The Man Who Never Was

  When he was later prodded by the driver he awoke and had a clear recollection of switching cars, but no idea how long he’d slept. He then pictured having walked from the car to a dimly lit building, he had then been ushered inside and finally led to a room which was so black he couldn’t even see the door once it was closed. He fumbled around in the dark and found what felt like a sofa. He lay down and somehow, despite a feeling of trepidation, he drifted off to sleep again.

  He felt slightly nauseous when he awoke once more. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep and had trouble focussing his vision at first, even when the rather poor lighting had suddenly been switched on from outside.

  He finally deduced that it must have been because of the water flask, handed to him by the female passenger, before he first fell asleep in the car. He then recalled that his vision was affected at that time in the same way. He remembered that the water tasted slightly bitter. He now felt really insecure.

  Despite continually banging on the only door in the room, after managing to focus on it without it appearing to move about, he deduced that the people who’d brought him there had left. He shouted ‘hello’ over and over, but this didn’t bring anyone back either.

  He was hungry but not cold, and the single radiator was very hot, gurgling incessantly. He was beginning to regret his knee-jerk decision to jump from one car to the other. He closed his eyes and tried to recapture more of what had transpired just after the woman beckoned him to join her.

  She was middle aged, perhaps about fifty, with streaked blonde hair. He remembered the dark lenses, not like most sunglasses, more like those worn by some blind people, completely hiding the eyes. She and the driver who’d punched the chauffeur, spoke in a kind of English dialect he’d never heard before, and he only understood a fraction of what was said.

  Mainly because of his absolute, adrenalin-charged relief in evading official deportation, he began to realise that he’d succumbed to whatever was in the flask and that’s why he couldn’t resist the chance to sleep.

  His train of thought was interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps from above, first in one direction then the other.

  “Hello,” he bellowed repeatedly. The footsteps stopped and then returned briefly, a muted voice called out some indecipherable reply.

  “Hello, who is there?” responded Karl.

  Another silence was followed by a door clashing, and he heard footsteps descending, coming to a halt outside his room, then nothing. Despite calling out continuously for a couple of minutes, still no one came, no one replied. He banged on the door again and the noise camouflaged that of a key turning in the lock. A uniformed man stood before him. Karl was pushed back and told he must keep quiet, and if he complied he could expect a visitor within a few minutes. He paced up and down the cramped room, looking frequently at the uniformed guard. The person arrived, dressed in civilian clothes, but Karl didn’t recognise Theo Devlin, as he was ignorant of the fact that he had escaped before this man arrived at the P.O.W. camp in High Spen.

  Chapter 20

  Newcastle C.I.D

  Moss was fiddling with the heating controls in his office; it was always too hot or too cold, and he disliked being at the mercy of equipment with such poor design. The phone rang.

  “Moss, hello… Superintendent Moss. Who’s calling?”

  The switchboard operator angered him further by admitting she’d accidently cut the caller off.

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir, we’ve been overloaded with calls today.”

  “They must have given a name, surely?”

  “Err, yes, now let me see, I’ve forgotten the surname, Julian something. I can tr….”

  “Never mind, it was probably nothing.”

  He decided to use his direct line.

  “Julian, sorry about our operator hanging you out to dry.”

  “No matter, Oz, listen, I was quite surprised to find that there are records for a Maximillian Vogt. I have to assume it’s the same person – we don’t have any others registered by that name. It wasn’t so far back as you might have thought. His status changed as recently as 1975 when he retired.”

  “So he worked in this country for some time?”

  “Yes, he must have been here during the war, which I thought was a bit odd. Anyway, he worked for a paint company in Crawley for a few years, and then his records were moved to the Northeast Inland Revenue section. He worked for the National Coal Board.”

  “Don’t tell me, Julian, the coke works at Derwenthaugh?”

  “How did you know that?”

  Moss was annoyed at himself for not keeping his mouth shut.

  “I didn’t, one of my people said that they thought they remembered the man from investigating a theft at the coking plant some years ago, and it is an unusual name, but I didn’t take him seriously, and I didn’t want to prime you with any predisposition. I guess that I owe my colleague a fiver. Well, thanks for clearing that up. Actually, I’d like to speak to this Vogt chap about another matter, can you give me an address?”

  “I’m afraid he’s dead Oz, his retirement pension stopped as he had no named beneficiary. Let me see, yes here it is, in 1977. God, two years after working all his life! It’s unusual for us to keep records so far back as the time he spent in Crawley. I can only assume it was because of the war and his nationality. All Germans resident here at the time would be on someone’s radar. So, that’s all I can do for you on this, I shouldn’t really have told you any of this – so, it stays unofficial.”

  “Yes, of course, thank you Julian. It does shake you up a bit, thinking about hitting the buffers so soon after quitting the rat race. We must get together my friend. Give my best to the family. I’ll call you soon.”

  *

  Hexham, Northumberland

  Frank Reichert had received a curt but polite reply from the Abwehr. His father’s disc was returned but there was no information that he didn’t have already. The German authority claimed they had no record of Ernst after he went AWOL in England. There was an undertone of surprise expressed by the Abwehr that Frank’s father had never returned to the Fatherland, and a slight accusatory statement that he’d never bothered to inform them of his intent to stay in the UK, as this would at least have made their records more complete.

