Confirm or Deny (Gaffney and Tipper Mysteries Book 2) Page 12

  “What sort of character was he – Hodder?”

  “As I said, for the most part I can only tell you what I heard. But he liked his drink – and he liked the women. That’s what I was told.” He was at great pains to emphasise that what he was telling them was second-hand. “I heard stories of him whooping it up in the mess – getting drunk, that sort of thing. Mind you, we all did to a greater or lesser degree. Still, with Scotch at about ten bob a bottle—” He broke off and looked across the room. “I think it was anyway; it might have gone up to twelve and sixpence by then.” He shrugged. “Either way, it was bloody cheap, and I reckon he took advantage of it. I’ve seen him looking the worse for wear in the mornings on quite a few occasions. And he liked the ladies. Not that there was any shortage, not in Berlin. Always out shafting some fraulein – so I heard.”

  “He just did his National Service, I understand?”

  “Yes. The CO—” He flicked his fingers. “Trying to think of his name…”

  “Chapman?”

  “That’s the bloke – Major Chapman. Apparently he had some drinking chum of his, worked for Five. Got him fixed up. Sort of second best as far as the old man was concerned, I think. I gather he tried to talk him into staying on. God knows why – he was a very mediocre officer – Hodder, I mean. Anyway, what did happen to him? Did he get murdered?”

  “Don’t know,” said Gaffney blandly. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “Must have been something to do with a bird. Can’t have been anything to do with his job; would never go out on a limb for the army, our young Mr Hodder. He can’t have changed that much.”

  *

  “Brigadier Chapman?”

  “Ah, you must be the chap from the police. Superintendent…?”

  “Detective Chief Superintendent Gaffney, yes.”

  “Oh, sorry. Never can get the drift of police ranks. Come in. You said on the phone that you wanted to talk about some fellah called Hodder?” He looked vague.

  “I understand that he was one of your officers when you were at something called BRIXMIS in Berlin, back in the early sixties.”

  “Yes…” Chapman still looked puzzled. “Think I recall the chap.” He waved vaguely at the armchairs. “Don’t happen to have a photograph of him, do you?”

  “No. Well at least not one of him as he was then. But I’ve been told that you were instrumental in getting him a job with the Security Service when he left the army.”

  “Ah, yes.” Chapman banged the arm of his chair with the flat of his hand. “Got him. Right, what’s he been up to?” “He’s dead.” Gaffney spoke in flat tones; he was a little weary of going through this explanation every time he started an interview.

  “Oh, I see.” Chapman nodded, as though it was fairly routine for people he knew to have died. “What happened to him?”

  “His body was found in the men’s lavatory at Waterloo Station.”

  Chapman curled his lip slightly. “Damned extraordinary,” he said. “What was that all about, then?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Oh, well fire away then.”

  “I’ve been to see a man called Sadler who was a warrant officer in your unit at that time, Brigadier.”

  “Sadler – yes, good man, Sadler. Got a commission, you know.” He spoke as though Major Sadler had been handed the greatest prize in the world. “Not really officer material, of course, but a very good technician – very good. Still, the army’s not what it used to be. There’s a hell of a lot of good officers now who never went through Sandhurst, but he didn’t quite fit in. Would have felt a bit uncomfortable in an officers’ mess, I should have thought.”

  “He’s a major, now,” said Gaffney.

  Chapman nodded. “Mmm!” he said. “Is he really? Well, well.”

  “But it’s Geoffrey Hodder I’ve come to talk to you about.”

  “Yes, of course. Good young officer, Hodder. Very mature young man. Had a good education, too; degree in German as I recall. Don’t know what the army was thinking of, sending him to Germany.” He said that with a wry smile.

  “I’ve been told that he was a bit wild.”

  “Who – Hodder? Shouldn’t have thought so. No, he was a good mess member. Mind you, I have to say that I didn’t live in mess myself; had a married quarter, you see, but from what I heard…”

  “No wild parties then?”

