Murder at down street st.., p.24
Murder at Down Street Station, page 24
Coburg turned to Lady Pitstone. ‘How about you, Lady Pitstone? How do you stand on the subject of a united Ireland?’
Lady Pitstone looked at Coburg in bewilderment, then at her brother, then back at Coburg again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, puzzled.
‘Did you ever discuss the matter with Lady Za Za?’ pressed Coburg.
Kennedy rose to his feet. ‘I must ask you to desist from this line of questioning,’ he said. ‘It is not relevant and it is distressing my sister. Deirdre does not get involved in politics, not British politics nor Irish, and certainly not German.’
‘It is a valid question, Mr Kennedy, in view of the fact that we are investigating a murder.’
‘It is not for the reasons I stated. And I must advise you, Chief Inspector, that if you persist in this line of questioning, I shall have to raise it with my superior, Mr Dulanty, and I have no doubt that he in turn will raise it with his counterpart in the British government. There are diplomatic channels for this kind of discussion, not for the involvement of the British police.’ He stood up. ‘This meeting is at an end.’
In the office, Lampson answered the ringing telephone and found himself listening to the posh tones of Magnus, Earl of Dawlish.
‘Good morning, Sergeant,’ said Magnus. ‘Is my brother there?’
‘I’m afraid he’s out at the moment, Your Earlship. Can I take a message for him?’
‘If you would. Please let him know that I called and ask him if he can telephone me. I think I may have some information he was after.’
‘I’ll let him know as soon as he returns,’ said Lampson.
Lampson had barely hung up the receiver when the door opened and Coburg entered.
‘That was quick,’ said Lampson. ‘I didn’t think you’d be back for ages.’
‘I got thrown out,’ said Coburg. ‘Not literally, but certainly I was asked to leave. Anything happening here?’
‘Yes. Your brother phoned. He’s got some information you were after.’
‘Excellent.’ Coburg smiled. ‘Let’s see what he’s got.’
Coburg put through a call to Dawlish Hall, and a moment later was speaking to Magnus.
‘That Bidlow chap you were asking about,’ said Magnus. ‘I had a chat with an old friend of mine who knows quite a bit about war machinery production.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Max Aitken, better known to you as the First Baron Beaverbrook.’
‘The minister of aircraft production in Churchill’s War Cabinet?’
‘Ah, so you do keep up with what’s happening politically.’
‘With Beaverbrook as prominent a figure as he is, I would imagine most people would know about him. At least, those with an interest in who’s who in government. How do you know him? I can’t imagine you and he were war comrades. He never served, did he?’
‘He did his bit for the Canadians, mainly in administration.’
‘Oh yes, of course. He’s Canadian, isn’t he.’
‘He is, but I think he sees himself more as a citizen of the world. I know him through the House.’
Of course, thought Coburg. The House of Lords. ‘Did he have anything to impart about Bidlow?’
‘Yes, something quite interesting. As someone who’s been heavily involved in armaments and weapons manufacturing, Beaverbrook has made many contacts in that world. Not just British manufacturers but also those on the continent. And in the period after the First World War, he was part of the group that kept on eye on German armaments to make sure they kept within the terms of the Versailles agreement.’
‘But they didn’t.’
‘Not once Hitler came to power. Anyway, without going into the convoluted history of German armaments, it seems that soon after the First War, Bidlow took on an ambassadorial role for Krupp.’
‘So my man was right?’
‘Very possibly. Bidlow’s reasoning behind it was that as a shareholder in the company and also an ambassador, he was perfectly placed to keep an eye on their activities and make sure they stuck to the rules governing German rearmament.’
‘Which was a ban on it and a demobilisation of their army, navy and air force.’
‘Yes, but Krupp was allowed to manufacture weapons equipment for other countries. Mainly, it was claimed, defensive equipment. The Allies accepted this because it was reasoned that Germany needed to recover economically, and Krupp was a major engineering company and a huge employer.’
‘I would imagine that Bidlow got his shares in the company for a rock-bottom price at that time.’
