Simon Tolkien Inspector Trave Trilogy: Orders From Berlin, The Inheritance, The King of Diamonds. Simon Tolkien
us at the morning conference ten days ago.’
‘The one sent by someone in Germany pretending to me?’
‘Yes. I took it to Albert Morrison.’
‘You did what?’ C looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe what Thorn had just said.
‘I thought he might know who the sender was. I know I was wrong—’
‘You’re damned right you were,’ said C, interrupting angrily. ‘That message was a top-secret document and Albert had no security clearance. I’m surprised at you, Alec. A man of your experience should have known better than to do something so stupid.’
‘I agree,’ said Thorn, bowing his head. ‘And I’m sorry. Believe me, I’ll regret what I did to my dying day. But I need you to know what happened afterwards. Albert wasn’t home, so I left him a note, and then, as soon as he got it, he came over here in a taxi.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because the police told me. I’d already gone home, but I think somebody intercepted him in the street out there,’ he said, pointing through the cigar smoke over towards the window, ‘and guessed why he was here. And then that somebody followed him home and murdered him because he knew too much. I’ve thought about it over and over again and that has to be what happened. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise – that Albert rushes over here and then two hours later he’s dead.’
‘Coincidences happen,’ said C, sounding unconvinced. ‘I read in the newspaper that Albert’s son-in-law has been charged with the murder. I don’t think the police would have done that if they had no evidence, now, would they?’
‘Well, that’s just it,’ Thorn said eagerly. ‘I was at Ava’s, Albert’s daughter’s, flat when they came to arrest him. He’s a doctor called Bertram Brive. But when I first got there, Bertram was out, and Ava was with someone we both know. She was with Charles Seaforth.’
‘Ah, was she now?’ said C archly. ‘I was wondering when the conversation was going to come round to him.’
‘Hear me out,’ said Thorn, ignoring the gibe. ‘I need you to understand the sequence of events. Albert’s murdered and Seaforth, who hardly knew him, turns up at the funeral and starts paying attention to Ava, whom he’s never met before. And then three days later he’s in her flat when she finds a cuff link in her husband’s desk that matches one the killer left at the murder scene. And not only that – I got her to admit that Seaforth picked the locks on the desk drawers to enable her to look. There was no one else in the room, and he had the perfect opportunity to plant the evidence.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked C, looking unimpressed.
‘Because he murdered Albert and he needs someone else to take the blame. Can’t you see what I’m saying?’ asked Thorn, allowing a note of special pleading to creep into his voice.
‘Yes, I do see. But I also wonder whether you’re allowing your emotions to get the better of you?’ asked C, leaning forward with an air of apparent concern. ‘Albert’s death must have been a great blow to you. I know how close the two of you were. And we both know you’ve had issues with young Seaforth for some time.’
‘Are you saying it’s affected my judgement?’ asked Thorn angrily.
‘Well, has it?’
‘No, absolutely not. You’re right I don’t like Seaforth, but that’s not the reason I’m here. There are other things he’s done …’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, look at the way everyone else’s German agents have gone west – put up against the wall or sent to labour camps. But his intelligence gets better each week. Doesn’t that tell you anything?’
‘We’ve been over all that,’ said C, shifting in his chair, beginning at last to show signs of impatience. ‘Have you got anything else, Alec, or is this really just another one of your hunches?’ he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
But Thorn had come too far now to back down. ‘Did you get Hargreaves’s memo the other day?’ he asked. ‘About the earlier radio message that they’ve matched to the one we discussed in the meeting, both using the same code?’
‘Yes. Sent four days earlier, giving a date for a drop, no doubt from an aeroplane, but no location. Signed C. Not exactly a breakthrough, is it?’ said C, who prided himself on his encyclopaedic memory for all the documents that passed across his desk.
‘The place had obviously been agreed in advance,’ said Thorn. ‘But that’s not what matters. The point is that this isn’t some run-of-the-mill mission like you thought it was before. The date of the drop was the same day as the radio message, which means that the agent receiving the message wasn’t likely to be the one picking up whatever equipment or documents were being flown in. There’s got to be a sleeper of some kind monitoring the location. And the people involved are using radios and a code that’s been hard to break, which points to a sophisticated operation, one that we should be taking seriously.’
‘And MI5 are taking it seriously,’ said C. ‘I can assure you of that. It’s just it’s their job to deal with it, not ours. We’re in the business of foreign intelligence, in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘Unless it’s one of our agents who’s involved,’ Thorn countered. ‘Did you know that Seaforth was away on the day after the message about the drop was sent? He never came into work at all.’
‘Gone to meet the sleeper agent instead, I suppose you’re saying. Did he give a reason for his absence?’
‘He phoned Jarvis in the morning to say he was sick. But he looked healthy enough when he came in the next day. I can tell you that.’
C took a pull on his cigar, looking silently at Thorn as if weighing all that he’d said. ‘It’s not enough, Alec, and I think you know that,’ he said finally. ‘What you’re telling me is all circumstantial. You say that your dislike for Seaforth has nothing to do with you accusing him, but I’m not so sure of that. I’m sorry to say it, but, unconsciously or not, I think you’re trying to get rid of him because he’s after your job. And yes, I do think it’s affecting your judgement. This vendetta is going to have to stop. I’ve warned you before and I’m not going to warn you again.’
Thorn thought of responding. But instead he bit his tongue. He wasn’t a fool, whatever C might think. There was clearly nothing to be gained by further argument unless he wanted to earn himself an early retirement. C had made up his mind about Seaforth and he wasn’t going to change it, whatever Thorn had to say.
‘I hear what you say,’ Thorn said, forcing out the words as he stood up to leave. ‘But can we keep this in confidence between us? It wouldn’t help anyone for it to get out.’
‘Don’t tell Seaforth, you mean? Very well,’ said C, inclining his head. ‘But let this be the end of it.’
Thorn nodded his acquiescence as he backed away towards the door, leaving C standing in front of the fire beneath the portrait of his ancestor, looking as if he owned the place – which, of course, he did.
Back past the twins; back through the green baize door; back into the world of peeling paint and grey lino floors and inadequate heat and light behind fraying blackout curtains. Back distracted down the creaking stairs and almost straight into the arms of his arch-enemy. Thorn stood still with shock for a moment, adjusting to the experience of having the man who was so vivid in his mind appearing suddenly in front of him in the flesh. He hated these apparently chance encounters with Seaforth in the corridors of HQ in inverse proportion to how much Seaforth seemed to enjoy them, standing aside with sarcastic ceremony and waiting for Thorn to go past while he observed his superior’s impotent rage with silent amusement.
But today Seaforth seemed unable to resist going further. ‘How was C?’ he asked with a mean smile. ‘Gave you a pleasant reception, I hope?’