SS-GB (11 page)

‘We can start calling it the William Spode shooting from now on, Jimmy.’ He put the piece back into his pocket and replaced the false arm in the drawer. There was a paper bag there too. He looked inside it and found a well-worn, but well-cared for, Leica camera. There were some accessories too; extension rings, filters, lens hoods and a set of four legs, tied together with string to which was also tied a large ringlike holder for them. ‘Worth a few pennies, that lot,’ said Douglas. They replaced the things and moved the table back against the wall.

‘Leica cameras have become a second currency,’ said Dunn. ‘I know a man who’s invested his life savings in a couple of dozen of them.’

‘Sounds like a dangerous investment,’ said Douglas.

‘But so is paper money,’ said Dunn. ‘So you think the dead man was misidentified?’

‘We’ll never prove it was deliberate,’ said Douglas. ‘They’ll all insist that they did it in good faith. But I’d bet my month’s tobacco ration that they were lying.’

‘Why, sir?’

‘Too many witnesses telling me the same thing, Jimmy.’

‘Perhaps because it was the truth, sir.’

‘The truth is never exactly the same thing,’ said Douglas. ‘You say this fellow Spode is at the school this afternoon?’

‘Should be,’ agreed Dunn. ‘Are we going round there?’

‘I’ll phone Central first,’ said Douglas. ‘I think my new boss will want to get into the act.’

Douglas Archer’s prediction proved correct. Standartenführer Huth, in the words of Harry Woods, provided ‘a typical example of SS bullshit’.

Beech Road School was the same sort of grim Victorian fortress in which so many London children spent their days. On one side there was a semi-derelict church, a paved part of its graveyard provided the recreation yard for the school. What a place to consign a child to waste away a precious youth, thought Douglas. Poor little Douggie.

A teashop faced the school. In other times it had been a cosy little den, smelling of Woodbine cigarettes, buttered toast and condensed milk. Douglas remembered it from when he was a young detective, its counter buried under slabs of bread pudding; heavy as lead and dark as thunder. Now the tea-urn, its plating worn brassy, provided only ersatz tea, and there wasn’t enough warmth in the place to glaze its window with condensation.

‘We have four platoons of infantry in reserve,’ Huth told Douglas. ‘I’m keeping them out of sight. The rest of the men have the block surrounded.’ Douglas went to the door of the café and looked out. The men were in full combat order, from battle-smocks to stick grenades in the belt. There were lorries in Lisson Grove, and standing alongside them were the mass-arrest teams, complete with folding tables, portable typewriters and boxes of handcuffs.

Douglas knew that it was official German policy to make ‘the enforcement of law and order a demonstration of the resources available to the occupying power’ but he didn’t expect this.

‘You should have let me do this alone,’ Douglas told Huth.

‘I want to show these people that we mean business,’ he replied. ‘Let’s go and get him, shall we?’

The men walked across the road. A soldier laughed. Douglas looked back to where the assault teams were standing together in those relaxed postures that soldiers assume the moment they’re given the chance. He wondered if the SS soldiers would obey an order to open fire on the school. If he knew anything of children, they’d be pressing their noses against the windows by now – or fretting for permission to do so. Anxiously he looked for his son’s face but didn’t see him.

As they stepped into the entrance hall, a fussy porter came to greet them. There was a false calm in the air, as if the school had been ordered to ignore the military activity in the street outside.

‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ said the porter.

‘Get out of my way!’ said Huth. ‘Where’s the headmaster – hiding under his desk?’

Douglas said to Huth, ‘Standartenführer, this man is the subject of my inquiries. I must insist that his civil rights are not infringed. I will be the one to take him into custody.’

Huth smiled. ‘We’re not going to shoot him “while he tries to escape” if that’s what your little speech is about.’ He stepped forward, opened the swing doors through which the porter had disappeared, and shouted, ‘Hurry yourself, headmaster, damn you!’ into the dim corridors. Then he turned back to Douglas Archer and said, ‘Too many questions remain unanswered for him to be endangered at this stage of the game.’

The headmaster arrived in a fast walk that would not have disgraced an athlete. ‘Now what is the meaning of this interruption?’ he asked in the sort of voice Douglas had not heard since he was at school.

