The wake of the gertrud.., p.18
The Wake of the Gertrud Luth, page 18
Schepke looked at him across the desk, a little puzzled.
“Well he was big,” he said. “And I think he was bald. Either that or he had his head shaved. I would know him anywhere. Anybody would. There can’t be many people that big.”
“Is that him?” Menzies asked eagerly, opening a large manila folder onto the desk. There were three photographs on the first page, each with a number across the bottom.
”That’s him,” Schepke said, seeing the same impassive, rock-hewn face.
“What happened to him?”
“I’m not sure. He disappeared somewhere inside the building.”
Menzies snatched up the telephone and spoke rapidly in Cantonese.
“Something wrong?” Schepke asked.
Menzies leaned onto the desk. “Your friend escaped from Fort Stanley last night.”
“Well I have nothing against him,” Schepke said, smiling thinly.
”That is what surprises me. He’ll kill a man as soon as look at him. He was due to hang the end of this month.” As he spoke the urgent clanging bell of a police wagon carried in from the front.
“A man his size shouldn’t be difficult to find.”
Menzies smiled. “Unfortunately he is. There are many people so afraid of him as to hide him and say nothing. He also knows every back street and alley in Victoria and Kowloon. Actually he is Japanese. At one time he was quite famous as a sumo wrestler and Karate specialist. He fled from Japan when sought for questioning for a killing way back in nineteen-fifty-six. We believe he arrived here about three years ago on the Heiwa Maru. Can you remember which hand he used when he grabbed you into that doorway?”
Schepke considered it a moment. He had been brought in past him. “The left, I think.”
Menzies nodded. “The right hand is useless except for the first finger and thumb. The hand is used only as a weapon. Karate deformed and lethalized it many years ago. Last night he killed two warders with a single chop of that same hand. I think you have a lot of luck, Captain.”
“Isn’t it more probable that the shots were intended for him?” Schepke asked.
“No. No, no one shoots at Kamei except the police. And then they always miss.” Menzies smiled. “What about your own crew?”
”The Second Officer, maybe, Müller. He could be worried about the Enquiry. But I don’t think he would attempt to shoot me in the street.”
“Do you think the Enquiry could go badly for him?”
“It’s possible.”
“We could check him out.”
“If you can find him,” Schepke said. ”The others didn’t have much success.”
“What others?” Menzies asked.
“The Chief Engineer and other officers. They’re living at the Hotel Zetland. I believe it’s somewhere down by Jardines Bazaar.”
“I know the place,” Menzies said, “I’ll see what we can do. I’ll get in touch with you at your hotel.”
”Thank you,” Schepke said, rising. “Good night, Superintendent.” Then he stopped in the doorway. “By the way, what was our friend’s name?”
“Kamei,” Menzies said. “Kinjayamen Kamei. But I don’t think he will bother you further. If my guess is correct he’s waiting the chance to slip across to the Kowloon side. He’ll probably try the junks and sampans at Causeway Bay Shelter. Either that or Kennedy Town.”
“Good night,” Schepke said.
“Good night, Captain.”
Karl Schepke left the police station and walked back along Gloucester Road. There were three police wagons stopped where the shooting had been, their portable lights directed overhead at the rooftops and the policemen up there searching the high flat roofs. And out across the harbour it was very dark and the haze hiding the lights of Tsim Sha Tsui clock tower.
36
TWO evenings later Karl Schepke was in the small bar of the Kwangtung Hotel. It was almost midnight. Menzies had just left. They had talked about Kamei and the shooting, and Menzies had said he had not been able to find out a great deal about Müller.
“At the moment he’s living at the White Bear with a Shanghai girl. She’s one of those refugees turned whore and moved down from the shacks above Causeway Bay. We questioned him yesterday morning about the shooting and he said they had been across in Kowloon since early that afternoon and hadn’t returned until late. The girl corroborated that. Then when we asked about a possible gun, he denied ever owning one.”