  There was no hint of an apology or willingness to engage in any further correspondence. He rang Maggie and said he wasn’t happy with the response.

  “I can’t leave it there, Maggie. Has your Inspector Black found out whose skeleton it was that you pulled out of the mud at the coke works yet?”

  “I don’t know, Dad, I was only helping out on that case, but anyway, I was about to ring you. I passed my promotion board, so I’m feeling quite chipper, I really hope I can stay in Newcastle. Anyway, I have to go now, I’ve just had an emergency call. I’m sorry to hear that the Abwehr won’t help you. Tell Mum I’ll pop round tonight. Should I bring fish and chips?”

  “Yes, yes, I could murder some fish and chips. See you later, and take care with that emergency.”

  *

  Newcastle C.I.D.

  Moss was rehearsing his pitch to Marion Wentworth about Max Vogt when Black knocked at the door, opened it a fraction and whispered, “Got a moment, sir?”

  “Of course. Tell me you’ve got a new lead Inspector.”

  “Well, not exactly, but I think we need a change of emphasis. We haven’t really got much justification for dwelling solely in the present. We seem to have exhausted evidence gathering from the site, the bones, and ex-employees. I know our friend from the Foreign Office is fixated on what we do next, but everything we’ve gleaned from the present points to the past.

  Maybe dealing with existing people in this Abwehr and Marion’s sidekicks in London will only give up second-hand clues. We need direct access to records at the time of the suspected foul play. We should be studying anything and everything about Luftwaffe pilots, who were brought down and detained in this region in the latter y
ears of the war.”

  This was Black’s gambit to pry into why Moss’s attitude to Marion Wentworth had apparently softened so much. When there was no reaction he continued.

  “Don’t you think Marion’s dismissive behaviour toward Milan Hajek was unhelpful? It was a real lucky break for Freda to find the guy, and he’s only been put under surveillance, her surveillance. I’d like your approval to pore through the official war records, sir, and that would mean a trip to London, where it’s all in one place. I don’t want the curators of these files to send me ‘selective’ data. It would be interesting to see her reaction.”

  “Mmm,” mused Moss, “it can’t do any harm to see if she tries to interfere. I’ll suggest it to her.”

  “I would appreciate being there, sir, I’d like to observe the body language as well as the talk.”

  Black wanted to put Sophie’s test to Marion after her leanings were expressed regarding him studying the centralised war records, by not giving her much space to think.

  “Yes, I agree, in fact it was you who summarised your discovery of Mr Hajek. You’re right, Inspector, if for no other reason than we’re keeping her up to date with everything we’re doing or even contemplating. That’s what she asked for. Let’s go and visit her in her new abode.”

  They caught her by surprise and she shuffled the papers on her desk into a neat pile then returned them to a red plastic file. Moss couldn’t see what the papers were and apologised for arriving unannounced.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, Marion, it’s just a courtesy call to tell you in advance what we propose to do next. Inspector Black has a valid suggestion.”

  “Fine, do we need another chair? I just have the two.”

  “No, I’ll stand,” said Moss, “it means I can rest my rear against the radiator. It’s all yours Black.”

  After the proposed foray into the war records was fleshed out Marion nodded wistfully and eventually spoke.

  “Good idea, I’ll make a couple of calls to smooth the path for you. They won’t just let anyone get their paws on these relics. Also, not every record is under the guardianship of the same office. There are matters which are exclusively to do with our own servicemen and women, which are protected by the Home Office, and then there are those covering incidents involving overseas personnel, both allies and foes, and they rest with the Foreign Office.”

  This was exactly what Black didn’t want, filtered information, nevertheless he pressed on because he could check whatever he might find with Sophie Redwood.

  “Great, I’d like to get stuck into it as soon as possible. And you’ve just touched on something which reminds me of another avenue which I believe we’ve neglected.”

  “Oh, I see, well let me hear it, Inspector.”

  “When we first brought the bones back for analysis, Constance Carr made a remark which I didn’t pick up on at the time, but I think it’s worth a shot. The skull was in decent shape and apart from her discovery of trauma to the cervical vertebrae, she said there were a couple of teeth missing. It was after that conversation that we found out that the metal disc was a dog tag – that of a Luftwaffe man.

  “I then asked Connie if we could use dental records to narrow down the possible identity of the deceased, assuming it was his tag. You may have seen this when you read the entire file, Marion.” He paused until there was a response.

  “Yes, I believe I did see that in the notes, but I’m not sure I follow your logic, Inspector.”

  “Well, Connie said we had to do it the other way around, you know, narrow down the possible identity first, because it would be mission impossible to run through every male dental record in the country to find a match. It’s only now that the penny has dropped. We, the UK, can’t possibly have the dental record of a German flyer, but if we assume for one moment that the deceased is the owner of the disc, we could ask the Abwehr to check it out.”

  Moss, hearing this for the first time, chimed in.