Huth turned to look at the headmaster. Then he took his silver-topped stick and reached forward until it touched the man’s chest. ‘Don’t,’ said Huth, pausing for a long time during which the silence was broken only by the headmaster’s heavy breathing, ‘…talk to me…’ Huth spoke very slowly, prodding him to emphasize the most important words, ‘…or to my police officers like that. It provides a poor example for your pupils.’

The headmaster’s eyes popped open very wide, and the measured speech, and dignified tone, gave way to a gabble. ‘Is this about the Spode fellow? Wish I’d never given him a job. He’s been nothing but trouble, and I’m not sure he’s been loyal to me…’

‘Where is he?’ said Huth, still speaking as if to a small child.

‘Spode?’

‘Who else could I mean? Do you think I’d pop in and consult you about the whereabouts of Reichsmarschall Göring?’ – a long pause – ‘…or about the whereabouts of the King of England, the Queen and the two Princesses?’

‘No, indeed. Very amusing, Herr Colonel. The King…well, ha, ha! I know the King is at Windsor with the Royal Family and they are all in very good health. I read the bulletin about that, and I make sure that all my staff know I won’t tolerate the disgraceful rumours about His Majesty being confined in the Tower of London.’

‘Where’s Spode?’ said Huth, easing his hat back a fraction on his head, as though the head-band was constricting him.

‘Spode?’ A nervous smile. ‘Spode? Well you know where he is. He’s at the police station.’ Another smile that, as he watched Huth, became a frown. ‘Isn’t he? An official came this morning and asked for Spode’s
home address.’ Huth raised an eyebrow at Douglas who nodded affirmation. The headmaster watched the exchange anxiously, and then continued, ‘Naturally I helped in every possible way, and don’t imagine that I pry into your way of doing things. I don’t. Before the war I had holidays in Germany. I admired the system – still do, of course, especially in Germany…or rather that’s not to say I don’t admire the system in England…’

Douglas moved across the hall to where PC Dunn was waiting. ‘Better pop back there and get that false arm, Jimmy, and the photos and stuff.’

‘Control yourself, you wretch,’ said Huth. ‘Where is this man Spode?’

‘I’ve told you, Herr Oberst. The police station phoned and wanted him. Of course I gave him permission to leave his class.’

‘Who took the phone call, headmaster?’

‘My secretary. I sent for Spode immediately and let the police talk to him. There is only the one phone, you see.’

‘How long ago?’

The headmaster looked at his watch, tapped it and put it to his ear. ‘About an hour ago.’

Huth went to the main doors, stepped outside and blew two short blasts on his whistle. Infantry doubled across the recreation yard with a loud clatter of tipped boots. They formed up before Huth as if on parade, their officer in front of them with his hand raised in what the English were learning to call the German Salute.

‘Take this fool into special custody and hold him apart from the rest.’

‘You mean the phone call was from one of his accomplices…Oh my God!’ said the headmaster. He grabbed Douglas Archer’s arm, and held on to him.
‘This man Spode tricked me,’ he told Douglas. ‘Tell them. You’re English, I know you are…Tell them I’m innocent.’

Douglas went rigid in shame. A soldier prised the headmaster’s fingers away. ‘Then at least let me phone my wife,’ implored the headmaster. But already the soldiers were hustling him away through the entrance. ‘Take all the teachers,’ Huth told the SS officer, ‘and take the older children too. We can’t be sure the children aren’t involved. We’ve had fifteen-year-olds killing our soldiers in the past few months.’

‘I’ll try and get some sort of lead as to where Spode went,’ said Douglas.

‘He’s well away by now,’ said Huth. ‘These people are damned efficient.’

‘Who’s “they”?’ said Douglas.

‘Terror fighters,’ said Huth using the official German term for the Resistance, armed or otherwise. ‘No. Go and see your son – he’s here today, isn’t he? Take him home. Explain to him.’

‘Explain to him!’ said Douglas. He knew no way of explaining the insanity of the world to his child.

‘Children are flexible creatures,’ said Huth. ‘Don’t try to shoulder all the guilt for your son being motherless.’

Douglas didn’t answer. They both watched the soldiers herding a group of teachers into the school yard. Lorries were being backed through the narrow gates.

‘We don’t need all this,’ said Douglas. ‘These teachers are innocent; they know nothing.’

‘Too late to stop it now,’ said Huth, ‘even if I agreed with you.’

