Chapter 24: What's Going on?

LATER that Monday evening I sat down in the hotel room and tried to figure out what I could from the information we had. That is what I was good at in all the years I was at the Yard. Brad’s notebook was written in a rotation code of 13 letters, so written letter A was really letter M. It was originally a code used by Julius Caesar in Ancient Rome, which was then based on a rotation of 12 as the Latin alphabet had only 24 letters, without U and J.

The notebook was a sort of diary that filled in some of the gaps in Brad’s story but frustratingly left out a lot of detail. I believed the notes were just reminders of conversations he had, so they were hints rather than specific facts.

Like the diary we had, the notebook was bought from W.H. Smith’s bookstore but, unlike the diary which was for 1940 and ended tantalisingly almost a month before Gold’s disappearance, the entries in the notebook, although undated, must have begun shortly after Gold arrived in London in September 1939. The last entry seemed to be just the day before he disappeared.

Bradford Gold appeared to have been the key around the bigger picture of what was happening behind the scenes. Firstly, the famous actor dropped everything and came to England to volunteer to join up within days of the declaration of war between Great Britain and Germany.

He arrived accompanied by an embarrassing blaze of publicity from his Studio, his fans and the Press. He realised the Military were flummoxed how best to use him and they ended up keeping him hanging around while they considered their best options.

His frustration at being baulked at the nearest recruiting office in Mayfair close to his hotel was clear. The RAF Sergeant at the desk stopped Gold filling in the attestation form and summoned his Group Captain, who in turn got on the blower to some bigwig in Whitehall. The upshot being that the military were happy to sign him on for the RAF, but had no clue what to do with him.

So, at his request, Jenny Mac at the Gold Studio’s London office sorted out a flat for him to buy and furnish while he waited months for a decision by the War Office. He wanted to buy a home base to live as he knew the war would last for years and he was here “for the long term”.

In the end the Military brass hats used him as an experienced pilot to send propaganda leaflets to Germany and get him out of their hair for a while until the hoo-ha died down.

Then, by the time the real war started, they seemed to have forgotten he existed and he was then left to continue just like all the other pilots, bombing cities, ports and factories and constantly being shot at. His notes were full of his frustrations that he had more to offer the war effort and he was clearly talking to Keppel at the US Embassy and trying to switch to working for the Americans.

The aircraft crash landing, that’s what must’ve reminded the Military at the War Office of his presence. He said himself that he was perfect intelligence material, he could act a part convincingly, he spoke the lingo of two enemy states like a native. He felt a he should at least have been used to listen to selected communications from the enemy, and it appears there was a suggestion of that, but no, he still craved action, especially having tasted it by bombing German cities and facing hostile fighters and artillery barrage from below.

Now, Gold’s long-time boyfriend Mitch Mullinger was back on the scene, as he was being mentioned in the notebook from the winter of 1940.

Where did Mullinger come from and where was he staying? Where was he now? We already knew he was not living in the flat in Denmark Hill, but then nor did Brad Gold, by then Gold was mostly living in digs in the East End like an ordinary person, once an airman but now clearly invalided out, while on some undercover mission.

Why was that, when he had a luxury flat in Denmark Hill sitting empty? And why was his former property agent Curly Cavenagh, who had been out of the picture for over a year now collecting his rent money?

Mary interrupted my thoughts by waving her hand and catching my attention. She had been busy at the tiny desk in our hotel room, translating Brad’s notes into one of my notebooks, using her small neat handwriting with her smart and expensive-looking fountain pen.

“Ed, I mentioned Mitch coming onto the scene a few moments ago, well, it seems he came over to England by boat and is working directly for American Intelligence. And Keppel is definitely the U.S. agent that both men report to. Brad was maybe not transferred to British Intelligence as we were led to believe, he was already in the U.S. Secret Service, they both were.”

“So that’s why he is in digs in the East End, he is undercover and working as an agent ... maybe he’s on loan to British Intelligence, or working directly for the American Intelligence here in London, or maybe he’s a double agent.”

Mary mouthed while I spoke in whispers as we had brought the girl Patty with us and she was fast asleep in the bed after probably the biggest meal she had ever eaten in her life. I was sitting in the armchair thinking, while Mary used the desk under a desk lamp to transcribe Gold’s notes.

“I must speak to Patty in the morning,” Mary said, “she used to clean Brad’s room while he was staying there, check if she saw anything or what he may have said about what he was doing during the day.”