‘Correct. But the company became wealthier when Hitler came to power.’
‘Surely Bidlow would have been aware that Germany was becoming more belligerent and there was a serious threat of another war. Let’s face it, it’s all the talk has been about for some years now. Surely he would have deemed it wise to have sold his shares in what could be a company supplying weapons to an enemy.’
‘Yes, that’s what anyone patriotic would have done.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘I don’t know. To dig into his business matters, shareholdings, his ambassadorship for Krupp, that sort of thing, is out of my sphere of knowledge.’
‘What about Beaverbrook? Can he find out?’
‘At the moment he’s got a lot on his plate looking after aircraft production for our side. Now you’ve got that much, I’m sure you know the right people to contact to start digging.’
‘I do indeed,’ said Coburg. ‘Thank you for this, Magnus. I’ll let you know what happens.’
He hung up, then said to Lampson, ‘Magnus has confirmed what we were told by Danny Bell about Henry Bidlow being paid by Krupp.’
‘So, treason?’
‘It sounds a strong possibility. We need to pass this on to the people who are better placed to look into it.’
‘Inspector Hibbert at MI5?’
‘That’s my thinking.’
‘How did it go with Lady Pitstone and her brother? What made him throw you out?’
‘When I raised the prospect of a German victory being an advantage to those who want a united Ireland, he called the meeting to an end and told me to leave.’
‘So he’s a suspect?’
‘He is in my book. He claims his sister is apolitical and insisted he would never discuss politics with her, but her reaction was different. More befuddled.’
‘Drink?’
‘Not this morning. I got the impression she was a bit panicky. Kennedy intervened to stop her saying anything. I think she may well be a political innocent, as Kennedy suggested, but I still think he could have shared his views about Irish unity with her. Or she may have picked it up in overhearing conversations he might have had with his fellow Irish republicans.’
‘Would he have talked about the importance to that end of a German victory in front of her?’
‘He might have, if he didn’t think she’d take notice.’
‘So, what are we going to do?’
‘Well, it is a difficult situation. As he pointed out, there’s a diplomatic issue at stake. The Irish High Commission may be in London but it’s the territory of a separate sovereign state, which means we have to let it alone. And that goes for its officials, like Kennedy.’
‘Do you think Kennedy is capable of committing the murders?’ asked Lampson. ‘Isn’t it more likely he got one of his mates to do the actual killings?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Coburg. ‘But finding out who could be tricky. When we go to see Inspector Hibbert about Bidlow, we’ll also mention Kennedy and see what he has to offer about him.’
Gerrard Halloran was the boss of a large and successful firm of builders, Halloran Estates, based in South London. Not that there was much in the way of building new homes at this moment; most of Halloran’s men were employed in carrying out repairs to bombed properties, mostly government buildings. Halloran had a good relationship with the government, at least as far as business was concerned. They liked the work he did for them, always carried out to the timetable and completed to perfection. Gerrard Halloran’s high standards had established him as vital to the Ministry of Works. When this war was over there’d be a whole heap of work in rebuilding, regardless of who won. If the British won then his contracts would increase. If the Germans were successful then they would be reminded of the vital work Halloran had done for them in his role as part of the IRA Operational Division in England.
Halloran had been an IRA man for as long as he could remember, first with the Irish Brotherhood in his home county of Cork, then as part of Michael Collins’s brigade during the Easter Rising in 1916. It had been after the victory for independence in 1921 that in 1922 he came to England, after Collins had been assassinated during the Civil War. He still felt angry about the Civil War. De Valera against Collins, the pro-Treatyites pitched against the anti-Treatyites. The fact that more Irish were killed during the Civil War than had died during the War for Independence from Britain was sheer insanity.
Independence, he thought bitterly. Not while Ulster was still part of Britain. An independent, self-governed Ireland meant just that, all of Ireland, which they’d been promised by the Germans if the Germans were victorious. At least, that’s what Sean Kennedy had told Halloran.