There was a crash as a tail-board dropped. Then the first of the teachers climbed into the lorry. He was an old man, and needed the helping hand of a soldier.
One of his colleagues gave a soft cheer and the old man smiled sheepishly. It was always like this with the mass arrests, thought Douglas. The prisoners were reassured to be together with people they knew. They felt that nothing too bad could come of it, and were always comforted by the thought that they had committed no crime. The arrest procedure became an outing, a picnic, a break from the monotony of everyday life. The soldiers knew this, and they encouraged the levity, knowing that their task would be easier, and less harrowing, if the prisoners smiled all the way to the detention centre.

‘Have you heard anything more from the girl?’ said Huth.

Douglas was disconcerted and didn’t answer.

‘I know about the Trafalgar Square business, you idiot,’ said Huth. ‘Has she contacted you again?’

‘You have me followed – but you don’t have her followed?’

Huth feigned a look of pain. ‘You touch a nerve, my friend. She was quick and clever – more clever than the man assigned to her.’

‘One man?’

‘The voice of the professional! Yes, my people have a lot to learn. They didn’t realize they were dealing with a very experienced agent.’

‘Sylvia?’

‘You didn’t realize that, eh? Yes, an important little girl. We should have put her in the bag while we had the chance – her sort can smell trouble coming.’

‘She smelled trouble coming?’

‘Or someone told her. There’s always someone to tell people. Someone phoned Spode and told him to lace up his walking shoes, didn’t he?’ He sniffed. ‘No matter, they’ll try again, because they desperately want to make contact with you, Superintendent.’

‘Do they?’

‘I think so – look at the risks they take…probably won’t be the girl next time. Could be anyone. Say yes to whatever they want. Get their proposition.’

‘Proposition?’

‘They are probably going to try another rescue attempt on the King.’

‘At the Tower of London?’

‘It’s not impossible. They tried early last month, from the river, and nearly got away with it.’

‘Good God!’ That explained a number of things to Douglas. The custody of the King was General Kellerman’s most important responsibility. Now Douglas remembered last month’s great upheaval amongst the SS security units, and General Kellerman’s subsequent shake-out of senior personnel.

‘They’d do better by negotiation than by terrorist attacks,’ said Huth.

‘You think so?’

‘It’s not an opinion,’ said Huth. ‘It’s the message I want you to deliver.’

‘I see my son,’ said Douglas.

‘Take my Mercedes. The boy will love the supercharger.’

‘It’s not far,’ said Douglas, ‘and walking will give me a breath of fresh air.’ But Douglas didn’t go. He stayed on, worrying that the children might be manhandled or that the whole thing might degenerate into violence.

He was still standing there when young PC Dunn came hurrying across the yard, red in the face and perspiring heavily. ‘It’s gone, sir. The arm is gone. And the paper bag with the camera stuff in it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He hadn’t even bothered to push the table back
after getting it. He must have gone home while we were phoning the Yard.’

‘Quite a coincidence,’ said Douglas bitterly.

PC Dunn looked at him for a moment without understanding. Then he said, ‘You don’t think someone at the Yard phoned him?’

‘I’d dearly like to know,’ said Douglas. ‘Well at least he’s still got a part missing,’ said Douglas, putting a finger in his waistcoat pocket to make sure he still had it. ‘That limb was the standard sort that the Ministry issue to war casualties, wasn’t it?’

‘It looked like it.’

‘A man would have to give his real name to get one of those, Dunn. The Ministry would check it against their records and he’d probably have to provide evidence of army service – name, rank and number – or produce his “panel” card if he’s a civilian. Get on to the Ministry, and see what you can find out. If he applies to them for that missing piece, I want to be told about it before they answer.’

‘He might think that’s too dangerous,’ said Dunn.

‘It
is
too dangerous,’ said Douglas, ‘and so is cutting back to your lodgings when there’s a police Superintendent on your tail. No, this fellow needs his arm, and I think he’ll go to a lot of trouble to get it working again.’ Then Douglas spotted his son and went over to him.

By now the mass-arrest teams had set up their folding tables and chairs and they were typing out the sheets and having them countersigned by the officer in charge. Not only were people being documented but the same diligence was given to the paperwork, books and files that the search-parties were bringing out of the building. There was boredom written on the faces of the soldiers, for they knew that this operation, and dozens more like it which took place every
day, was unlikely to discover anything of importance. They were staged simply to emphasize the fact that any sort of opposition to the Nazi invaders brought inconvenience to the innocent and guilty alike.