Hardcastle's Soldiers (7 page)

‘Thank you, Colonel, most kind,' murmured Hardcastle. But secretly he was infuriated by the indolent attitude of army officers who seemed unable to grasp the urgency of the matter with which he was dealing. He was not altogether surprised at Fuller's stance, but felt that McIntyre – a military police officer – should have had a greater awareness of what the police were trying to do. And a greater sense of urgency.

‘Perhaps you'd be so good as to accompany me, gentlemen,' said RSM Punchard. Tucking his pace stick under his left arm, he gave the colonel another quivering salute, turned and marched out of the commanding officer's office.

Hardcastle, Marriott and McIntyre accompanied RSM Punchard across the vast parade ground that, he told them, was called W Square.

‘Why is that?' asked Hardcastle unwisely.

‘All the barrack squares in Aldershot are given letters,' said Punchard. ‘God knows why. You see, Mr Hardcastle, I was a Coldstream Guardsman, and I was trained at Caterham Barracks, the Guards depot. We knew how to do things there. I haven't always been in Ali Sloper's Cavalry.'

Once again, Hardcastle was mystified by army terminology. ‘What on earth is Ali Sloper's Cavalry?' he asked.

It was Captain McIntyre who provided the answer. ‘It's an army nickname, Inspector,' he said with a laugh, ‘using the initials ASC, which really means the Army Service Corps.'

‘I see,' said Hardcastle, determined that he would ask no more questions about military customs and terminology.

T
he four soldiers, who had admitted being with Stacey on their illegal visit to an Aldershot pub, had been assembled in one of the classrooms, along with Stacey himself, now released from custody.

‘Privates Stacey, Ash, Joliffe, Stone and Paterson,' said the RSM, scowling at the five conscripts, all of whom were standing rigidly to attention. ‘Right, my lucky lads, this here is a detective inspector from Scotland Yard, come to ask you some questions. You will tell him the truth. Understood?' he added, screaming the last word at them.

In unison, the recruits shouted, ‘Yessir!'

Hardcastle did not bother to correct the RSM's statement that he came from the Yard; indeed, it tended to reinforce his authority. He turned to McIntyre. ‘I think it might be best if Sergeant Marriott and I interviewed these soldiers alone, Captain. In that way they might tell me more than if you and Mr Punchard were present.'

McIntyre grinned. ‘You may well be right, Inspector,' he said, ‘but they are already facing charges for being out of barracks without a pass. Not that they would've got one.'

Once Captain McIntyre and RSM Punchard had left, Hardcastle took out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. ‘You might as well sit down, lads,' he said to the soldiers. ‘I'm Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle, and this is Detective Sergeant Marriott.'

‘D'you mind if we smoke, sir?' asked Private Ash.

‘Not at all,' said Hardcastle, lighting his pipe.

It was not the most ideal of places to conduct interviews, but Hardcastle had already decided that these five young conscripts had had nothing directly to do with Herbert Somers' murder.

‘I'm investigating a murder that took place on Victoria Station during the morning of Wednesday the eleventh of this month,' Hardcastle began, and sensed that he had immediately captured the young soldiers' attention. At least, the four newcomers; the DDI had told Stacey about the murder on his previous visit. ‘And I understand that the five of you went drinking in a pub in Aldershot on the Sunday before that. Is that correct?'

After a brief pause, during which time he glanced at the others, Stacey nodded. ‘That's right, sir.'

‘When did you notice that your cap was missing, Stacey?'

‘It must have been about half past ten, sir,' said Stacey. ‘I'd hung me cap on a hat peg near the door, but when I went to get it, it'd gone.'

‘And was there another cap left there that no one claimed?' Hardcastle had already been told that no other cap had been left there, but, as was his usual practice, he was confirming the facts.

‘No, sir. I had a good look round, but it'd gone, and there wasn't no other there.'

Marriott looked up from the notes he was making. ‘One of you had a tunic stolen. Which one of you was that?'

‘Me, Sergeant,' said Private Ash, raising a hand.

‘You have more than one tunic, do you?'

‘Yes, Sergeant. We've all been issued with two tunics and two pairs of trousers.'

‘When was it taken?'

‘It was on the Monday morning that I noticed it had gone adrift, Sergeant, but I don't know when it was took.'