  Chapman looked mystified. “What, in the mess?” Gaffney nodded. “No, my dear chap, I think you must be confusing us with the RAF. Nothing like that in the Intelligence Corps.” He smiled tolerantly. “Pillow fights – smashing up the furniture – all that sort of thing?” He shook his head and smiled again. “Not the army – not any more. If ever,” he added.

  “It’s also been said that he had an eye for the girls.”

  “Maybe so,” said Chapman. “No idea, really. There was certainly plenty of opportunity.” He looked wistfully at the empty fireplace. “Never heard anything, and I always prided myself on knowing what was going on. No, I would say he was a good officer. His intelligence reports were damned good, damned good – absolute model. As a matter of fact, I took a few examples of them with me when I went on the directing staff at the School of Intelligence – very good to show the students. I wanted him to stay on, take a regular commission, but he wouldn’t have it. Said two years in the army was quite enough for him. Pity really – he’d have done very well. He knew the German scene, and was well up in current affairs. That’s the way it should be for an intelligence officer, ideally, but quite frankly some of the chaps I got weren’t really that interested – just wanted to get their two years done and push off. Just as well when they did away with National Service. I suppose you were too young to have done it?”

  “Yes,” said Gaffney.

  *

  They traced Douglas Withers through his driving licence, and at his invitation, went to see him at his office off the Tottenham Court Road where he was a senior partner with a firm of civil engineers.

  Gaffney decided to try to short-circuit the weary explanation with which all his calls seemed now to be prefaced. “I’m investigating the death of Geoffrey Hodder,” he said. “I understand that you served with him in the army?”

  “So it was him. I saw a bit about that in the paper. Didn’t you find his body in a loo somewhere?”

  “Waterloo, to be exact,” said Gaffney.

  Withers smiled. “I wondered if it was the same chap.”

  “What can you tell me about him, Mr Withers? I realize that it was a long time ago, and for that reason may be of no value at all, but I have to explore everything.”

  “I suppose so. I only had two years of it – intelligence-gathering – but I know what you mean. You collect a whole load of rubbish, and then throw away what you don’t need, which is usually about ninety-nine per cent as I recall.” He pulled out a pocket-watch and stared at it.

  “If you’ve got an appointment…”

  “No, no. I’ve got to go out and look at a site some time, but there’s no rush. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he said. “That’s because civil engineers built it.” He laughed at the old professional joke. “Now then. Hodder. What can I tell you about him’

  “Anything,” said Gaffney.

  “Went to work for Five.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Very keen on placing his young men, as he used to call us, was Chapman – he was the CO.”

  “Yes, I’ve been to see him.”

  “Still alive is he? That’s a surprise. I’d’ve thought he’d have drunk himself to death by now. I’ll bet he offered you a drink before you’d been there five minutes.”

  “No, he didn’t actually.”

  “Don’t tell me he’s sworn off it?”

  “He’s retired now – a retired brigadier.”

  “Good God! And I thought he was lucky to have made major. Just goes to show, doesn’t it? He was always trying to get us either to stay on in the army or
go to some civilian intelligence outfit, like Five or GCHQ. Tried it on me, as a matter of fact.”

  “Not interested?”

  “Not really, no. But I knew where I was going. I was going to be a civil engineer, and that was that. Old Chapman could never understand anyone wanting to do anything but his wretched intelligence work. But Geoff Hodder didn’t know where he was going, and he fell for it.”

  “Didn’t know where he was going?”

  “No. He’d come down from university with a degree in German. I remember that because he was very good – too good. He stopped me learning it. Used to go out with him and he did all the chatting. Saved me the trouble. The natives couldn’t understand him half the time – he spoke high German. Thought he’d been to Heidelberg, not Hull.” Withers chuckled. “But a degree of that sort’s not much good as a qualification for a trade – not unless you want to be a schoolteacher or an international telephone operator – something like that.” He dismissed Hodder’s educational qualifications with a wave of the hand.

