The House At Sea’s End

CHAPTER 11

‘You’d better come in,’ says Ruth.

Dieter Eckhart steps politely over the piles of books and folders in the sitting room (part of the tidying process) and perches on the edge of the sofa. Ruth offers him tea which he accepts but disconcerts her by asking for lemon instead of milk. She hasn’t got any lemon but finds a wizened lime at the back of the fridge (from Shona’s tequila phase). It’ll have to do.

‘I am sorry to trouble you at home,’ says Eckhart, accepting the unpleasant-looking drink with every appearance of pleasure. ‘But I ask at the university who is the forensic archaeologist in charge of the case.’

Ruth is gratified that someone has identified her as being in charge but rather mystified as to how Dieter Eckhart has managed to find out about the bodies so quickly. Thanks to Whitcliffe, there has been nothing in the British press.

The mystery is soon explained. From his backpack Eckhart pulls a map of Norfolk, a book about the D-Day landings and a crumpled letter written in thin black ink.

‘I’m a military historian,’ he says. ‘I have written several articles about the rumoured German invasion of Norfolk in the Second World War. One day last month I received this letter.’

He hands it to Ruth:

Ruth looks across at Dieter Eckhart, who is calmly sipping his tea. Her mind is racing. The rumoured German invasion of Norfolk. Nazi officers patrolling the streets. Six bodies found buried under the cliff. The evil will lie waiting beneath the earth.

‘I made enquiries,’ says Eckhart. ‘There was indeed a Home Guard platoon captained by a man of that name. I decided to come to England. For many years I have been planning to write a book about the invasion.’

‘But they didn’t really invade, did they?’ responds Ruth. ‘I mean, I know there were rumours, and there was a film. I saw it with my father. But there was never any evidence.’

‘I believe there was,’ says Eckhart, putting down his cup. ‘But I believe that the evidence was deliberately destroyed.’

‘So you think the Germans came here? To Norfolk?’

Eckhart looks at her. He has very blue eyes, which reminds Ruth of Erik. He says, as if reading from a script: ‘In September 1940, in the village of Crostwick, Norfolk, villagers reported seeing a convoy of army trucks carrying dead German soldiers. Later that same month two bodies were found on the Kent coast between Hythe and St Mary’s Bay. They were identified as German soldiers by their uniforms. The bodies were burned from the waist down.’

‘Burned?’

Eckhart continues as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘On October the twenty-first the corpse of a German anti-tank gunner, Heinrich Poncke, was recovered from the beach at Littlestone-on-Sea. The discovery was openly reported in the press at the time.’

‘But I thought all these stories had been disproved,’ says Ruth, impressed, despite herself, by this recital. ‘The invasion was one of the myths of the Second World War. Like nuns parachuting or Hitler having a double.’

‘The parachuting nuns may well have been a myth,’ says Eckhart with the ghost of a smile, ‘but the invasion definitely happened. It was not the full-scale exercise that had been planned, the so-called Operation Sealion, but I believe that small reconnaissance groups did land on the Norfolk and Kent coasts in September 1940. The story has been denied and the solders involved vanished into thin air.’

‘How could they just vanish?’ says Ruth, but she has an uneasy memory of the bodies at Broughton Sea’s End, bodies buried in sand, sand which destroys bone. ‘Why would anyone want to deny that an invasion happened, if it did happen?’

‘Because,’ says Eckhart, ‘what we are looking at is a British war crime.’

Ruth is silent, thinking of Bosnia and the war crimes tribunal, thinking of Hugh P. Anselm’s letter. A great wrong was done many years ago.

Eckhart looks at her for a moment and then continues. ‘I arrived in England yesterday and I went at once to Broughton Sea’s End. I learnt that the son of Buster Hastings still lived in the same house and I asked for an interview. He refused. He did not want, and I quote, to speak about his father, who was a war hero. Especially not to a German. I accepted this. I wandered around the village. It is very small, very picturesque. I went to the local pub. And there I had a stroke of luck.’ He pauses.

‘What?’ prompts Ruth.

‘I met Jack Hastings’ daughter Clara. She told me about the bodies found on the beach. Then I knew. I knew I had uncovered the truth.’

I uncovered it, you mean, thinks Ruth. Or, rather, Ted, Trace, Steve and Craig did. She is beginning to find Eckhart’s manner rather irritating.

‘I don’t understand,’ she says. ‘Why didn’t you just go to see this Hugh Anselm, the one who wrote the letter?’

‘That was, of course, my first plan,’ says Eckhart unperturbed. ‘But when I arrived at his home, a settlement called, I believe, sheltered housing, I discovered that he was dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘Yes. A week before the warden had discovered him, sitting in his stair-climbing device.’

‘A stairlift?’

‘Yes. A heart attack I am told.’

Ruth shivers. She knows that there can be nothing sinister about Hugh Anselm’s death, he was eighty-six after all and had described his health as ‘poor’. All the same, the letter, with its references to evil and wrong-doing, had spooked her. It reminded her too vividly of other letters, letters about death, ritual and sacrifice, the letters which were her first introduction to Nelson and the Serious Crimes Unit. And, now, to think that its author was dead…

‘There’s another survivor from that time,’ she says, thinking that this information can’t possibly be classified. ‘Archie Whitcliffe. He lives in a nursing home somewhere near Broughton.’

Dieter leans back, compressing his lips into a thin smile. ‘Archie Whitcliffe too is dead. He died yesterday.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Perfectly. I have just come from the nursing home. Apparently the police are investigating.’

The police. That meant Nelson. Ruth feels obscurely hurt that Nelson hasn’t told her about Archie Whitcliffe’s death. But, then, it only happened yesterday. When she told him about the bodies being German he had just left the Home after interviewing Archie. That reminds her.

‘How did you know the bodies were German?’ she asks.

For the first time, Eckhart looks disconcerted. ‘It was an assumption,’ he says at last, rather stiffly. ‘An informed guess.’ He looks at Ruth, the blue gaze very intense. ‘But you know, don’t you? You know that they are German.’

Ruth sighs. Eckhart knows so much she doesn’t see any point in stalling. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Mineral tests on the bones show that the bodies probably come from Germany.’

‘So,’ says Eckhart softly. Then he smiles at Ruth. He really is very good-looking. ‘In that case, Dr Galloway, I know who your soldiers are.’