‘When did you last see it?'

‘Saturday afternoon,' said Ash. ‘It was my best tunic, and I'd took it down to give the buttons a polish. But on Monday morning I noticed it'd been nicked.'

‘Have you any idea who took it?' continued Marriott.

‘No, Sergeant.'

‘And who was it who lost a pair of trousers?'

‘Me, Sergeant.' Private Joliffe raised a hand.

‘And when did you notice them missing?'

‘The same as Charlie Ash, Sergeant. I'd seen 'em on the Saturday, but they was gone on the Monday. It was only Charlie saying as how his tunic had been nicked, that made me have a look to see if I'd lost owt.'

‘At what time did you notice that your trousers were missing, Joliffe?'

‘After we'd come in from working parade, Sergeant. Like I said, on the Monday at about half past eight, I s'pose. We'd come back to get changed for physical training.'

‘And you?' asked Marriott, pointing at Ash.

‘The same.'

‘As a matter of interest, Stacey,' asked Hardcastle, ‘how did you get back to barracks without being seen, especially without a cap? I mean you'd've been spotted easily enough, surely?'

‘We had to keep a lookout for the monkeys, sir. They're usually on horseback.'

Hardcastle took his pipe out of his mouth and glared at the young recruit. ‘I hope you're not taking the piss, my lad. What's all this about monkeys on horseback, eh?' He glared at the unfortunate Stacey.

But it was Private Paterson who provided the answer. ‘They're military policemen, sir,' he said. ‘They're always called monkeys in the army, and some of them patrol on horseback. With bloody great lances,' he added.

‘I see,' said Hardcastle, only slightly mollified. ‘And did you see any of these so-called “monkeys on horseback”?'

‘Only the once, sir,' continued Paterson. ‘In Queen's Avenue, but we dodged behind the post office till they'd gone past, then we legged it back to barracks.'

‘How many people have access to your barrack rooms, Paterson?' asked Marriott.

‘Do what, Sarge?' Paterson looked mystified by the question.

Marriott phrased it in a different way. ‘When you're out of the barrack rooms, are they locked?'

‘No, Sergeant. They ain't got no locks, and in any case the officers and NCOs go round doing snap inspections when we ain't there.'

Marriott glanced at Hardcastle. ‘It doesn't look as though we're going to get any further with this, sir.'

‘No, Marriott. It looks as though someone went into the barrack room while these lads were on parade, and took the tunic and the trousers.' Hardcastle stood up and walked to the door. ‘I think we're done here, Captain McIntyre,' he said.

‘Was it any help?' asked McIntyre.

‘Not much. It looks as though someone stole the clothing while those lads were on parade or about the barracks somewhere.'

‘They'll still be charged for the loss.' RSM Punchard sniffed. ‘Someone's been smoking in there,' he said.

‘Me, Mr Punchard,' said Hardcastle mildly.

‘Mr Punchard,' said Marriott, ‘these men said they were issued with two sets of uniform.'

‘That's correct, Mr Marriott.'

‘Does that include two caps?'

‘No, they only gets the one cap.'

Hardcastle was in a foul mood for the whole journey back to London. ‘Well, that was a waste of bloody time, Marriott,' he said.

‘I agree, sir. Just about anyone in the barracks could have swiped those bits of uniform, and according to the RSM there's about a thousand men under training, plus the permanent staff and the officers.'

When Hardcastle and Marriott returned to Cannon Row, there was a message awaiting the DDI.

‘Excuse me, sir.' DC Henry Catto hovered in the doorway of Hardcastle's office.

‘Yes, what is it, lad?'

‘Mr Fitnam from V Division telephoned with a request for you to speak to him.'

‘What does he want?' Hardcastle settled behind his desk and filled his pipe.

‘He didn't say, sir, but he did say it was important.'

‘Yes, all right, Catto.' Hardcastle knew that when Arthur Fitnam, the DDI of V Division said it was important, then it was. ‘Looks like we're off again, Marriott.' The DDI sighed, stood up and walked down to the front office of the police station.

‘All correct, sir,' said the station officer, an elderly station-sergeant.

‘Can you get me Mr Fitnam at V Division on that thing?' asked Hardcastle, gesturing at the telephone.