  “I’ve heard conflicting reports about his behavior while he was in Berlin.”

  “Oh? From whom – if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Well I’ve seen Brigadier Chapman—” Withers smiled. “—and Major Sadler.”

  “Sergeant-Major Sadler, you mean.”

  “No, he’s a major now, and still serving.”

  Withers burst out laughing. “That man’s a cretin. They actually gave him a commission?” He shook his head. “And what did Sadler have to say?”

  “Said that young Mr Hodder, as he insisted on calling him, was a bit wild.”

  Withers became serious again. “Yes, well that’s true, but then we all were. All that cheap booze. Quite frankly it’s a wonder I’ve got a liver left at all.” He smiled at some lost memory. “The excesses of youth. Hodder was no worse than the rest of us. We’d convinced ourselves that we were doing something terribly important out there – that an East-West war was imminent – and that we were the spearhead of the intelligence-gatherers. We weren’t, of course. If the survival of the Western world had had to rely on what we served up, they’d have been in a parlous state, I can tell you. But we enjoyed ourselves — Geoff particularly.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, the usual – hard drinking, hard living. I don’t think Geoff spent many nights in his own bed the whole time he was there. No reason why he should, of course. Berlin was the place for girls – girls and night clubs; they go together, really, and he had some gorgeous little dolly birds in tow when he was there.” He looked across the room. “There was one he was very serious about. Now what was her name? Helga something…” He shook his head. “No – gone. I thought he’d finish up marrying her. She was a beaut. But that was him all over. Never could resist a pretty fraulein. Wining and wenching – that was our Geoffrey. Always being invited to parties – in the German community, of course.”

  “Why do you say that – ‘of course’?”

  “Always very popular with the Krauts, particularly the women. Strange that, because the men in the unit detested him. It was almost as if there were two sides to his character. At work he seemed to be bumptious and self-opinionated. I heard him described once as a jumped-up little prig by one of the sergeants. I wasn’t supposed to, of course. But he had a point. It was a funny unit, nothing like the infantry or the armored. There were only about ten of us altogether. Chapman, Hodder and I, Sar’nt-Major Sadler, and about six sergeants. Very top-heavy. I think all the sergeants were National Servicemen, and so were Geoff and I, of course. All doing the same job. The sergeants used to get a bit uptight with Geoff. Reckoned he was only a National Serviceman, same as they were, and he didn’t have to throw his weight about. Roll on demob – two years and we’d all be out. I did hear that one of the sergeants threatened to sort him out in civvy street – when we were all out.”

  “Don’t remember who, do you?”

  Withers shook his head. “No – Perkins, Pogson? Some name like that. I didn’t actually hear it said. It might have been a load of nonsense. Parsons – that was the name, but I can’t remember anything else about him. We were all going to meet up ten years after we were demobbed. You know the sort of thing – see what we’d all done, how we got on? Never did though. People never do… Was he still with MI5 when he died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Amazing. Never thought he’d stick it. Was never any good at it, either. I thought that was a bit of a flash in the pan.”

  “Brigadier Chapman thought he was brilliant. Said he used his reports as models.”

  Withers laughed. “They were bloody good fiction. He used to write all sorts of balls in his reports. Full of speculation: things like, I have been reliably informed, or, It is a widely held view that-you know the sort of stuff; all the jargon so beloved of the intelligence community. I think Geoffjust caught on a lot quicker than the rest of us. We used to flog ourselves to death trying to find things out. He never bothered. That didn’t make him too popular, either, because everyone in the unit knew it.” He paused. “Except, it seems, Major Chapman.”

  *

  Gaffney was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the open bottom drawer of his desk. “And what did you make of all that, Harry?”

  “Bit of an enigma, our young Mr Hodder.”

