CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Army and Navy Club in London [popularly known as The Rag], 36-39 Pall Mall, St. James Square, Sixth Floor Conference Room

In the conference room five floors up at the same time as DCI Crandall-White was questioning Majordomo Brewster, Major Donelly was stiff and ill-at-ease. That was not surprising given his recent experience. It was evident that he was none too keen on having to submit to questioning by the police. When the police officers first arrived on the scene, he had naively felt that his word as a Royal Army officer would suffice, and that would be the end of it. DI Bourden-Clift stood behind his partner Angela Snowden, projecting a calm but calculated menace. That image had its desired effect—that of unnerving Maj. Donelly. He calmed down as DI Snowden asked the first question.

Snowden was such a striking figure of a woman, that most men—even those of rank—were a bit in awe of her. She had coal-black shiny hair which–at the moment–was done up in a tight bun, and snowy white unblemished skin. She did not wear any makeup, yet her lips were full and rosy; and her cheeks had that hint of color that women everywhere try to emulate with their makeup. She was tall and buxom, even in her sensible black shoes. She wore a fine woolen lady’s suit and a light-blue silk blouse. Although her bosom strained the material, DI Snowden had been meticulous to be certain that no hint of what lay beneath the shimmering blue material was allowed to see the light of day. She gave Major Donelly a brief friendly smile and then started with hard, direct questions without any attempt at ice-breaking social chit-chat.

“Are you aware of any animosity on the part of Majordomo Brewster towards Lieutenant-General Sir Cyril Goeffrey Robert Hill-Brownwell?”

“I am to some extent—nothing I could actually document, however, Inspector.”

“This is just preliminary fact-finding, Major. Let us be the judges of what may be important or not.”

“I have noticed that Brewster seems to avoid—seems to have avoided—the general during the times I have frequented the club. That was unusual since being affable and helpful are part and parcel of the majordomo’s duties. I once commented on that to the general just by way of making polite conversation, and he was quite brusque with me. ‘Not your concern, young man,’ he said, or words to that effect. I am naturally inquisitive; so, I did two things: first I queried Brewster; and second, I got into the regimental files a bit. That was not particularly difficult.

“I hope I am not telling tales out of school….”

“That would mean that you may not have the right to give the information you are prepared to give, or even that you are not entirely certain whether or not your information is correct. It also could mean that you would be breaking some sort of gentlemanly code of conduct that would make your communication mere gossip and that you might indiscreetly reveal private matters, secrets, or confidences. Let me remind you that this is a police investigation, and none of that is applicable here. We need your information, and withholding such information could be considered obstruction of justice,” DI Bourden-Clift stated with unsmiling authority, taking over the questioning—a smooth transition between the two partners to keep the person being interrogated off-guard and ill at ease.

“Of course, of course. I understand completely. One evening after regular hours, I invited Brewster to join me in the gentlemen’s bar. We tossed back a few and were somewhat in our cups. I asked the man if there was some issue between him and the general. It was the first time I saw Brewster let down his guard. He told me that he had served as a sergeant major under Sir Hill-Brownwell in the British sector after the cessation of hostilities. He related a tale of having had a discrediting mark placed in his service file by the general. It is a matter of record that Sir Hill-Brownwell headed up the British occupation military police regiment. Brewster told me that the general had a specially selected team of investigators and enforcers whose task was to monitor and control the German POWs returning to the British sector after their release from military prisons. It was Brewster’s conviction that the general hated all Nazis, and that he went overboard to make the transition back into civilian life for the Germans as difficult as possible. He even indicated that there were atrocities. That is more than just Brewster’s opinion. I am a witness myself, and I can state without equivocation that all of the Allied occupation forces inflicted vengeful acts of retribution against former military and government personnel, their families, and on random civilians. There was torture, job and educational discrimination, and even murder—maybe upwards of a million—maybe more—deaths. Brewster complained that the official records are sealed, and few people in the general public are aware of just how brutal and unjust the occupying forces were throughout Germany up to the end of the occupation. I am afraid that I am of the same opinion. During my service I saw things, heard things, and read things, which would be a great disappointment to the British people.

“Brewster told me that in his capacity as a sergeant major he served under the general in a more-or-less mundane role as a military policeman. He rattled off a litany of brutality, even witnessing murder of former POWs. His very words were, ‘I made the personal mistake of reporting such improper actions up the chain of command.’ Apparently that report made its way up the chain of command to the desk of Sir Hill-Brownwell.”