“Hechler swears he took the Mauser,” Schepke said. “Well they went out later and we searched the room and there was no sign of any gun.”
“I never was sure about him,” Schepke said. “But he’s the only one I could name. He caused plenty of trouble on the way up.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” Menzies said, taking his hat from the counter. “Perhaps you’ll let me know if you come across anything yourself.”
Karl Schepke nodded. “What about the Jap?” he then asked.
“Oh, him. He got away.”
After Menzies left he had another of the ice-cold Holsteins then went upstairs to bed.
37
THE Formal Enquiry opened at the Central Law Courts on the twenty-third at ten o’clock in the morning. It was a fine clear morning with the sun out and the city looked clean and white, and Karl Schepke walked uptown past the English Navy Barrack in the warm sunlight to the courts. The hearing was being held in one of the upstairs courts and when he was shown inside he saw most of the crew already there. Altogether there were between fifty and sixty people seated in the court. He saw Hechler along with Frauenheim and Dorsch down near the floor of the court and he went down and took a seat alongside of them.
“Hello, Karl. How are you?” Hechler asked.
“Fine,” Schepke told him. Frauenheim was looking better than at any time during the trip north. “How’s the chest?” Schepke asked.
“Better than ever,” Frauenheim said, grinning. “It was the rest I wanted. Hans was driving us too hard.”
“Listen to that,” Hechler said. “I looked after him like his mother.”
Schepke glanced around the court, noting the various counsels and representatives.
“Who’s for the company?”
Hechler nodded along the front bench in the floor of the court. ”The Limey with the spectacles,” he said. “His name’s Ashman. They’re mostly all bloody Limeys.”
While they were talking the chairman and his three assessors came in and took their seats overlooking the floor of the court. They were all Englishmen, wearing lounge suits, the chairman wearing thick-lensed spectacles. Most of the counsel for the interested parties were Englishmen too, and on the same bench was a tall, scholarly-looking German with a card before him that read: ”Translator.”
“Gentlemen,” the chairman said, pausing for the talking to stop. “Gentlemen. This court meets here today to make a thorough investigation into the stranding of the German steamship Gertrud Lüth. It will be the duty of this Court to examine not only the circumstances, but to examine all factors relevant to that stranding. This investigation, therefore, covers the working state of the ship at the time she set out on voyage from Wilhelmshafen, her sea-worthiness, the condition of all machinery and workings relevant to her well-being, the nature of her cargo and the manner of its stowage, and the state of her fire-fighting equipment. This investigation will also cover the behaviour and conduct of those concerned in the running of the vessel to the extent that they may or may not have contributed to her subsequent stranding.
“It is also our sad business today to investigate all factors leading to the loss of life of several members of the crew, including her original Captain. I therefore remind you that this is a Formal Enquiry to determine the cause of stranding and, whilst I am anxious that all due respect be paid to the dead and that no undue advantage be taken of any man who, through death, is unable to testify, I wish to impress upon all gathered here today that we are to investigate the whole and complete business thoroughly and impartially.” He paused, gently clearing his throat. “I now call upon Mr. Bernhard Hoffmann to open proceedings on behalf of the West German State Marine.”
Hoffmann had handled many of the more serious investigations on behalf of the State Marine, and now he rose, tall, balding, his notes carefully arranged on the bench before him.
