the funeral, but he knew he hadn’t even been in London. He’d never heard of Konrad Eberhardt. Presented with the evidence, his tone didn’t change at first, but gradually Slater’s interviewing style, of straightforward bullying that stopped just short of physical violence – McGovern wondered if he’d have been as restrained if he and Jarrell hadn’t been present – began to break Kozko down.

Eventually the Ukrainian said: ‘It was an accident. It was job for me. I not mean to kill him. I am supposed to get a parcel from him, give him fright so he not go back to Germany. He got angry. This I did not expect. He try to hit me. So then I hit him and he fell down. Unconscious. I took money from his wallet. Then he start to wake up and grab me by the foot, so I break free and kick him in the water.’

‘What do you mean, it was a job?’

But Kozko, while admitting he’d been employed to recover the ‘parcel’, refused to say by whom. ‘I not been paid, because I have no parcel. But I did what I am asked. Is not my fault if no parcel. I still owed money. I get him. He pay me in the end.’

‘You’ll have got your own back if you tell us who he is,’ said Slater craftily.

But Kozko was having none of that. ‘I don’t care about that. Getting revenge. Is only important the money.’

Slater roared with laughter at this. ‘Well, you’re not going to be seeing any money, are you, you stupid bastard, because I’m charging you with manslaughter, so you’re going on remand and I doubt your paymaster is going to visit you in Brixton prison.’

thirty-seven

A
MONTH PASSED
. McGovern could not reach Kingdom. The agent was taking an unusually long vacation. McGovern returned to normal Branch duties. He met up a couple of times with Slater, but the detective had nothing new to report. Kozko continued to refuse to admit he’d had anything to do with the Biermann shooting.

It was late August now, the dog days of summer. Some mornings there was an autumnal mist in the air. Lily’s father was sinking fast. Soon, McGovern knew, he’d be travelling north for the funeral and after that Lily and he would be together once more.

Gorch called McGovern into his office. ‘Kingdom has been suspended.’

This was startling. Yet, as the news sank in, McGovern feared this meant the confirmation of things he should have known or guessed all along, half-doubts and – since Berlin – the darkest of suspicions that he couldn’t wholly admit because they caused him so strongly to doubt himself and his judgement. He’d rated Kingdom: his style, his panache, his
certainty
.

‘
What
?’

‘He wants to see you. You know how to get in touch.’

‘Why has he been suspended?’

‘It might have something to do with Burgess and Maclean?
I ain’t been told much. They’ve made such a hash of things, he may have got caught up in it.’

The shock was chilling, but slowly a sense of relief seeped through him, his body relaxed and he was inwardly thanking God that it wasn’t after all about something to do with Schröder.

‘He’ll probably tell you himself.’

McGovern turned off the main road, passed a park and playing field on the right and crossed an iron bridge. Beyond this a path shaded by trees on one side with, on the other, a wire fence protecting derelict sheds and boathouses soon broadened out into the open and ran beside a ditch bordered with reeds. He was beginning to feel disconcerted. In the past they had often met in the open air, but this was different and seemed far from civilisation.

Kingdom had told him he’d be waiting by the gate that led onto the marshes.

McGovern looked round. At first he thought he was alone. Then he turned and saw Kingdom’s hatless figure emerge from the short tunnel under the railway.

‘You found the place all right? Let’s walk, shall we?’

They set off across the open field, which stretched emptily forward beneath an evening sky of unearthly yellow barred with dark, banked cloud. McGovern had never been here before and in fact had had no idea such a rural wilderness existed in the middle of London’s vast labyrinth. There was not a human being in sight, nor even signs of human habitation. Had he known what a lonely place it was he might not have come and his initial feeling of surprise was starting to curdle into apprehension.

As if reading his thoughts, Kingdom broke the silence. ‘An eerie place, isn’t it. Or should I say uncanny? I can never
remember the difference. Is eerie when something that should be there isn’t and uncanny is when something that shouldn’t be there,
is
? I think that’s it. In which case uncanny is the correct word, isn’t it.’

‘It’s a wee bit spooky.’

Kingdom laughed. ‘Uncanny.’

‘So what’s here that shouldn’t be?’ McGovern surveyed the land, deserted on all sides. Not even someone walking a dog.

‘
Us
, of course, McGovern. You and I.’ Kingdom laughed again and McGovern shivered. For the first time he wondered if he should have brought a weapon.

‘Did you want me to report on Berlin, sir?’

‘Not much of a success, was it.’

‘No. I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Although
actually
it’s at least achieved the result of getting Harris out of the way. No thanks to you, it has to be said. He’s been the author of his own undoing, and they’ve arrested Schröder as well. Neither of them will see the light of day for some considerable time. And they certainly won’t be turning up here.’

‘He’s still a British citizen. Surely something can be done.’

‘Don’t go soft on me, McGovern, for God’s sake. We can’t take another international scandal on top of fucking Burgess and Maclean.’

‘So from your point of view, the whole thing’s been a success. Even though the success wasn’t down to me.’

‘Not entirely a success. Your second visit was meant to bring about a different result.’