Donelly paused and looked over at the two detective inspectors to gain permission to continue. They nodded their heads.

“Brewster told me that he was never publically brought up on charges, but he never had an opportunity to present his side of the story … not even when charges were brought up against him in the commanding officer’s summary hearing conducted by the man he was accusing. Brewster said he was not even informed of such a hearing and was never assigned the services of a judge advocate general’s attorney to defend him. He was peremptorily given a formal written reprimand, demoted one rank to first sergeant, and transferred back to the ranks serving at Sandhurst—well away from the occupied territories. Although his ambition was to retire on a pension after a thirty-year unblemished career, he was discharged from the service with the notation that the discharge was a routine matter of reduction of forces for peacetime. Brewster went on to tell me that a young officer told him in no uncertain terms that it would not at all be in his best interests to protest. When he started to argue, he was told point blank that he would receive a bad conduct discharge if he did so—and that would haunt him for the rest of the days.

“He shut his mouth and left with his pension. It took him a year or two, but he finally found work in the private sector, specifically here in the Army and Navy Club in London. Brewster was not an emotional man; that evening with his tongue loosened by the demon rum, he said it was a severe burden for him to keep his lips zipped day after day when he had to meet, serve, and be obsequious and deferential to the man detested and whom he believed to be a war criminal.”

“I see. And how about yourself, Major, do you bear the general ill will? Do you share Brewster’s opinions?” asked DI Snowden.

“I agree with Brewster’s analysis of postwar occupation issues in the British sector. I personally only served in the returning POW camps. I have to say that it was difficult to me as a former enemy combatant against those bestial Nazis to have to treat them with any degree of civility. If it had been up to me, I would have executed the lot and let God sort out the guilty from the innocent. I don’t believe that would have been all that difficult. Less than a handful would have fallen into the innocent category. There were even Frenchmen who served in Nazi SS regiments who returned to my camp. Did you know that?”

When there was no answer, Donelly continued his narrative. “My fellow officers from the UK, the US, and the other allies felt the same about them. We did not give them any privileges; but by the same token, we were fair and decent in our treatment of them. No murders or tortures by my POW camp officers. I am afraid it was different in the civilian population. It seems likely that Brewster was correct in his complaints. He seems a decent sort; so, I am inclined to believe his personal rendition of his and the general’s interactions.”

Major Donelly took a few needed breaths and regained his composure completely before DI Bourden-Clift resumed the questioning started by DI Snowden, now taking a different and harder tack.

Bourden-Clift was the polar opposite of his partner, the attractive DC Snowden. He was a black man, one of the few black detectives in the entire police force. He was as black at his end of the continuum as Snowden was white on her end. He was decidedly unattractive with a flat nose and flaring nostrils; his irises were so dark that it seemed that he did not have pupils. His lips were large and two-toned, and offputting where Snowden’s small cupid’s bow lips drew people to listen to her. The two partners played off each other seamlessly, and usually to the detriment of a guilty perpetrator they were tag-teaming.

“Major, you were alone in the bar with the general. Is that your statement?”

“Yes, until the murderer came in from the bar pantry and launched his attack.”

“Are you sure the murderer was a man?”

“Yes. I did see his face. His bodily movements were that of a man.”

“How far away were you standing when the murderer attacked Gen. Hill-Brownwell?”

“Perhaps ten or twelve meters. I was about to exit the building when I caught a glimpse of the man rushing in to inflict what I at first believed was a blow—a sort of judo chop—to the back of the elderly man’s neck, a despicable cowardly act.”

“Indeed. But you learned differently later.”

“I did. First, though, I rushed to try and save the general. I tried to tackle the villain; but he was apparently adept in the military hand-to-hand arts; and he got the better of me I am ashamed to report.”

“I take it that you have a well-developed skill set in the martial arts yourself, is that not the case, Major?”

“I take a modicum of pride in my training and skills. I have won tournaments and have had direct experience in unarmed hand-to-hand combat during my career. I have to admit that the murderer was better than me. It was obvious that I had engaged a trained soldier or perhaps a skilled assassin. Whatever the case, he knocked me cold. I guess I should feel lucky to be alive.”

“What did you discover when you came to?”

“It took a while, but finally I studied the scene. It was quite evident that the general was dead. I had been wrong about what the assailant was doing. It was certainly no judo chop. I saw the handle of one of the bar’s ice picks driven into the junction between his skull and his neck—a favorite killing site. I myself was trained to try to stab or bayonet an opponent through what the anatomists call the foramen magnum. That results in an instant death due to a cut or transection of the brain stem. This murderer knew with precision what he was doing.”