“Mr. Learned Chairman. I wish to bring to your notice here at the outset that the German steamship Gertrud Lüth, owned by the Oesten-Liebe Steamship Company of Hamburg, was under contract to the West German State Marine to make a transportation of grain between the ports of Wilhelmshafen and Shanghai. She was not under any contract whatsoever to embark a deck-cargo of heavy machinery!” Hoffmann broke off as a murmur of surprise passed through the court. “At no time until her subsequent stranding was the West German State Marine aware that the Gertrud Lüth had embarked any cargo other than that which she was contracted to do. However, we are now in receipt of certain documents that confirm additional cargo was previously arranged between the owners, Oesten-Liebe, and the Lehmann-Willenbrock Engineering Company of Frankfurt and Turin. This additional cargo consisted of five earth-moving machines and four bulldozers, and was embarked at the port of Naples. This resulted in the ship sailing grossly overloaded and in a most dangerous and unseaworthy condition. I also wish to point out here that there are certain discrepancies arising in details of the crew listed as sailing from Wilhelmshafen and as to the actual number now known to have been on board. For instance, there were nine crewmen short on deck alone. And a further seven short in the crew listed below decks. Also, since the stranding it has been discovered that code numbers on the lifeboats were not those listed as having been on board when the ship was granted a certificate of seaworthiness. Altogether it appears that the Gertrud Lüth was little more than an actual ghost ship. This is established evidence, Mr. Learned Chairman, and I give it here at the outset of this investigation so as to avoid possible delay at a later stage.”
Hoffmann completely held the interest of the court, each and every face turned upon him, and Ashman visibly disturbed by this opening statement. “Unfortunately,” Hoffmann went on, “the man best suited to help us answer many of the questions arising from these subjects, Kapitän Otto Emmermann, is no longer with us. What we know, the facts we have already been able to establish, and here I speak for the West German State Marine, I put forward to you, Mr. Learned Chairman, as indisputable evidence. But perhaps much that occurred on board the ill-fated Gertrud Lüth shall never be truly known because it appears to be a policy of the owning company that no one person should know the full extent of any one thing other than that which effects his own particular station of ship. There are many things which have been attributing factors to the stranding of the Gertrud Lüth apart from those which may be classed as Acts of God outside the realm of man and which he has no control over whatsoever. One of the foremost was the position of fuel. It appears to be another policy of the owning company to have kept the ship so short of fuel as to have placed it in a most hazardous position in making any one leg of the voyage to the East. Radioed fuel orders were cut to such an extent that it is best said that the ship succeeded in reaching certain ports only because of the skill and ingenuity of Kapitän Emmermann and Chief Engineer Hechler.”
Again Hoffmann paused, this time to sip a few mouthfuls of water from the glass before him. “Now, at this early stage of the Enquiry I will take the rather unusual step, after knowing what evidence there already is, and after having seen depositions taken by the Receiver of Wreck, and say here and now that if it had not been for the praiseworthy seamanship of Kapitän Karl Schepke, I very much doubt indeed, in these circumstances, if the Gertrud Lüth would ever have been brought within sight of shore again!” Hoffmann glanced coldly around the floor of the court, then abruptly sat down.
For two or three minutes he sat there, the full effect of his opening statements hanging over the court and the silence broken only by an uneasy clearing of throats and the changing of positions. Karl Schepke glanced about him, seeing various members of the crew, some appearing strangely out of place in civilian clothes. Then he noticed Müller well to the rear of the court, tense and anxious looking.
Hoffmann was on his feet again.
“Mr. Learned Chairman,” he began. “I propose that in the prevailing circumstances we focus our main interest at this point in that part of the intended voyage between Singapore and Shanghai. And with this end in view, I call upon Karl Schepke.”
Schepke rose and crossed the floor of the court to the witness box. Again a low murmur of voices and the shifting of feet travelled lightly through the court as he took the stand and prepared to answer Hoffmann’s questions.
“Name?” Hoffmann asked, the low murmur of conversation subsiding now as he opened the questioning.
“Karl Schepke.”
“Educated?”
“During the war. Nowhere in particular. I joined the Marine as a cadet in nineteen-forty-six. Mate’s Certificate nineteen-fifty-two. Master’s Certificate nineteen-fifty-six. First command nineteen-fifty-eight, the Johonne Kjolbro of the Backenkölher Line. Relinquished command through illness in Kobe, April, nineteen-sixty-one.”
“Excuse me, Kapitän,” Hoffmann interrupted. “You appear to be extremely well versed in the procedure of such a Court as this. Would you care to explain?”
“I have faced such an Enquiry before,” Schepke said, his voice cold and clear.
“And what happened at that Enquiry, Kapitän?”