‘What result?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. Events have moved on.’ He put a hand in his inner pocket, but it was only to pull out the silver case. McGovern accepted a cigarette. He needed it to steady his nerves, because Kingdom was jittery and his mood was contagious. McGovern’s distrust was darkening into dread. ‘I don’t think we’ll be working together any more,’ said Kingdom.

‘Then why are we here? What’s the purpose of this meeting?’

‘I wanted to clear a few things up.’

‘There are some things I wanted to ask you, too.’

Kingdom glanced sideways at him almost flirtatiously from under his lashes. ‘Yes, I thought you’d eventually begin to add things up.’

‘You told me to go to the Garfield funeral. You said it was on the off-chance Harris would be there. But I believe you
knew
he’d be there. I believe you somehow knew he’d be meeting Eberhardt and that he’d be given the manuscript to take back to Germany.’

‘Yes, that’s true. Harris was stupid enough to talk it all through on the phone we tapped at his hotel. I’m amazed Biermann didn’t tell him to be more careful. He must have assumed Harris was using a safe phone.’

McGovern continued: ‘And you told me to view Eberhardt’s body at the mortuary. But no-one knew it was Eberhardt then. But
you
knew. So that means …’

‘That I knew who killed him? Very good, McGovern. Only that thick-headed Ukrainian wasn’t meant to
kill
him. He was meant to get the manuscript. He was too late, of course. Eberhardt had already passed it on to Harris. But if I’m honest, it’s just as well the old man’s out of the way. Think of it – distinguished scientist returns to East Germany, publishes his autobiography with a grovelling confession of how he informed on his friends and was hand in glove with British intelligence – what a propaganda coup for the Reds.’

‘There was no autobiography,’ said McGovern. ‘Harris told me.’

‘How ironic. I should probably have realised that too. Of course Harris may have been lying to you.’

McGovern shook his head. ‘I’m sure he was telling the truth.’

‘
Really
?’

‘Harris isn’t a liar.’

‘You believe that? Well, actually you’re probably right. More fool him. The art of lying is the greatest of the arts.’

‘There was something I wanted to ask you, sir. Victor Jordan told me you were a brilliant interrogator,’ he began.

‘Yes, you passed on the compliment. Very gratifying to have praise from that quarter,’ said Kingdom drily.

‘I wondered if you’d interrogated Kozko in the DP camps, if you were the one who’d given him clearance and let him into this country.’

‘Wrong there, I’m afraid, old chap. But I got to hear about him and he’s been useful on a few occasions. Useful, that is, in the way a vicious dog is useful.’

‘Did you instruct him to shoot Biermann?’

‘Biermann was trouble. He was a loose cannon. He was mixed up with Eberhardt and then he started poking his nose into what was none of his business. I could do without him. But Kozko had it in for him anyway. Kozko is a very patriotic guy. That was a bit of private enterprise by Kozko on his own. He didn’t take kindly to people nosing around in his affairs.’

‘What’s patriotism got to do with it? And why were Ukrainian fascists allowed into this country anyway?’

‘That was all a bit of a cock-up, to tell you the truth. Long story. Although some of our former enemies are very useful now we’re not so fond of the Reds. My enemy’s enemy is my friend.’

That was one puzzle out of the way or partly resolved, even if the answers were horribly unsatisfactory. But: ‘What I don’t understand is why you sent me off after Harris. I don’t see the point of it. You never believed he was part of getting Burgess and Maclean out of the country.’

‘Well done!’

‘I’d rather you didna patronise me, Mr Kingdom. I may
have been fooled, taken in, whatever you want to call it, but Superindent Gorch agreed the operation.’

Kingdom shrugged. ‘He owes me one or two favours. Don’t worry, nothing dubious. Just bits of information he was able to use. So I knew he’d agree to send someone.’

‘So why did I go? What was it meant to achieve? And why choose me?’

McGovern had hoped and even expected that the explanation would involve a flattering reference to his talents, but Kingdom simply said: ‘I knew Gorch would agree. I have a feeling he chose you because he thought he was doing you a favour. He thought he was giving you a leg up, that it would be good for your career. And then – didn’t you think it a little odd that no-one ever asked about your background? About your father, the shipyard militant, the Clydeside Red? I found out all about that. And I thought it might just come in useful one day, that sort of information is always invaluable. I had it in reserve, in case you found out too much, in case you got awkward.’ He went on: ‘
Of course
I never believed Harris had anything to do with Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean. At first I just wanted to find out more about what he was up to in London. Largely idle curiosity on my part, although … I don’t know, maybe I had an instinct … They knew about him over there, of course, in Berlin, but he didn’t seem to be up to anything much, just sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

‘At that point I didn’t even know Harris had met the Schröders. Then a friend of his – who I ran into completely by accident – told me Harris was going to marry Frieda Schröder and bring her back here. I must say that was rather a blow. If she came, her father would try to follow. At all costs I didn’t want Schröder over here—’

So – McGovern felt the adrenalin rising – Kingdom had known Schröder already … in the past … after the war …

Until that moment McGovern hadn’t been 100 per cent
sure; 90 per cent perhaps that the tall blond interrogator with the watch and the silver cigarette case had been the man at his side now; but not 100 per cent sure. He’d still clung to a scrap of hope, but now he knew for certain.