Halloran didn’t like Kennedy, but then any campaign was composed of many people with different agendas, different backgrounds, different attitudes, but with a common cause.
In Halloran’s eyes, Sean Kennedy – despite his name – was a Brit in every respect: public school, Oxford University, with the resulting upper-class British accent, his sister married to a British lord, now deceased. But Kennedy was a believer and would do anything to achieve their mutual aim. And Kennedy, with his connections, had access to the political routes that the IRA needed to travel if they were to succeed in their ambition.
Halloran had chosen the Embankment for this meeting with Kennedy. Halloran distrusted places like pubs and clubs; they were full of informers and spies. Here, in the open air, two men sitting talking casually on a bench, old friends, by the look of it, the contents of their conversation were safe. Well, as safe as any such conversation could be.
‘Gerrard.’ Halloran’s thoughts were interrupted by the annoying cut-glass accent of Sean Kennedy.
Halloran looked up and smiled, moving along the wooden bench to allow Kennedy to settle himself down beside him.
‘I got your message,’ said Halloran. ‘Something very important, you said.’
‘I had a visit from Detective Chief Inspector Saxe-Coburg of Scotland Yard.’
‘Saxe-Coburg?’ snorted Halloran. ‘Another bloody aristocrat. What did he want?’
‘He wanted to talk to my sister. I made sure I was there with her when he called.’ He paused, then said, ‘He knows.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘He virtually said as much. It needs to be dealt with.’
Halloran fell into a thoughtful silence; then he said, ‘Your sister is becoming a liability, Sean.’
‘No,’ said Kennedy firmly. ‘No action against her. She gets out of control when she drinks, says everything to everyone.’
‘Well, if she’s not going to stop drinking – and we both know that’s not going to happen – then she has to be stopped another way. Her loose tongue will cost us dear.’
‘She knows nothing of current actions.’
‘But she knows your stance on the war from before: a German victory giving us what we want.’
‘I don’t care. She’s my sister, for God’s sake. I’ll take care of her.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll persuade her to go to Ireland, just for a short break from the bombing. But once she’s there we’ll keep her there.’
‘Think you can do that?’
‘I can, I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t solve the problem of this Scotland Yard inspector. He knows, and he’ll make enquiries, and possibly charges.’
‘You’re an Irish national, a member of the Irish Commission. You’ve got diplomatic immunity.’
‘That won’t be much help when they’ve got me in a soundproof cellar and they’re beating the details out of me,’ said Kennedy bitterly. ‘Names. Contacts.’
Halloran nodded. ‘Yes, he needs to be put out of the picture. Along with his wife, I suggest.’
‘His wife?’ asked Kennedy.
‘Pillow talk,’ said Halloran. ‘DCI Coburg is married to the former Rosa Weeks, jazz pianist and singer supreme. A major talent.’ He gave a sad sigh. ‘We can’t take the chance he’s told her what he suspects.’
‘What he knows,’ Kennedy corrected him.
‘What he knows,’ repeated Halloran with a nod. He gave another sigh. ‘A pity. I used to listen to her on the wireless. As I said, what a talent!’ He sighed again. ‘But others have died for the cause.’
‘You can arrange it?’ asked Kennedy.
‘Of course I can bloody arrange it,’ said Halloran, annoyed. ‘I arranged the last three, didn’t I? And made sure a gun was used for the third one, so it would be seen as different from the modus operandi of the first two. Though I still have my doubts as to why he had to go.’
‘Because he was working for the British government, according to the letter he showed, and asking question about Lady Za Za and her brother and people Za Za spoke to.’
‘It may not mean anything,’ said Halloran.
‘Can we take that chance?’ asked Kennedy. He groaned. ‘Anyway, I don’t think Coburg was fooled.’
‘Very well, leave it to me. Once I’ve got things sorted—’
Kennedy held up his hand. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘As before, don’t tell me the details. If I don’t know anything, I can’t say anything.’
‘You know me,’ Halloran pointed out.
‘I’d never give them you,’ said Kennedy firmly. ‘You know that.’
