The Enemy Within Read online

  The Enemy Within

  EDWARD MARSTON

  Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  About the Author

  By Edward Marston

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kenneth Pearce knew the routine so well that he could perform his duties with his eyes shut – not that he’d dare to do that in a prison. It could prove fatal. After ten years as a warder at Pentonville, he was an established member of staff. Yet now he was actually thinking of leaving what he’d always considered a job for life. The pressure of events worried him. Since Germany had declared unrestricted submarine warfare, the noose had been tightened around Britain. Food shortages were causing serious problems and rationing was strict. Every time Pearce opened a newspaper, it seemed to contain bad news about the war.

  He was a wiry man of medium height with a wispy moustache lending a touch of interest to an otherwise blank face. Pearce was preoccupied that evening. Wally Hubbard guessed what was on his mind.

  ‘You decided yet, sir?’ he asked, politely.

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I want to join up but my wife is begging me to stay where I’m safe.’

  ‘If you didn’t work here,’ said Hubbard, ‘you’d have to enlist.’

  ‘That’s what I keep telling her.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Pearce, removing his peaked cap to scratch his head. ‘If I join the army, my wife will never forgive me; if I don’t do my bit in France, I’ll never forgive myself.’ He replaced his hat. ‘What would you do?’

  Hubbard laughed grimly. ‘I only wish I had the choice.’

  Choices of any kind had disappeared from the life of Wally Hubbard. After being convicted of arson, he’d been given a long sentence and every decision was now made for him by someone else. He’d been deprived of his liberty, his personal possessions, his privacy and even his name. He was simply a number now. Many prisoners were seething with resentment when they first came to Pentonville and they caused endless trouble as a result. Hubbard was unusual in being ready to accept his punishment with a philosophical shrug. It had endeared him to Pearce. Most of the warders did nothing but bark orders at the prisoner but Pearce had conversations with him. While something close to a friendship had begun to develop, however, there was a dividing line between them that would never be crossed.

  ‘Wasn’t the missus upset about her brother-in-law?’ asked Hubbard.

  ‘Yes, of course, she was very upset. When we first heard the news of Leslie’s death, she was heartbroken. But she doesn’t want me to take his place. Because my brother was killed in the trenches, she thinks the same thing will happen to me.’

  ‘Not before you’ve shot a few Krauts, I hope.’

  ‘I’ve got this urge to join the fight. I feel so helpless, stuck here.’

  ‘Me, too,’ murmured the other.

  ‘I’ve talked to the chaplain about it,’ confided Pearce, ‘and he told me to follow my conscience. But with a wife like mine, that’s not so easy.’

  ‘You got my sympathy, sir.’

  They were on the landing outside Hubbard’s cell. Pearce had just unlocked it to let the prisoner out before locking it again with one of the many keys that dangled from a large ring attached by a chain to his belt. He led the way along the landing, then descended the staircase. Hubbard followed him dutifully, their boots echoing on the steel steps. The warder then took his prisoner through a succession of doors, each one of which had to be unlocked and relocked. Since he was now a familiar figure in Pentonville, Hubbard collected nods of recognition from other warders. One of them even called him by his name. It was a moment to savour.

  ‘I still think I should go,’ said Pearce, solemnly. ‘It’s what Leslie would expect of me.’

  ‘What would your brother have done in your position, sir?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no doubt about that. If I’d been killed in action, Leslie would join up in a flash. He wouldn’t think twice about it. Mind you, there’s one big difference.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘My brother wasn’t married.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘There was nobody to stop him enlisting. In my case, there is.’

  ‘What about all those posters telling women to send their husbands off to war? Didn’t your wife see those?’

  Pearce sighed. ‘My wife only sees what she wants to see.’

  As they came out of the main door to the wing, he turned to lock it behind him and was momentarily off guard. It was a big mistake. Wally Hubbard suddenly came to life, producing a cosh from up his sleeve, knocking off the warder’s hat and felling him with a vicious blow. After hitting him again for good measure, he dragged him off into the shadows. Their friendship was over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Claude Chatfield would never be popular but even his enemies – and he had several of them – had to admire his commitment. Nobody at Scotland Yard worked harder or for longer hours than the superintendent. His stamina was almost legendary. Conscientious to a fault, he expected the same dedication from his officers. Any sign of laziness, fatigue or lack of concentration was pounced upon. He was delighted to be given an excuse to reprimand Harvey Marmion when the latter eventually came into his office.

  ‘I sent for you fifteen minutes ago,’ he complained.

  ‘I was busy, Superintendent.’

  ‘What were you doing – tidying your desk or counting your paperclips?’

  ‘Neither, sir.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you respond instantly?’

  ‘Your message came at an awkward moment,’ explained Marmion. ‘I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.’

  ‘It’s not the first time, Inspector.’

  ‘I’m sorry that I was detained, sir.’

  ‘I don’t want an apology. I just need you to obey orders for once.’

  ‘The commissioner was with me.’