‘Certainly, sir.' The station officer, clearly more adept at using the telephone than was Hardcastle, quickly made the connection. After a short delay, DDI Fitnam came on the line.

‘Arthur, it's Ernest Hardcastle on A. I'm told you've got something important to tell me.' For a few minutes, Hardcastle listened intently to what his V Division opposite number had to say. When their conversation had finished, the DDI replaced the receiver on its little hook and turned to the constable on station duty. ‘Run up to my office, lad, and tell Sergeant Marriott we're going to Wandsworth.'

‘Very good, sir,' said the PC.

‘And while you're about it,' added Hardcastle, ‘ask him to bring down my titfer and gamp.'

A few moments later, Marriott appeared with the DDI's hat and umbrella. ‘Something on, sir?' he asked.

‘Mr Fitnam's got a murder on his hands that he thinks might be of interest to us, Marriott.'

‘I'm sorry to drag you all the way down here, Ernie, but I think there's a tie-up between your murder and the one I've got going here. I saw the brief details of your topping in this morning's
Police Gazette
.'

Hardcastle laughed. ‘I always enjoy a trip to the country, Arthur, you should know that. But what about this murder of yours?' It was one of the DDI's little jokes that A Division was at the centre of things, whereas V Division, in his jocular view, was almost bucolic. It was not the case, of course, as Hardcastle would be the first to acknowledge. The Wandsworth Division had more than its fair share of villainy.

‘It took place in Kingston upon Thames during the night of Wednesday the eleventh. That's the same day as your murder at Victoria. A patrolling PC found the dead body of a young woman lying in the centre of Cambridge Road. At first it looked as though she had been run over, which turned out to be true, but on closer examination it was obvious that she'd been stabbed as well.'

‘How does that have anything to do with my killing, Arthur?' asked Hardcastle.

‘A baker's van was found abandoned in Kingston Road, which is what Cambridge Road becomes when you get nearer Malden,' continued Fitnam, ignoring Hardcastle's question. ‘It took a few days, and we only got the results this morning, but it was apparent from the damage that it was the van that had hit the young woman, and there was blood on the front bumper. More to the point, though, a bloodstained knife was found in the van that almost certainly was the murder weapon. As far as we can work out, the van driver must've picked up this woman at some stage, and, for some reason, stabbed her. Despite that, it looks as though she made her escape from the vehicle, but was then deliberately run down by the driver. After he'd knocked her over in Cambridge Road, he must've driven on for about half a mile, and then abandoned the vehicle.'

‘I still don't see what this has to do with my enquiry,' said Hardcastle.

‘Ah, but just wait, Ernie. We later discovered that the van was stolen from a bakery in Cowleaze Road, Kingston. And that is what made me think of you.'

‘I wasn't a baker, but I do like a decent slice of farmhouse,' said Hardcastle, tiring of the way in which Fitnam was spinning out his yarn. He made a point of taking out his watch and glancing at it.

‘The lock-up where the van was kept wasn't broken into, Ernie. The padlock was undone with a key, and the doors locked again after the van was taken. And guess who used to work there as a baker's roundsman before he was conscripted for the army.'

‘Indulge me,' said Hardcastle, taking out his pipe and filling it. He was growing weary of Fitnam's lengthy dissertation.

‘A lad called Edward Stacey who, the baker told me, is now in the Army Service Corps at Aldershot. And the same Edward Stacey was mentioned in your entry in the
Police Gazette
in connection with your Victoria Station topping. So it's just a case of going down to Aldershot and nicking him.' Fitnam leaned back with a look of triumph on his face. ‘There, what d'you think of that, eh?'

A smile spread slowly across Hardcastle's face, and he shot a sideways glance at Marriott, who was also smiling. ‘I'm sorry to disappoint you, Arthur, but Stacey was in the custody of the military police all that night from six o'clock in the evening. At my request.' It had, of course, been Colonel Frobisher who had ordered Stacey's arrest, but Hardcastle saw no point in complicating the story. ‘So the entry in
Police
Gazette
was out of date by the time you read it. The lad Stacey has been rowed out of my enquiry.'

‘Well, I'll be damned!' exclaimed Fitnam, and leaned back in his chair. ‘Trust you to bugger up my investigation, Ernie.'