  “Certainly wouldn’t have recognized him from the description that Withers gave us, but it’s interesting that he was a ladies’ man. That certainly fits in with his sudden divorce and remarriage. So what do we do next?”

  Tipper was reclining in the armchair, a despondent expression on his face. “I think we ought to see Mrs Hodder next, sir,” he said.

  “Which one?”

  Tipper thought about that. “The first wife – before we see the second, and current Mrs Hodder.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “It’s chronological, ain’t it? No, seriously though, I think we might get a bit more of the true Geoffrey Hodder from her – warts and all, so to speak. And her story of the divorce – if she’s prepared to tell us. It’ll be a useful yardstick for when we see Mrs Hodder the second.”

  “If, as you say, she’s prepared to tell us.”

  “I should think she’ll be delighted to recount all the sordid details – scorned women usually are.” Tipper sniffed loudly. “There’s only one problem…”

  “Which is?” asked Gaffney.

  “We don’t know where she lives.”

  “Oh but we do.” Gaffney reached out and picked up a piece of paper. “Here we are – enquiry completed this morning. Mrs Elizabeth Hodder.”

  Tipper took the piece of paper and studied it. “What sort of place is this, then?”

  “A flat in the center of Godaiming, I’m told.”

  Chapter Nine

  The flat in which Mrs Elizabeth Hodder lived was adequate – no more than that. It was clean and carefully looked after, but the curtains and the upholstery were worn, and there were bare patches on the carpet. The woman herself looked tired and strained, drained of all emotion.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Thank you, yes – if it’s no trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  They heard her busying herself in the kitchen and spent the five minutes or so it took her to make the tea, looking around the sitting room. Standing on the television was a photograph – the type they take at schools – of two children, a boy and a girl, the boy’s arm unwillingly round his sister’s shoulders. There were no other photographs, none certainly of Geoffrey Hodder, but then they hadn’t expected to see any.

  She returned, poured the tea, and sat down in the armchair facing them, patiently, hands folded demurely in her lap. “You’ve come to talk to me about Geoffrey, I suppose.”

  “Yes, Mrs Hodder, but first may I express my condolences…”

  “You needn’t bother, Mr Gaffney. There was nothing between us – nothing left at all.” The comment wasn’t bitter, ju
st flat. “My only regret is that the maintenance dies with him. God knows what I’ll live on now.”

  Gaffney thought that an exaggeration. He knew that she had a part-time job at the local hospital, had been trained as a nurse before her marriage, and she was only forty-three now. Her son was in the merchant navy, away at sea, and her daughter, at twenty, two years younger than her brother, was a civil servant.

  “I understand that you split up about ten or eleven years ago, Mrs Hodder?”

  “Yes.” Again, a flat reply. She was going to be a difficult woman to interview.

  “Are you prepared to tell us about it?”

  “Is it relevant?”

  “I don’t know. We are trying to establish why Geoffrey died.”

  “Was he murdered then? You wouldn’t be here if he’d committed suicide, would you – not a chief superintendent?”

  “It’s not that easy, Mrs Hodder. I don’t know if you knew what Geoffrey did for a living?”

  “I know he worked for MI5,” she said.

  “He told you that, did he?”

  “No. I worked there too. That’s how we met.”

  “I thought you were a nurse.”

  “So I was, but I gave that up. It didn’t pay enough, so I became a secretary at the Ministry of Defence. Then I got a transfer to the Security Service.” She looked vaguely past the two policemen, as though traveling back over the years. “It was all rather ordinary. Never enough money…” She laughed – a short savage laugh. “When was there ever? Bringing up the children. It was no fun, believe me.” She just sat there, talking – whining almost – as if to herself. She was dowdy in an unfashionable dress that looked as though it had been bought from a mail-order catalogue six or seven years ago – probably had, thought Gaffney. “And all because of that damned woman.” For the first time there was anger, a show of emotion, in her drawn face, mixing strangely with her obvious self-pity.