  Chatfield had to bite back the tirade he was about to launch. If Sir Edward Henry was in the inspector’s office, then Marmion had a legitimate reason for the delay. The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police was a person who took precedence over everyone in the building. Nettled that he could not rebuke the inspector for his tardy arrival, Chatfield was also quivering with envy. Sir Edward, he believed, was far too indulgent towards Marmion. He had too high an opinion of the inspector and was always ready to defend him against criticism.

  ‘What did the commissioner want?’ asked Chatfield.

  ‘It’s a private matter, sir.’

  ‘Does it concern a case in which you’ve been involved?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ replied Marmion, enjoying the other man’s patent exasperation. ‘Do you have a new investigation for me, Superintendent?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been waiting for you to deign to answer my summons.’

  ‘What does it concern?’

  ‘It concerns a man named Walter Hubbard.’

  ‘But he’s cooling his heels in Pentonville. I put him there.’

  ‘You may need to do the same thing again, Inspector.’<
br />
  ‘Why?’

  ‘He escaped yesterday evening.’

  Marmion smiled. ‘Wally Hubbard always was a slippery customer.’

  ‘It’s not a cause for amusement,’ snapped Chatfield. ‘Apart from anything else, a prison officer was badly injured.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir.’

  ‘We’ve mounted a manhunt. I want you in charge of it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Marmion. ‘What are the details?’

  ‘All I know is that he overpowered the officer, used his keys to open a storeroom and hid the man there. Then, would you believe, he had the gall to change into the officer’s uniform.’

  ‘It sounds like just the kind of thing Hubbard would do.’

  The superintendent glowered. ‘There’s an unwelcome note of approval in your voice, Inspector.’

  ‘It was a daring escape, sir, and involved high risks. I’m just acknowledging the courage it must have taken.’

  ‘That wasn’t courage,’ said Chatfield, rancorously. ‘It was low cunning allied to brutality. The injured man was unconscious for hours.’

  Marmion was genuinely upset by the news. He had great respect for prison staff, men who did an important job but got scant praise for doing so. Danger was an accepted part of their lot. Behind the high walls of Pentonville, assaults of warders were always a possibility.

  The inspector was a chunky man in his forties who was the despair of tailors. Even in his best suit, he contrived to look dishevelled. Chatfield, by contrast, was impeccably dressed. He was a tall, stringy man with thinning hair who – when they were alone together – didn’t bother to hide his dislike of Marmion.

  ‘Well,’ he said, rising to his feet, ‘don’t just stand there, man.’

  ‘I’ll round up Sergeant Keedy and get over there right away.’

  ‘Don’t tell the governor that you admire what Hubbard did or you may find it difficult to get out of Pentonville again. He hates an escape. It reflects badly on his regimen and it means he’ll be pilloried in the newspapers.’

  ‘That’s never a pleasant experience,’ said Marmion, ruefully. ‘I’ve still got bruises from some of the treatment we’ve received from the gentlemen of the press.’

  ‘Well, don’t give them any more target practice. Find Hubbard and find him fast. After all, it’s very much in your own interests.’

  ‘Is it, sir?’

  ‘You have a short memory,’ said Chatfield, clicking his tongue. ‘When your evidence helped to convict Hubbard, he had to be restrained in the dock. As they dragged him out, he swore that he’d kill you one day.’

  Marmion was unperturbed. ‘I’m used to empty threats, Superintendent.’

  ‘In this case, the threat may not be quite so empty. An escaped convict is usually a desperate character. Take great care, Inspector,’ he added, wagging a finger. ‘Find this man quickly – before he finds you.’

  Ellen Marmion had tried almost everything to bring her son out of his melancholy but all to no avail. Paul remained in a world of his own, silent, troubled and disengaged. He was a well-built young man with a surface resemblance to his father. Before the war, he’d been a lively, confident, happy-go-lucky lad but that person had now disappeared completely. Having enlisted in the army with the other members of his football team, Paul had had to watch as they’d been killed in action one by one. His best friend, Colin Fryatt, had been the last to die on the battlefield and Paul, close to him at the time, had been injured and blinded. Suffering from shell shock, he’d been discharged. While there had been a slow improvement in his eyesight, there’d been none at all in his attitude. None of the members of his family could reach him. Over a late breakfast, his mother made one more doomed attempt to do so.

  ‘What are you going to do today?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why don’t you come to the shops with me?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘The fresh air will do you good, Paul.’

  ‘I’d rather stay here.’

  ‘It’s not healthy, spending all your time in your room.’

  ‘What else is there to do?’ he said, gruffly.

  ‘Well, you could get out and meet people of your own age.’

  ‘I don’t see the point.’

  He’d said the same thing to his mother for months and it was lowering. Ellen took a deep breath. She was a plump woman of middle years with a homely face now distorted by age and lined with apprehension. When her son had first come home, he’d shuttled between extremes of gloom and exhilaration, frightened that he’d be blind for the rest of his life then seized by the hope that he’d make a miraculous recovery and be able to rejoin his regiment once more. That phase seemed to have ended. Paul now moved slowly around with an air of desolation.

