Lovett agreed, and wrote more relevant words on the board. ‘So, Alex, you said that towards the end of the war, Kappelman was a test pilot and met Ruger during this time.’
Swan looked again at the photo of his former client. ‘Four years ago, Kappelman came to me, as he had some personal wartime documents stolen from his house during a burglary. He was not treated very well by the authorities, and was accused of collaborating with the Soviet spy network operating in London. This of course was not proven. Unfortunately, I was unable to discover where the documents went.’
Whittaker acknowledged. ‘So, what were these documents?’
‘The documents, were his own personal pilot notes on flying various secret jet aircraft, in the last few months of the war. He was planning to write a book, but was bound by the Official Secrets Act. I was also given an official notice from my superiors, not to pursue any further with the enquiry.’
Swan looked in the faces of his colleagues, and smiled. ‘Feel free to make your own conclusions, gents.’
Lovett raised his hand. ‘So, Karl Ruger, went to Kappelman, and gave him your address, Ruger desperate to do something about this eagle falling.’ Lovett wrote this on the board. ‘Okay, so now we have a suspected third victim, Kevin Powell, also a rocket engineer. He obviously worked with Ruger at Highdown.’ Lovett wrote some more, drawing lines between the labels, then took a few steps back and surveyed his work. ‘Well gentlemen, it looks like this Ruger chap, is the connection. He waved the pen at Swan. ‘Whatever he needed to tell you, Alex, could easily be the motive, for why all three of these men are now dead. Which of course, brings us back to this.’ Lovett took the chalk and drew a ring around the key word on the board. ‘What, or even who, the bloody hell, is this Eagle?’
Chapter 14
At 7.50 am on Monday morning, Arthur Gable locked the driver’s door of his light blue Austin Cambridge, and carrying the morning’s newspaper under his arm, climbed the outside steps to the SID office in Wellesley Mews. The ex-Scotland Yard Detective Sergeant, was usually the first into the office, as he liked to leave his house in East Ham early, to avoid the inevitable morning congestion of the A13 Commercial Road.
Clutching the newspaper with one hand, while lifting his mug to his lips with the other, he heard the ringing telephone on Swan’s desk, walked over and grabbed the receiver. ‘Whitehall 9921, Arthur Gable speaking.’
In the incident room of Battersea Bridge Police Station, an unshaven Alex Swan, yawned into the mouthpiece of the telephone, explaining to his colleague he had spent most of the weekend at the station, and had accompanied Inspector Lovett to the crime scene. ‘We then interviewed some witnesses, including a still very frightened dear little ten-year-old girl, named Karen Richards, who discovered Kappelman’s body sticking out of a brick pile, she was playing on with some friends. You should’ve seen the smile on her face, when we presented her with her Batman and Robin ball, left at the crime scene. Anyway, Arthur, I would like you to come down here and take over, and when you arrive, I’ll fill you in with what we have so far. What you won’t know, due to the Press blackout, is that there has been another suspicious death. This time at the rocket site at Highdown. The Deputy Chief Engineer was found dead on Saturday, under the Black Arrow, following a ground firing test.
In Wellesley Mews, Gable stood in surprise. ‘Dear God! And, it was no accident?
Swan replied, ‘not unless, he decided to hit himself over the head, killing himself first, before falling under the rocket. I’ve just been talking with Stratton on the phone, and as he is unable to send anyone from Five, has asked me if I can extend my investigation, go down there and represent the security services. I think, Janet needs to know where I’ve gone, as I can’t really contact her directly at Leconfield House. However, if she should phone the office before you leave, then be a good chap and let her know what is happening. She’s been over in France for four days acting as Stratton’s PA, because his lady is on holiday, so I haven’t managed to speak to her yet.’
Gable looked at his watch. ‘Will do, I should be with you in the next forty minutes, or so. See you then.’
Gable replaced the receiver and after spending ten minutes finalising a few things, was making himself ready to leave, when the telephone rang again.
He rushed over, answered it, and gave Janet Ross the message.
Almost fifty minutes later, Gable parked the Cambridge in the car park of the police station, walked inside, and was escorted to the incident room, where he found Swan sitting at a desk with Whitaker.
‘Ah, morning Arthur. This is DI Fred Whitaker; Fred, this is my colleague, DS Arthur Gable, retired.’
The men shook hands, then Gable noticed the blackboard, next to the desk. ‘I see you lads have been busy. So, Alex, what do we have?’
Swan spent the next ten minutes bringing his associate up to date, with events and theories. At the end of his account, Gable had been fully informed. Swan picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Okay gentlemen, I will take my leave of you now, go home for a quick bath, some more coffee, and then drive to Lymington to catch the ferry. I’ll phone you, when I get to Highdown.’
Swan left the incident room, leaving the two men to drink tea and discuss their theories.
At the rocket site, in Brian Mitchell’s office, Detective Inspector Dugdale sat on the edge of a desk, having just spoken to his Chief Superintendent on the telephone.
Detective Sergeant, Ian Morris looked at him, noticing the sour look on his boss’s face. ‘What’s up, Guv?’
‘Darcy has just told me, this investigation is being handed over to someone called, Swan, who’s coming down from Whitehall. He’s been booked onto the 11:30 Yarmouth ferry.’
‘That sounds all a bit official,’ quirked Morris.
Dugdale shook his head. ‘What exactly is the Services Investigations Department? I’ve certainly never heard of them. Sounds like a cloak and dagger outfit, if you ask me. Anyway, when this, Mr Swan arrives, we are to assist him in his inquiries, and support him in every way we can. I did argue with Darcy, telling him that I can handle this, and was just about to start my interviews, but he wouldn’t have it. Said it was out of his hands.’
Dugdale stood up and banged the desk with his fist. ‘Looks like we’ve just been shafted into second place Ian. It’s not our shout anymore. By the sounds of it, they’re sending in Dick — bloody Barton!’
The British Transport Commission ferry, MV Freshwater, docked at Yarmouth at 12:10. Shortly afterwards, the ramp was lowered and a variety of vehicles moved slowly off.
Alex Swan drove his car down the ramp, following the road out to the main A3054, then seeing a sign for Norton Green and Freshwater, confirmed he was heading in the right direction.
A black Ford Consul, was the final vehicle to come off the ferry. It had two occupants inside, following the other vehicles along the road, also towards the A3054, then it came to a halt. The passenger got out, a small thin man with rat-like facial features, who wore a black leather jacket.