“Why is Brad wearing his No 1 uniform for some military reception?” I wondered out aloud. “Why did somebody keep him tied up for at least a couple of weeks while held for ransom and then” very quietly, “kill him by drowning?” Then I spoke more normally, “Why did the police attempt to cover up the evidence of the drowning? Are they sharing in the ransom money? And why just £30,000? They could’ve held out for a whole lot more, he’s not only a popular film star, but the wealthy studio owner’s youngest son.”

“Maybe they were holding him ready to make another demand, but my arrival and your enquiries may have forced them to make do with what they had already been paid.” Mary suggested.

“No, Gold was murdered before you even got to London a week ago. Why are the police covering up for the criminals? And where do the Nazis fit into this? Bob Cummings was certainly no Nazi, he was a Socialist, a lifetime Labour supporter and was active in the Police Federation, the Police Officers’ Union all the while he worked for me. There is absolutely no possibility of him being involved in helping the Nazis win control in Britain.”

“Maybe the kidnapping and the spying are unrelated. He probably disguised himself when he was spying, but wearing his dress uniform to a dinner or reception, maybe he was simply going as himself and some opportunist criminal recognised him?”

“Yes, Mary, a valid point. Wish I knew where he was going, all dressed up to the nines as he was.”

“We’re meeting Wilson Keppel as the Embassy in the morning,” Mary said, “we can ask him what Brad was doing for them. In the meantime, we need to get to sleep.”

Mary shared the bed with Patty, while I used the rather lumpy pull-out from under the bed to sleep fitfully on. This room was nothing like Mary’s hotel suite, The Met’s expenses ticket didn’t go anywhere near that, which is why we had to share. I protested at first, but Mary assured me that this would work and the presence of Patty made us look like a family, and whoever our enemies were, they certainly weren’t looking for a family of three.

Just for once, the Luftwaffe gave London a break and the air raid sirens failed to disturb our night’s sleep.

We took Patty with us when we met Keppel at the American Chancery in Grosvenor Square, we couldn’t possibly leave her alone all day, but she stayed outside with Jock where the armed guards at the Embassy directed him to park the car.

While Mary had been playing plain “Mrs Jones” for the past couple of days, with the smart clothes that Milly packed and Jock picked up from Hettie’s the previous evening, she was now dressed to intimidate every mortal man in existence and looked every inch the Hollywood actress she was in all her magnificent glory.

Keppel was a tall thin man in his early forties, his thin sandy hair receding and wearing a heavy sandy moustache that I felt was in dire need of trimming. He was clearly a fan of the moving pictures and was immediately smitten with Marcia la Mare as soon as he saw her, which was why we got in to see him in his office so quickly. I was introduced by Miss la Mare as the police inspector that New Scotland Yard had recommended work with her on her husband’s kidnapping case and she insisted I attend the meeting as her advisor.

Keppel nodded, “I know very well who Mr Onslow is, Miss la Mare, ma’am, and I welcome his input. We’re sorry for your loss ma’am, believe me when I tell you Brad Gold was a asset to our country’s security that we were sorry to lose.”

“We have Brad’s coded notebook, Mr Keppel,” Mary said, nodding her acceptance of Keppel’s admittance, “ that makes it clear that he was regularly reporting to you both by telephone and in person.”

“Indeed, Ma’am, we indeed met often. I have no wish to hide the facts from you but clearly we would not want such knowledge generally known.”

He turned towards me, “We are a neutral country, Mr Onslow, but our sympathies do not necessarily rest with military dictatorships who clearly demonstrate no respect for international borders.”

“So Mr Gold was working for you all the while he was here, then?” I asked.

“Mr Gold was working for all of us, Mr Onslow, for victory over the Nazis and for peace between us and the restoration of normal trade between our two continents.”

“So were you giving him his orders, or was it the British Intelligence that were pulling his chain?” I asked.

Keppel smiled at me as he replied candidly. “We controlled the parameters of the service he was providing for the Brits, Mr Onslow, but within those limits, he was working directly under their orders.”

“But we, the U.S., are not at war with the Nazis, are we Mr Keppel?” Mary asked.

“No, we’re not and we don’t want to be, Ma’am but ... and I say this carefully and reservedly ... the Nazis have proved powerful and brilliant practitioners of the modern war machine. We don’t want them as military enemies, but at the same time, we fear their future ambitions on the world stage. We are currently without an Ambassador here in London, because our last one was very pro-Nazi and was recalled by our President.”

“So your policies here have been pro-Nazi until recently?” I asked. He turned to face me.