‘I know that’s what you say,’ said Halloran. ‘But, as you said yourself just a moment ago, things might change if you’re in a soundproofed cellar having your bollocks beaten to a pulp. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.’
‘That’s why I’m telling you this,’ said Kennedy. ‘Make Coburg go away and things’ll be fine.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Inspector Hibbert looked at Coburg and Lampson with weary resignation as they entered his office.
‘I’m seeing more of you two lately than ever,’ he complained.
‘We wouldn’t call if it wasn’t absolutely essential,’ said Coburg.
‘Let me guess, this is still about this Russian fortune-teller woman.’
‘Lady Za Za, real name Svetlana Rostova.’ Coburg nodded. ‘We’ve got two names in the frame as potential suspects in her killing and that of her brother, Grigor. One is Henry Bidlow MP. The other is Sean Kennedy who works at the Irish High Commission in London. Both have close family members who consulted Svetlana as a fortune-teller: in Bidlow’s case, his wife, Eleanor; and in Kennedy’s case, his sister, Lady Pitstone. It’s possible that both women may have mentioned something that could harm their careers, or possibly even their lives. In Bidlow’s case we’ve discovered that he was – and possibly still is – a paid ambassador for Krupp.’
Hibbert frowned. ‘If he’s still being paid by them, we need to know what he’s doing for the money. There’s a scent of treason there.’
‘Exactly,’ said Coburg. ‘Kennedy is in the frame because his sister drinks and talks, and she may have passed on her brother’s views about who he supports in this war. You told me before that Sean Kennedy is on your watch list.’
‘Did I?’ asked Hibbert. ‘It sounds a bit loose-mouthed for me.’
‘Let’s say for argument’s sake he is,’ said Coburg patiently. ‘Do you have the names of any of his associates in London who are sympathetic to his cause?’
‘We might have,’ said Hibbert guardedly.
‘We’re looking for someone who might do the dirty work for the group,’ said Coburg. ‘Someone who might stab people to death.’
‘You think that’s what happened to that Russian pair? They were silenced because of what Svetlana had learnt?’
‘All we have at the moment is a hunch. We could be barking completely up the wrong tree. But it would be useful to look into Kennedy’s group.’
‘For someone ruthless enough to kill people,’ mused Hibbert.
‘And who uses a long, thin-bladed knife,’ said Coburg.
Hibbert regarded Coburg doubtfully. ‘That doesn’t sound very Irish,’ he said. ‘Pistols and bombs are more them, along with a cosh. Long thin-bladed knives sound more Italian.’
‘Any Irish-Italians in his group?’ asked Coburg.
Hibbert grinned. ‘I’ll do some digging around and get back to you,’ he said. He looked quizzically at Coburg and asked, ‘You’re sure about Bidlow and his link to Krupp?’
‘He was certainly linked to them. Whether he still is might be a case for investigation. And you’re better at that kind of digging than we are. You’ve got the resources and the people who know where to look.’
Bella Wilson hurried through the streets of central London, working her way through the maze of streets that backed onto Piccadilly. The streets were mainly empty of people and traffic; the air raid had started, although so far there hadn’t been many bombs falling in this area. From the flames and explosions in the far distance, it looked as if the East End was bearing the brunt of the attack. The docks as usual, Wilson supposed.
As she turned in to Piccadilly, she was approached by a man wearing an ARP helmet.
‘What are you doing out?’ he demanded. ‘You should be in a shelter.’
‘That’s where I’m on my way to,’ she said. ‘A friend who lives in a flat along here said I could use theirs.’
‘Well, hurry up and get to it,’ said the warden.
Wilson did as he commanded. She entered the block of flats where Coburg and Rosa lived. She’d checked it out when she’d been here before and discovered the air raid shelter in the basement. She guessed that’s where Coburg and Rosa were at this moment, taking refuge from the bombs. Not just the bombs, the incendiary devices the Germans were dropping, which blew up and threw flames out. Fire-starters, some called them.
