Simon Tolkien Inspector Trave Trilogy: Orders From Berlin, The Inheritance, The King of Diamonds. Simon Tolkien
Wait a minute – I can show you what he looks like.’
Thorn was a man transformed. There was an excitement in his voice, an urgency that had been entirely absent before he deciphered the name on the note. He went over to a tall bookcase that ran almost the entire length of one wall of the room and began running his finger along the titles, up and down the overflowing shelves, until he abruptly pulled out a tall book and took it over to the desk, pushing a pile of papers onto the floor to make room.
He turned the pages rapidly, forward and back, until he found what he was looking for and then beckoned Trave over to join him. ‘Look, there he is,’ he said, jabbing his finger down at two large photographs on facing pages of the book. They were of the same man. In the first he was dressed in a black SS uniform, standing ramrod straight on an elevated rostrum with his arm rigidly raised in the Hitler salute as a line of goose-stepping soldiers marched past on the street below. Above his head, enormous red-and-black swastika banners hung down from flagpoles extending horizontally from the roofs of a row of tall, imposing nineteenth-century buildings – government buildings, Trave assumed – probably Berlin. And then on the opposite page, the man was shown seated, again in uniform but this time without the peaked cap. This was a studio portrait, an opportunity to get closer to the subject and more personal. Blond-haired, thin-lipped, classically handsome, he was a living embodiment of the Nazis’ Aryan ideal – a cruel Viking face with penetrating, ice-cold eyes, eyes that would miss nothing, Trave thought. He began to understand the intensity of Thorn’s reaction to the note.
‘Why does he call himself C?’ he asked, curious.
‘C’s what we call the head of the British Secret Service – C for chief, I suppose. And Heydrich knows that. He’s always loved spy novels, particularly British ones, and so he fancies himself as the German C.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because Albert told me. Not about Heydrich calling himself C, but everything else about him. Albert used to be C before he retired, and he was a walking encyclopedia when it came to the Nazi leaders. And apart from Hitler, Heydrich was the one he talked about the most. I should have made the connection. I think I nearly did on that first day, and that’s why I knew I had to bring the decoded message over here for him to look at. I realized unconsciously that the solution to the C riddle was in something he’d told me. And then Seaforth must have realized that Albert knew it was Heydrich when he ran into him outside HQ. Seaforth’s no fool, and he would have put two and two together – me grabbing the decoded message in the morning and Albert hotfooting it over there in the afternoon. And so he had to silence Albert before he talked to anyone else—’
Thorn broke off. He’d become more and more agitated as he spoke, and now he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to regain his self-control. ‘God, I wish I knew what they were planning,’ he resumed, shaking his head with frustration. It was now almost as if he had forgotten about Trave and were talking to himself. ‘All this time gone by and I still have no idea, except that it’s got to be something important if Heydrich’s behind it. I keep thinking it’s got something to do with the invasion because that’s what all Seaforth’s intelligence briefings have been about. If I had my way, I’d hold the bastard over that banister out there until he talked, just like he did to Albert—’
Thorn stopped again, this time seized by a fit of coughing while Trave watched him from across the room. ‘How do you know it was Seaforth who intercepted Albert?’ he asked. ‘Surely it could have been someone else from where you work?’
‘I know it was him because of what he’s done since. He’s used Ava to frame her husband for the murder, and that’s got to be because he needs someone to take the blame for what he did.’
‘What evidence have you got for that?’ Trave asked sceptically.
‘I was in Ava’s flat three days ago when he admitted picking the locks on Bertram Brive’s desk—’
‘Where Ava found the cuff link?’ interrupted Trave, looking aghast.
‘That’s right. You look surprised. Didn’t you know about this? Your inspector was there too. He heard what had happened.’
Trave looked thunderstruck – he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. ‘God, it’s monstrous,’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘Quaid kept quiet about it deliberately. When Bertram said he’d been framed in the interview, Quaid said nothing about Seaforth opening the desk. He must have realized that Bertram would have been far less likely to confess if he’d known the full picture of what happened.’
‘Well, he seemed mighty friendly with Seaforth when they were in Ava’s flat, I can tell you that. It wasn’t the first time they’d talked.’
‘I know,’ said Trave. ‘I’m pretty sure it was Seaforth who told Quaid to keep your office out of the investigation, and then when I followed him to Coventry Street, he rang up Quaid and complained about me. I got a serious dressing-down. Quaid threatened me with a transfer to the military police.’
‘When was this?’
‘The day before Bertram was arrested. Seaforth was with Ava at the Corner House.’
‘Softening her up for the next day,’ said Thorn, looking furious. Trave sensed that there was a strong element of jealousy involved in Thorn’s reaction to Seaforth’s involvement with Ava, but that didn’t change the significance of what Thorn had told him about what had happened at Ava’s flat.
‘That’s got to be how Seaforth knew to bring the cuff link to plant in the desk,’ Thorn went on. ‘Your inspector must have told him about it, maybe when he rang up to complain about you.’
‘I tried to follow him again the next morning,’ said Trave.
‘That was brave.’
‘But he saw me. I never had a chance. He must have been on his way over to Battersea. And the funny thing was that he never complained about me that time. I thought my number was up, but nothing happened.’
‘Because he didn’t need to. Can’t you see that?’ asked Thorn impatiently. ‘He’d got what he wanted. Bertram had been arrested and so he wasn’t worried about Albert’s murder any more. He could concentrate on the bigger picture.’
It wasn’t proof of Seaforth’s involvement, but it did at least make sense, thought Trave. He needed more, but for the first time the pieces of the jigsaw seemed to be fitting together. He was seized with a wave of anger against Quaid, but then he realized his own powerlessness. Quaid had the case sewn up, and there was no way he was going to allow Trave to reopen it. Not after the corners he’d cut to extract Bertram’s confession. ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ he asked, looking over at Thorn, who’d gone back to staring at the pictures of Heydrich in the book that was lying open on the desk.
‘Not without more evidence,’ said Thorn. ‘Seaforth’s the rising star where I work. His intelligence gets better each week, which isn’t surprising if he’s got a direct line to Heydrich. He’s leading the entire Secret Service by the nose, and they just don’t see it. And I’m worried that he’ll implement this plan prematurely if I go after him in the open. Really, I don’t know what to do, what angle to pursue. Maybe there’s something in his past. His father’s dead, but as far as I know, his mother’s still alive. It’s a long shot—’ Thorn broke off, looking dejected.
Outside there was a new sound – aircraft overhead. And a few moments later there was the noise of explosions as the first bombs began to fall. The war had come to Battersea.
Trave turned off the light and lifted the edge of the blackout curtain. Thorn came to stand beside him at the window and the two men looked out, transfixed by the sight that met their eyes. A welter of searchlight beams