Murder at the Ritz Page 28

  ‘He is,’ said Coburg. ‘I’ll call him now and will only contact you again if he’s not available.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Blessington. ‘And I’m most awfully sorry about your colleagues. Trust me, we’ll do everything we can to catch this man.’

  Coburg’s next call was to Hibbert. As soon as the MI5 inspector learnt what had happened, he, too, gave his pledge to help in the speedy capture of Xhemel.

  ‘I was due to go to a security meeting, but that can wait. You and Blessington get over here as soon as you can, and we’ll see how quickly we can nail this bastard.’

  My sentiments exactly, thought Coburg determinedly. I’m going to nail him, alive or dead.

  The mood was grim when Coburg, Blessington and Hibbert gathered in the MI5 inspector’s office.

  ‘Do they think your sergeant will pull through?’ asked Hibbert.

  ‘The hostpial staff don’t know,’ said Coburg. ‘When I spoke to them he was still undergoing surgery. The thing is we don’t know where Xhemel might go to hide. You’ve both had experience of the Albanian community, and those who are communists. Where might he seek refuge? Somewhere abroad?’

  ‘No,’ said Blessington. ‘Mainland Europe is under Nazi control, except for the parts that are occupied by the Italians.’

  ‘There’s always Russia,’ said Hibbert.

  ‘But how would Xhemel get to Russia?’ asked Blessington. ‘He won’t be able to get there through Nazi-occupied Europe. The only way would be by sea right up into the Arctic Circle, and unless he’s very rich and can buy his way there—’

  ‘The Soviet embassy in London,’ said Hibbert. ‘He’d seek refuge there.’

  ‘They won’t allow that,’ said Blessington.

  ‘Of course they will,’ snorted Hibbert. ‘My guess is Xhemel was trying to raise massive funds to further the communist cause in Eastern Europe. It wouldn’t surprise me to discover that he had some kind of arrangement with the Soviets for transferring the money.’

  ‘That would make sense,’ said Coburg. ‘It had puzzled me how he planned to move the bullion. That much gold isn’t easy to transport with just a couple of helpers. If you’re right, Xhemel must have had a truck parked outside with some of his Albanian communist pals, along with a Russian commissar or two. Their plan would be to take the bullion and the money to the Soviet embassy. It’d be safe there on diplomatic territory.’

  ‘I can’t accept that,’ said Blessington. ‘Whatever your opinion is of the Russians, the idea that a foreign government would assist in carrying out a robbery on the soil of another nation—’

  ‘If you look at what Nazis have done since they occupied France and Belgium, it’s exactly that,’ argued Hibbert.

  ‘Yes, but those are in nations they’ve occupied,’ insisted Blessington. ‘This is altogether different. It’s against the rules of international diplomacy for a foreign government—’

  ‘Yes, yes, all right,’ said Hibbert impatiently. ‘How about a rogue element inside the embassy, using the place for such an action, but without the knowledge of the Soviet government?’

  Blessington paused to consider this, then nodded. ‘Yes, I can admit to that as a possibility. Every nation’s organisations can harbour rogue elements.’

  Hibbert gave Coburg a look that clearly said that his thoughts were that Blessington was either being naive or overtly diplomatic. He reached for his phone.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ asked Blessington, concerned.

  ‘I’m arranging for some men to head for the Soviet embassy to keep watch for Xhemel. If he tries to get in they’ll pick him up.’

  ‘He may be in there already,’ said Coburg grimly.

  Hibbert shook his head. ‘No. If he was, we’d have heard.’

  Of course, thought Coburg. MI5 will have an agent inside the embassy, just like every other embassy seemed to be riddled with foreign agents.

  ‘Get me operations!’ barked Hibbert.

  Coburg returned to Scotland Yard and immediately checked to see if there had been any sightings of Xhemel, but so far everyone had drawn a blank. He was hiding somewhere, and if Hibbert was right, sooner or later he’d make for the Soviet embassy. But say he didn’t? Say instead he headed out of London? He wrote out an ‘Alert all stations’ with details of Xhemel, his physical description and the additional information about him being an Albanian communist, and requesting all forces to investigate their local Albanian or communist communities. He took this to the wireless communications room, along with an image of Xhemel and asked for it to be distributed urgently. That done, he returned to his office and telephoned Count Ahmed at the Ritz.