  ‘I’ll need to change the sheets on your bed,’ she warned.

  ‘I can do that, Mummy.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  It was the only pleasing reminder of his army career. Paul had been taught to look after himself. He kept his room tidy and was always well groomed. Even when he could hardly see, he’d shaved himself carefully every day. He wore his hair short and polished his shoes relentlessly. There were moments when he looked like the proud young soldier on leave for the first time but they were only fleeting. There was no sense of pride about him now.

  ‘Mrs Redwood is coming to tea this afternoon,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I suggested that she might bring her daughter along. You remember Sally Redwood, don’t you? You were at school with her.’

  ‘Was I?’ he asked, uncertainly.

  ‘She remembers you very well.’

  ‘I can’t place her.’

  ‘You will when you see her, I’m sure.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s because she’s so pretty and full of life.’

  ‘What I meant was why should I see her at all?’

  ‘You have to be sociable, Paul.’

  ‘Mrs Redwood is coming to see you, not me.’

  ‘But she’s bringing her daughter.’

  ‘So what? I didn’t invite her.’

  ‘You’d have lots to talk about with Sally.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘Won’t you at least try to be nice to her?’

  He shook his head. ‘I remember her now,’ he said. ‘She was a skinny girl with freckles. I didn’t like her at school and I’m not going to start liking her now.’ Getting up from the table, he headed for the door. ‘I’ll change the sheets.’

  Ellen bit her lip. Yet another stratagem had failed.

  On the drive to Pentonville, they sat side by side in the rear of the car. Harvey Marmion explained to Joe Keedy why they were going to the prison. The sergeant was a tall, lean man in his early thirties with the kind of features that earned him a lot of female attention. Highly conscious of his appearance, he made Marmion look shabby. In a relaxed setting, they dispensed with formalities. Keedy was engaged to Marmion’s daughter, Alice, so the men were on first-name terms.

  ‘We had quite a game catching Wally Hubbard,’ recalled Keedy.

  ‘We got him in the end, Joe.’

  ‘My memory is that he put up a real fight.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have done the same thing in his position?’

  ‘Probably – he was facing a long sentence.’

  ‘Arson is a heinous crime,’ said Marmion, ‘and it was also a case of attempted murder. It was just bad luck for Wally that the house he set fire to was empty.’

  ‘Bad luck for him, maybe, but good luck for the man who lived there.’

  ‘He’d have been burnt alive.’

  ‘Hubbard is a nasty piece of work.’

  ‘In some ways, yes, but I’ve got a sneaking regard for him.’

  Keedy was surprised. ‘Regard for that cruel bastard?’ he said. ‘You can’t be serious, Harv.’

  ‘You’re forgetting why he tor
ched that house.’

  ‘He wanted someone to go up in flames.’

  ‘But it wasn’t any old someone, Joe. It was the man who seduced his daughter then dumped her when she became pregnant. It was a sad business. The child was stillborn and the mother died of complications that set in during her time in hospital.’ His voice darkened. ‘In those circumstances, I think that a lot of fathers might want to get vengeance on their daughter’s behalf.’

  ‘I get the message,’ said Keedy, laughing. ‘If I don’t stand by Alice, you’ll come after me with a box of matches.’

  ‘I might be tempted.’ As they turned into the Caledonian Road, he saw the prison looming up ahead of them. ‘You’ve never been here before, have you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘It has a rich history. Some notorious villains have ended up in Pentonville. Dr Crippen was executed here and so was Frederick Seddon, the poisoner. Last year, of course, Sir Roger Casement, the Irish republican, was hanged here for treason. He went to Germany in search of assistance for the Easter Rising. I thought he was supposed to be a diplomat.’

  ‘Seeking help from our mortal enemy was not very diplomatic.’

  ‘He found that out the hard way.’

  The car drew up outside the prison and the detectives got out. Keedy had his first close sight of Pentonville. The perimeter wall was long, high and daunting. He was struck by the awesome solidity of the place.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be locked up in here,’ he said with a shiver.

  ‘You may have to be for a while, Joe.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I have a special job for you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘While I talk to the governor, I’d like you to interview Wally Hubbard’s cellmate.’

  ‘How do you know that he had a cellmate?’

  ‘This is not a hotel,’ said Marmion with a grin. ‘There are no single rooms with a bathroom attached. You have to share. As for the sanitary arrangements, all you get is a chamber pot that you’re allowed to empty once a day. It’s no wonder that Wally Hubbard decided to get out of here.’

  In response to the bell, a small door was opened in one of the main gates and a prison officer glared inhospitably at them. When they identified themselves, the man stood back to admit them. They ducked their heads and entered the gatehouse. Another set of gates, barred this time, was facing them. The officer locked the first door then stepped into his office to make a phone call. He emerged a few moments later.