“Well, either that or he was anti-British, Sir, but that might have been by being of Irish descent. I’m of German descent, but my family have been 100 percent American for nearly a hundred years, but some immigrants forget who we are. Gold was born in England, so he had loyalties to both his countries. We expect the new Ambassador to be in keeping with the President, who is currently Britain’s best friend. At the moment this tiny strip of water, and the Brits’ fighting spirit, is keeping Herr Hitler at bay, with the U.S. and Canada doing all they can to keep you afloat. Herr Hitler has turned his attention to North Africa, unhappy with the Italian failures in Libya. Once he has two continents under his control, who knows where his ambitions will lead next?”

“Did Mr Gold report back to you in any detail about what he was doing for the British Intelligence?” I asked.

“No, not in so much detail, Sir. As I said, he had a free hand working for your guys, so long as his efforts for his country of origin did not damage his adopted country. I met up with him —”

“Here?” interrupted Mary.

“He would never come here, Miss la Mare, except during the Fall of ‘39 when he was desperately trying to get us to help him join the British Armed Forces, preferably the RAF. But since he stopped flying he’d meet somewhere different with me every week to ten days or so and give me an outline of what he was doing.”

“Can you tell me anything of his activities that might help identify his killer or killers?”

“I know he was involved with helping the Brits weed out Fifth Columnists who were actively trying to hamper the war effort.”

“In what ways?”

“There are some individuals, self-interest groups and politicians who wanted to take an active part in supporting the Nazi cause, mostly by sabotage, and by helping the night bombers to new targets. We believe Herr Hitler doesn’t want to bomb landmarks, because he fully expects to win easily and already has visions of the Tower, the Palace, the British Museum being draped in German flags. No, he wants to destroy the British economy by forging British banknotes and flooding the markets with them. All to damage morale in the general populace.”

“Did he mention any names of people he was spying on?” I asked.

“Yeah, Sir, he sure did. I brought his file up in case you asked.” He pushed a Manila wrapped file an inch thick across the table. “You’re welcome to look through it. Can’t let you take any of it away with you, though, I’m afraid. I’m pretty familiar with the contents if you want to ask me any questions.”

“What was he specifically working on at the time he disappeared?”

“Nazi sympathisers in high places. Something was keeping him in the East End a week after he should have left, he was starting to turn the focus of his attention on the City. Putting a few bogus five pound notes intothe economy would take time, these guys wereplanning on feeding them through the high street banking system, then when they had saturated the country with millions, they would release to the press how to easily tell the forgeries from real notes and send the country into an economic crisis, crippling every single transaction. You’d be surprised the kind of people he was dealing with, government ministers, judges, generals, bankers, businessmen. Some driven by political ideology, others by potential rewards of rank, position or wealth under a new regime. His fame and fortune helped him meet these people and some were trying to persuade them to their cause. All he was required to do was string them along and identify as many of the movers and shakers so the British government could monitor their activities and nullify them.”

“What was Mr Gold’s relationship with Curly Cavenagh?” I asked as Mary pulled on the cords tying up the file.

“Ah, Cavenagh was said to be a useful boxer in his youth, but threw a few fights for substantial bribes, he was later involved in a number of protection rackets. He used his prize and bribe money and bought up cheap housing to rent out and did quite well for himself. Due to some of his protection deals running out of cash, or proprietors dying young under suspicious circumstances, he picked up a couple of cat houses, one of them being quite high market, giving him potential to gain favours from important people. As far as we were aware he had no political interests. He worked for us as a go-between, because he had a lot of criminal contacts and sometimes it is useful to have someone on your books who could open doors for us. Cavenagh was a rat who had friends both in high and low places, which is why Brad knew him through us and had to deal with him more than he’d often said he liked.”

“They didn’t get on?” Miss la Mare asked.

“Nobody got on with Curly Cavenagh, Miss la Mare, he was a nasty piece of work, who had his uses but you only gave him so much information and allowed him little scope that he could use to take liberties.”

“What about Mitch Mullinger?” I asked.

Keppel hesitated for a moment before appearing to come to a decision.

“He’s one of ours, Sir, and has been since 1935 just before the Bureau of Intelligence became the FBI, which is similar to your MI5, Mr Onslow. We have nothing at all like your MI6, Sir, so we deal with international intelligence on an embassy-by-embassy basis. Mullinger recruited Brad Gold to the FBI a couple of months after joining us. The FBI had used both Gold and Mullinger to check organised crime influences in the movie industry in the late ‘30s and in building our intel files on individuals we were interested in back home. When Mullinger’s best friend Gold came to England and joined the RAF, Mullinger asked to be transferred to the intelligence department here. Let me say clearly, Mr Onslow, the U.S. Chancery here will never admit to having any intelligence department in any embassy in a country which is one of our closest friends.”