  “Damned good idea Black, it could save us a hell of a lot of time, or at least rule out that specific connection of the bones and the tag, thankfully a direct connection.”

  Black detected furtive movement of Marion’s cold eyes, and then a burst of false enthusiasm.

  “You may have hit on something here, Inspector Black. I only have one concern.”

  “May we hear it,” enquired Moss, “is it a disqualifier?”

  “No, it’s more a question of the best way to handle the request. I think we would all agree that we don’t want to let the remains out of our sight, and I have my doubts that the Abwehr would be happy with just giving us a yes or no answer. It could become an emotive issue.

  “In their position I’d want to see the remains, and if there was consensus that there was a match, I would be bound by a duty of care to any living relatives of the deceased. And I’d feel obliged to begin proceedings to recover the remains. The identity of the person may only be an inroad into discovering who may have dumped a body under concrete, and more importantly, why?

  “I hope you agree that we don’t want to lose these bones until there is no alternative. I support your idea, Inspector, I just think we could benefit from Constance Carr’s advice – let’s narrow the field before we involve the Abwehr in a confirmatory role. In fact your trawl of the war records may just help us to do exactly that.”

  Moss bought into this, so Black went along with the recommendation and asked Marion to make the calls to get him access to the war records as soon as possible.

  As Black left, Marion made notes, but was interrupted once more by Moss.

  “This Max Vogt chap, of whom you know so much, can you tell me if he’s still alive?”

  “Yes, I can. And no he isn’t. So, your next question is why was his ring found buried with our skeleton. I would like to know that myself, but as I did tell you, the bones aren’t those of Max Vogt. He died over a decade ago, not back in the forties.”

  “That’s a pity. How’s the shadowing of Mr Hajek coming along?”

  “He suspects he’s being followed, and I expected that after we talked with him. When he’s happy that he isn’t, he might do something interesting. Don’t fret, I’ll keep you informed, Superintendent.”

  “Ok,”

  When Moss returned to his own office, Maggie Reichert was waiting outside. She gave him her news about passing the promotion board and wanted to know if there would be a vacancy in Newcastle, or whether she’d have to move elsewhere. He assured her he wasn’t going to let her go anywhere else. She was overjoyed and thanked him profusely.

  “I’ll attend to it with some urgency, Detective Constable Reichert.”

  She loved the sound of it; much more gravitas than PC Reichert.

  Chapter 21

  Cambridge 1945

  Theo Devlin sat looking impassively at Karl, glanced at his watch, stroked the previous day’s stubble and then after several minutes, opened a file.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for such a long time Karl Heinz. It’s a pity you escaped from the camp in High Spen just before I arrived, we could have sorted out your problems there and then. Would you like a coffee?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Where are my manners, I should have asked you in your own language, never mind we can now switch to German, because I want you to fully understand the limited options you have.”

  Devlin waited until the coffee had arrived and the door was closed before continuing in Karl’s mother tongue.

  ‘So, I understand there was contact between someone and the Luftwaffe men in the camp. Can you confirm this?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘You’d be silly to pretend you don’t know, Karl. It would rule out some of your options. One being the possibility of staying in England for a while. Do you want to be sent straight to Bonn?’

  ‘No, I don’t, but I have no idea why I’m here. I was travelling to Newcastle airport to fly to Germany when there was what I thought was an accident. But
it wasn’t an accident, it was planned, and I am here. So you must know why.’

  ‘Indeed I do, I also know that we can’t help you if you won’t tell us the truth. I’ll sit here for another two minutes and if you decide not to talk I’ll arrange for your deportation. You see, the aircraft at Newcastle was German, and we only intercepted your arrival at the airport to give you a chance to change your destiny by assisting us. If we were wrong and you have had second thoughts about the whole business, I’ll be happy to let the people in Bonn ask you the same questions that I have prepared. They may not be as tolerant of your answers as someone like myself. I’m sure you understand what I’m saying, otherwise why would you have escaped when you knew the war was ending?’

  ‘Ok, there was a man who came to High Spen to do some checks on prisoners, but only some, not all of them.’

  ‘And you were one of them?’

  ‘I was told before I left Germany that I would meet someone with a code name and number in England, if my airplane was shot down. But it wasn’t shot down, others were, and some of the airmen did not survive. My friend and I were only told at short notice that we had to parachute out of the plane, but there was nothing wrong with it. All would be explained, the pilot said, and if we did not comply, we would face the Gestapo when we got back.

  ‘We knew that, unlike the bombers, our mission was reconnaissance, but we expected that to be from the air. We had to become P.O.W.’s by choice. The contact we expected was from another one of the Germans in the camp, but in fact it was from a visitor. He spoke very good English around the camp, and we thought he was English at first, even though he spoke to us individually in High German. He said we would also be visited by a second contact, a local person, not inside the camp, but watching from outside.

  ‘We were told that this man would flick partly smoked cigarettes though the wire fence and we were to pick them up and keep them for the first man with the code to return. We were not to inspect the cigarettes, just keep them safe and hand them over to him, the first contact, on his next visit. But only when he personally ordered us to do so. It was obviously some kind of information to be transmitted back to Germany. That’s all I know.’