  ‘Count, I have some news. There has been a development.’

  ‘What sort of development?’

  ‘We are now fairly sure we know the identity of the man who killed the man in your suite, and also the kitchen hand. His name is Anton Xhemel, and he’s an Albanian. And, according to our intelligence, a communist.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ahmed. ‘So, my suggestion was accurate.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure, and we won’t know until we can apprehend him.’

  ‘So, you do not have him in custody?’

  ‘No. He attacked the officers who went to bring him in for questioning and managed to escape.’

  ‘Were the officers badly hurt?’

  ‘Unfortunately, one was killed and another is in hospital; it’s not certain if he will survive.’

  There was a silence, then Ahmed said: ‘My condolences, Chief Inspector. But his violent action is surely proof of his guilt.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Coburg.

  ‘Thank you for informing me,’ said Ahmed. ‘If there is anything I can do to help the apprehension of this person, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

  No sooner had he hung up than the phone rang.

  ‘It’s St Thomas’s Hospital for you, Chief Inspector,’ the operator told him.

  ‘Put them through.’

  This was the call he’d been dreading, the fact that the news would be bad. Please let him be alive, he prayed silently. Please let him be alive. ‘Thank you for calling. How is Sergeant Lampson?’

  ‘He’s out of surgery and in recovery,’ the nurse said.

  Thank God! Coburg exhaled a tightly held breath.

  ‘He’s still unconscious and will be for some time,’ she continued. ‘His family came to the hospital, but we told them they won’t be able to see him today. If he’s fit enough tomorrow they might be able to see him for a few minutes, but that’s not certain. If you see them, we’d be grateful if you’d reinforce that to them. The hospital is very busy and dealing with visitors takes time away from treating patients.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Coburg. ‘And I’ll certainly pass that on to them. From a medical perspective, what are his chances?’

  ‘Of surviving?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fortunately, although the knife penetrated part of one lung, it didn’t damage any other vital organs. He’s also a fit, healthy man, so we’re holding out hope that he’ll make a full recovery.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Coburg. ‘If he wakes, will you pass on my good wishes to him and tell him I’ll be in tomorrow.’

  ‘He may not be in a fit state to receive visitors tomorrow,’ said the nurse.

  ‘I’ll call in anyway,’ said Coburg.

  He noticed that his hand was trembling as he replaced the receiver. Lampson was alive, that was all that mattered. When he left the Yard he’d make a point of calling at his parents’ house and passing that on to them.

  His phone rang again. This time it was the desk sergeant in reception.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s a Commander Fleming to see you.’

  Coburg paused, bewildered. Fleming? Could it be …?

  ‘Did he give his first name?’ he asked.

  Coburg heard the desk sergeant ask and heard the reply: ‘Ian.’

  ‘Ian, sir,’ said the sergeant
.

  ‘Get a constable to bring him up.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  What on earth was Ian Fleming doing here? Coburg wondered. It had to be related to the Albanian money. After all, it had been Fleming who’d helped smuggle King Zog to safety from Nazi-occupied Europe and into Britain.

  There was a tap at his door, then a constable opened it and Fleming entered. It had been years since Coburg had last set eyes on him at some social event, but Fleming still had that air of authority about him. Almost regal. Tall, ruggedly handsome, his broken nose adding to the swaggering pirate image. He looked remarkably well for a man in his thirties who’d seen such action.

  Coburg gestured for Fleming to sit and declined the offer of a cigarette from the man’s gold-plated case.

  ‘You still don’t smoke?’ asked Fleming, lighting up. ‘Even in this time of death and danger?’

  ‘I lost a lung,’ said Coburg. ‘I want to keep the one I have left healthy.’

  ‘It hasn’t done me any harm,’ said Fleming. ‘I’m still fit.’