“It would seem that you yourself are quite knowledgeable on the subject, Major. What you are telling us that the general had been pithed—apparently quite expertly. I have to ask: did you murder Gen. Hill-Brownwell?”

Major Donelly looked shocked.

He raised his voice, “I most certainly did no such thing! I am neither a murderer nor a liar, and I take great offence at your inference.”

“No need for a display of anger, Major. These are just questions that have to be asked. DI Snowden and I are just doing our jobs, however distasteful they may be. I’m sure you understand,” DI Bourden-Clift soothed.

Major Donelly worked to ratchet down his emotions several notches and nodded his understanding. He could not entirely erase the look of resentment from his facial expression.

“Major, the Army and Navy Club is a gentleman’s club for commissioned officers of all ranks in Her Majesty’s Regular Army, Royal Navy, and Royal Marines. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Although it must seem beyond any reasonable possibility, is there any member or person on the staff at the club who could have committed this terrible crime?”

“Not for the life of me can I think of a living soul who is a member or on the staff here. But then, I did not really know many of the members or staff that well.”

“How about Brewster? Did he have motive enough, means, and opportunity, do you think?”

“Circumstantially, I suppose. However, my encounters with the man face-to-face would not lead me to consider him to be a suspect. I looked into the face of the killer. It was not Brewster. Furthermore, as I think about it, if he did want to kill the general—even by use of a proxy—why wait until today, years after the incidents which angered him took place? Surely there was a more opportune time or place during that decade or so.”

“It would seem,” DI Snowden agreed.

“Oh, and it occurred to me that the man I put my arms around to tackle was taller. Besides—and most obvious to me—I saw his face. He was older than Brewster, had short white hair, and several facial scars which looked altogether like dueling saber scars. Strong and swift as he was, I think I saw a bit of a limp as he was running towards the general.”

“That is helpful, Major. Do you have any further questions for the major, Tony?”

DI Anthony Bourden-Clift shook his head.

“Then, that should be it for now, Major Donelly. Thank you for your assistance and cooperation. Please don’t leave the city. We may have further questions as our investigation continues.”

After Donelly left the room, Bourden-Clift, asked, “So what’s your take, Angela?”

“He seems genuine, but the circumstantial evidence points to him as the first person of interest and to Brewster as the second.”

“Or the pair of them as the third,” Bourden-Clift added, and Snowden nodded her agreement.

“Both of them are experienced military veterans, fit, and, at least—in the major’s case—young and athletic,” Bourden-Clift went on. “I can’t get it into my head that either of them would murder for the reasons we have heard. They are practical men, and revenge would seem like an inadequate motive this far out.”

After they joined DCI Crandall-White on the first floor, the three detectives went over what they had learned.

The DCI added the final note, “We have our work cut out for us, and we ought not to jump to any hasty conclusions. We need to know everything there is to know about our three persons of interest first, then about the membership and staff of the club; and finally, we will have to get into the old military records and the files on the POW camps. Maybe we just don’t know about some revenge-seeking German who finally snapped and came after our general. One of those former POWs could be our man. We will have to wear out some shoe leather and do some regular ‘Old Bill’ flatfoot work. This is not going to be a simple or quick investigation. Since we are dealing with a senior army officer, we will likely encounter some flack and considerable lack of cooperation both from the army and from her majesty’s government.”

“I’ll work on the British records,” said Angela, the star analyst of the team.

“I’ll put in a few calls, and try and see if there are other murders like this one. If this is a revenge murder, it is possible that the perpetrators hold a grudge against other men and even foreign nationals,” Tony offered.

“I’ll shepherd the evidence and run interference with the chiefs of the ‘Old Bills,’ the government tops, and push the brass at Northwood. I will probably run into a lot of static, but there is more to this crime than meets the eye. It was certainly no robbery. Sir Hill-Brownell had a Rolex watch, a diamond pinky ring, and a billfold full of pound notes, all untouched.”

“Before this is over, Boss, and you have talked to the man—and we have offended the veterans and the foreign nations, we will probably conclude that we have really stepped in it,” Angela said.

“That’s why we get all the rhino and the nicker [centuries-old British slang for ready cash or big money],” DCI Crandall-White said.

The team of three left the Army and Navy Club and drove back to the CID on Victoria Embankment.