“I had my Master’s Certificate suspended for two years.”
There was the sudden quiet sound of light movement in the court as certain people leaned involuntarily forward, their attention held by Schepke and Hoffmann.
“Please continue, Kapitän. And though the West German State Marine is already aware, it may be of interest to certain parties to mention the illness which caused you to relinquish command of the Johonne Kjolbro at Kobe.”
“It was an appendicitis,” Schepke answered. “There was no other reason. Then in September of nineteen-sixty-one I sailed for Hamburg as First Officer of the Ilse Backenkölher after her own First Officer had come ashore.”
“Why did the First Officer of the Ilse Backenkölher come ashore at Kobe, Kapitän?”
“I believe he did not get along well with the Kapitän and Second Officer.”
“And you were quite happy to join her?”
“No. Not quite. But I wanted to get home and took the first opportunity that came along.”
“You were happy on board the Ilse Backenkölher?”
“Not exactly. I didn’t agree with certain aspects of the running of the ship.”
“How long had you been on board before you formed these, what shall we say, opinions?”
“A matter of days. Before we made our first port of call, Hong Kong.”
“And what was it that happened in Singapore, Kapitän?” Hoffmann asked, glancing first at the Chairman, then around the court.
“She was burned out.”
“And you were held to blame?”
“Yes, sir,” Schepke answered evenly.
“And were you?”
”No, sir. But I am afraid that was not the opinion of the Court.”
”Thank you, Kapitän,” Hoffmann said. Then turning to the Chairman: “Mr. Learned Chairman, I know part of my examination may at first appear to have no direct bearing on the present Enquiry but I think it only fair that the Court be made aware of Kapitän Schepke’s past. At the same time, I wish it to be made clear that the West German State Marine is fully aware of this and in the case of the Enquiry into the loss of the Ilse Backenkölher we made a careful study of all evidence given and after sentence was passed we instructed him that there were excellent grounds for appeal. However, for reasons never made known to us, he refused to lodge one. Now the point which I wish to make clear is that although knowing the court’s decision, the West German State Marine still retained a respect of his seamanship, and we do not wish to reflect on the past by holding his suspension against him in any way whatsoever. And when he made an application early last year for the return of his Master’s Certificate, the West German State Marine made no objection.”
Then again Hoffmann turned to Karl Schepke.
“Now, Kapitän,” he said. “Would you care to explain to the Court the reason which brought you on board the Gertrud Lüth?”
”The post of First Officer was offered me by Kapitän Emmermann. I believe Rösing, the original First Officer was taken ashore at Colombo.”
“In fact,” Hoffmann said, “it would be correct to say that Kapitän Emmermann refused a replacement at Colombo and sailed for Singapore with the single intention of shipping you?”
Schepke hesitated momentarily. “That may be,” he said.
“All right,” Hoffmann said. “Did Kapitän Emmermann offer any reason as to why he particularly wished to sign you as First Officer of the Gertrud Lüth?”
“He seemed to think that I was, in his own personal estimation, the man for the post. He gave me the impression that he had little confidence in the deck officers already on board. Although he made it clear that he held the engineers in high regard.”
”Then it may be said that he had more faith in you, at that time on the beach, than he had in his own officers?”
“Perhaps,” Schepke said quietly.
“Of course, Emmermann knew you both as a man and as a seaman. Did he ever mention the Ilse Backenkölher to you prior to going on board the Gertrud Lüth?”
“I cannot remember exactly,” Schepke told him.
“Did he appear to believe that the destruction of the Ilse Backenkölher was caused through no fault of yours?”
“It’s possible.”
“Would you care to tell the Court how you met Emmermann in the first instance?”
“It was during the war. My people had been killed in an Allied bombing raid and I ended up at Eckernförde where I worked as a mess boy in the U-Boat officers mess. Emmermann was at that time in command of one of the boats. Rollmann, bo’sun of the Gertrud Lüth, was bo’sun of the same boat.” Schepke paused.