  Yes, he was, thought Coburg. He always had been.

  ‘You asked the desk sergeant for my first name,’ said Fleming. ‘Was that some kind of security check to see if it really was me?’

  ‘No, I wondered whether it was you or Peter.’

  ‘Peter’s not a commander,’ said Fleming.

  ‘But he is in Intelligence,’ said Coburg.

  ‘Is he?’ asked Fleming airily. ‘Our paths haven’t crossed much lately.’

  Unlikely, thought Coburg. Ian and Peter Fleming had always been close and supportive of each other, though there was no doubt some rivalry between them, mostly from Ian, the younger brother by a year being slightly jealous of his older sibling.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘This character Anton Xhemel,’ said Fleming. ‘The one who did the killings at the Ritz.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure,’ said Coburg carefully. ‘At this stage we just want to talk to him.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Coburg,’ scoffed Fleming. ‘He stabbed your sergeant and killed a constable.’

  ‘You’re very well informed,’ said Coburg. ‘Hibbert’s crowd?’

  ‘I have contacts,’ said Fleming.

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Coburg responding to a sudden insight. ‘You had a call from our mutual friend Count Idjbil Ahmed.’

  ‘The Count is very concerned about the King’s safety,’ acknowledged Fleming. ‘This man Xhemel is an obvious enemy of the King and has shown he is ruthless in his ambitions. Count Ahmed would like him to be apprehended very quickly.’

  ‘So would we, which is why we’re doing everything we can to get hold of him.’

  ‘The Count wonders if I can be of any assistance to you.’

  ‘In what way “be of assistance”?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘In any way you think I can help. I know Albanians. I’ve heard on the grapevine about the Soviet embassy very likely being involved. I think that’s correct. I warned the powers that be some time ago about the dangers the Russians posed. I wouldn’t trust Joe Stalin as far as I can spit.’

  ‘I understood you were quite a champion spitter,’ said Coburg. ‘Someone said to me that it was a pity that spitting wasn’t part of the Victor ludorum at Eton or you’d have won even more times than you did.’

  Fleming laughed, a genuine guffaw. ‘Very good,’ he chuckled. ‘You, too, have been doing your homework. Is that because I was under suspicion?’

  ‘No,’ said Coburg, ‘but when I discovered you were the one who brought King Zog to England, I was curious. And impressed. That was quite some achievement, getting a crowd that large out from under the noses of the Nazis and across the Channel.’

  ‘I didn’t do it all on my own. I had help.’

  ‘Is this an official visit from MI5 or Six?’ asked Coburg.

  Fleming shook his head. ‘If you like, it’s an offer from one old Etonian to another. Particularly as you were a bit of a hero to my brother. Peter was a great admirer of yours.’

  ‘I’d left Eton by the time you and he were there.’

  ‘Yes, but your exploits were talked about. Not just at school, but during the war. That charge you led at Sambre–Oise, one of the last of the war. Peter saw it as one of the finest examples of heroism in the face of the enemy.’

  ‘I got shot in that attack,’ said Coburg. ‘That’s where I lost my lung.’

  ‘But you gained a reputation.’

  ‘For rash actions.’

  ‘And so inspiring the Fleming brothers to deeds of derring-do as schoolboys.’ Fleming smiled. ‘Peter was the most daring, of course, but I did my utmost to outdo him. Which is why I was eventually asked to leave the school. So, you see, DCI Coburg, my leaving Eton was partly your fault. So, to clear your conscience—’

  This time it was Coburg who laughed. ‘My God, Fleming, you are absolutely outrageous. You have no shame. You take risks the whole time.’

  ‘If I hadn’t, King Zog and his retinue would not be safe in London now. Look, Coburg, I can be invaluable. I have contacts. I’m a damn good shot, and I’m not bound by the rules you and the police have to stick to.’

  ‘Whose rules are you bound by?’ asked Coburg. ‘MI5? Naval Intelligence?’

  In answer, Fleming smiled. No, thought Coburg. He plays by his own rules.

  ‘Xhemel’s dangerous,’ said Fleming.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘No, but I know the sort of fanatic he is. He’s shown that by his actions.’ He stood up and produced a visiting card with ‘Commander I. L. Fleming’ printed on it, which he passed to Coburg. ‘There’s a number you can reach me on if you need me. I really would like to help.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Coburg. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. And that’s not a platitude, I mean it. I intend to get this bastard.’

  The two men shook hands, and Fleming left. Coburg slipped the visiting card in his wallet. Reckless, dangerous, yes, Fleming still was all those things Coburg had complained to Lampson about, but he also knew that if you were in a tight spot there was no one better to be with than Ian Fleming.

  Coburg loooked at his watch. It was time to call on Lampson’s parents; and then afterwards to see Rosa. By now she should be preparing for her evening’s performance. The thought of her put a smile on his face for the first time since he and Lampson had gone to make their separate arrests earlier that day.

  Stay strong, Ted, he thought silently as he left the office.

  He was walking across the reception hall heading for the car park at the rear, when the duty desk sergeant hailed him. Not more bad news, he groaned inwardly.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked warily.

  ‘We just heard about a disturbance at Wandsworth nick about an hour ago.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Charley Barnes was coming out, being released, and there were a couple of his mob there to meet him. Suddenly a car turns up and two blokes jump out and grab hold of Barnes. One of the blokes who’d come to meet Barnes pulls out a gun and there’s shooting, leaving one of Barnes’s men dead and another wounded.’

  ‘And Barnes?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘Gone. Bundled into the car and driven off.’

  ‘Does the super know?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘Yes, sir. What shall I tell him if he comes looking for you?’

  ‘Tell him I’ve gone to see Sergeant Lampson’s family, and afterwards I’ve got people to meet. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’

  With that, Coburg made for the car park.

  So, Danny Bell will have his personal revenge after all, he thought.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Once again, Coburg noted there was no sign of Raymond Harris at the Rivoli Bar that night. But any thoughts about him and the reason for his non-appearance vanished as soon as Rosa appeared, sat down at the piano and swung into her first number. Song after song, tune after tune flowed, each one getting a rapturous reception from the audience.

  T
his place will miss her when she leaves at the end of the week, thought Coburg. But I’m glad she’s still going to be in London.

  ‘OK,’ said Rosa as they drove to Hampstead after the show. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’ he asked. ‘Nothing! You were fabulous tonight. And that’s not just me saying it, didn’t you hear that audience? Incredible!’

  ‘I’m not talking about me, I’m asking about you,’ said Rosa. ‘There’s a sadness about you tonight. Is it because the St John Ambulance want me? You’re worried about me going out to incidents?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ said Coburg. ‘I think it’s brilliant what you’re doing. Of course I’m going to be worried every time you go out, but I’m proud of you.’

  ‘So, what is it?’

  ‘My sergeant, Ted Lampson, got stabbed today,’ said Coburg. ‘He’s in hospital. He has been operated on, but it was touch and go if he’d make it. I think it still is. And a constable with him was killed by the same man who stabbed Ted.’

  ‘My God!’ breathed Rosa, horrified.

  ‘I’m feeling guilty about it,’ admitted Coburg.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We had two murderers to bring in, so we split up. I thought the one he was bringing in was the least dangerous, but as it turned out my one came quietly.’

  ‘It could have been you being stabbed,’ Rosa pointed out. ‘Now call me selfish, but—’

  ‘Yes, OK,’ said Coburg. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin your night at the Ritz with more gory details.’

  ‘It’s your job,’ said Rosa. ‘It’s what you do. And as we’re going to get married, I’m going to have to live with it.’ She reached out and patted him on the thigh. ‘And because I love you, I will. Now, let’s put all that away for the rest of the night and let it be just us. And tomorrow, you can go and see your sergeant in hospital, and once you’ve seen he’s on the way to recovery, you’ll feel better. Trust me.’

  ‘I do,’ said Coburg.

  Once they were in Coburg’s flat, it was Coburg who raised the topic of their wedding.