The King of Diamonds

CHAPTER 20

The light went on in the hall, footsteps approached, and Jacob cried out as Trave seized him from behind, shouting ‘police’ as he did so. But the young man’s reactions were quicker than Trave had anticipated. He twisted his body violently to the left, throwing Trave off balance, and then slammed his right arm back, catching Trave a glancing blow on the side of the face, sufficient to make Trave let go of his jacket. And then he took off, running back down the corridor, pulling open the front door of the flat, and taking the stairs three at a time. Clayton set off in pursuit, but Jacob had a head start and would certainly have got away if he’d taken the time to turn on the upper landing light before he began his mad descent of the stairs. Instead he lost his footing in the dark, two flights down, and fell head over heels down the remaining steps, ending up in a heap on the floor of the entrance hall.

By the time he regained consciousness, the lights were on and Clayton and Trave were standing over him, barring his way to the door. Slowly he got to his feet, rubbing his head, and gingerly took a few steps towards a suspicious-looking old lady who had emerged from the ground-floor flat at the other end of the hall.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Harris,’ he said, speaking in fluent English. ‘Nothing to worry about — just a silly accident, that’s all.’

The old lady looked unimpressed by the explanation. She peered distrustfully at the strangers by the door, and then retreated back inside her flat, closing the door. A moment later there was the sound of a key turning in the lock.

‘What the hell do you want?’ asked Jacob furiously, turning back to face the two policemen.

‘To talk to you. About Blackwater Hall and your brother, Ethan Mendel,’ said Trave calmly.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Edward Newman. My name’s on the doorbell out there, if you can be bothered to look.’

‘Please don’t waste our time,’ said Trave evenly. ‘You’re Jacob Mendel. I recognize you from when you gave evidence at the Old Bailey two and a half years ago. And you probably know who I am too, judging from the interest you’ve been taking in Mr Swain’s new trial.’

There was the glint of recognition in Jacob’s eyes, but Jacob said nothing, continuing to glower at Trave and Clayton as if trying to work out a strategy for a second escape attempt.

‘We can talk down here,’ said Trave, ‘or upstairs. Personally I’d prefer upstairs. But it’s up to you.’

Jacob appeared to hesitate, and then, to Clayton’s surprise, he turned and began slowly climbing the stairs, keeping hold of the banister for support. The policemen followed at a cautious distance behind, and then, once they were back in the living room, Jacob pulled out the chair and sat down heavily at the table with his hands folded in front of him, watching silently as Trave turned on the light and then went over to the armchair by the window. Clayton took up position in the doorway on Jacob’s other side, barring his route of escape.

‘I went to Antwerp to see your grandmother,’ said Trave, opening the conversation. ‘She’s worried about you, wants to know where you are.’

‘Well, you can tell her you found me and that I’m all right,’ said Jacob with finality, as if there was nothing more to say.

‘Why don’t you tell her yourself? She’s an old lady and she loves you — she told me you’re her last living relative.’

‘She’s old and she’s blind,’ Jacob burst out angrily. ‘Wilfully blind — she believes in Titus Osman and all his lies. Just like Ethan did, and I don’t want to hear any more of that.’

‘Well, you won’t from me,’ said Trave quietly. ‘I’ve lost my job over Osman, but I think you already know that, don’t you?’ he added, pointing up at a newsapaper cutting sellotaped to the wall, describing David Swain’s arrest and Trave’s suspension from duty. ‘We’re on the same side, you and I. Why do you say Ethan believed in Osman?’

‘Because he had to have done. He wrote me that letter from Munich about finding out something vital and then flew back to England and went straight to see Osman. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t believe in Osman, would he? He’d found out something that affected Osman — that’s why he wanted to talk to him, but it wasn’t something that shook his faith in the bastard. If it had, he’d be alive today,’ said Jacob bitterly. He spoke in a rush, as if relieved to finally have an outlet for the thoughts that had obsessed him for so long.

‘And you think that that something he found out was about Franz Claes?’ asked Trave, looking over at Claes’s photographs on the wall.

‘Yes. Who else? Claes was Osman’s contact in the secret police. That’s how Osman got Jews out, or got them caught.’

‘All right, so what you’re saying is that Ethan found out something incriminating about Claes and told Osman, who killed Ethan because of it and then set up David Swain to take the blame? Is that right?’ asked Trave, speaking slowly as he put the pieces together.

‘Yes, exactly right. It’s the truth,’ said Jacob passionately. ‘I know it is. I just can’t prove it — that’s all. Claes is the key. I can show he was involved in Belgian fascist politics before the war; that he was invalided out of the Belgian army after the German invasion and went to work for the interior ministry; that he had dealings with the AJB, the Jewish Council; and that he was involved with the secret police…’

‘Sipo SD?’ asked Trave, pointing over at the photograph of Claes with the two men in German uniforms.

‘Yes. Ernst Ehlers, the man on the right, was in charge of the Gestapo in Belgium, and the other one, Kurt Asche, was head of its anti-Jewish department, but Claes was always behind them in the shadows. I don’t know what he did. And what I’ve got on him isn’t enough. I’m not sure that it’s even a crime; it’s certainly not enough of a secret to kill people for. No, the information Ethan discovered was in West Germany, not Belgium, and in Germany I’ve found nothing. But it’s there. I know it is,’ said Jacob, making no effort to conceal his frustration.

‘Why?’ asked Trave. ‘Why are you so certain?’

‘Because Claes disappeared in late 1943 — just after my parents got arrested at the French border, in fact, although I don’t know if there’s a connection. And then there’s no trace of him until he turns up here a couple of years after the war, living the good life with Titus Osman. But that’s not all. He’s a man without a beginning as well. There’s no record of him or his sister in Belgium before 1931, when he joined the army — no birth certificate, nothing. He came from somewhere else — where I don’t know. Maybe he went back to wherever it was in 1943.’

‘To Germany?’

‘Yes, maybe. But there’s no trace of him there or anywhere else in Europe that I can find. And in Belgium I’ve been to every office and read every document that I can lay my hands on, but I need authority to go further, and it doesn’t make it any easier that there’s no appetite for investigating the occupation in my country. They want to look forward, not back. I think it’s because a lot of them collaborated with the Nazis. Belgian police helped with the round-ups, you know. Just like in France.’

Jacob’s bitterness was obvious, and Clayton, watching from over by the door, thought that Jacob was the first real fanatic that he’d ever met. Silent at first, Jacob now couldn’t stop talking — it was like a dam had burst, releasing the rage and frustration that had built up inside him through the long, lonely months he’d spent in this room cutting up newspapers and feeding his obsession with Titus Osman, who was almost certainly an entirely innocent man. If Claes had committed the murders in order to conceal his criminal past, then there was no reason he hadn’t acted alone or with his peculiar sister. Jacob was even more obsessed with Osman than Trave, thought Clayton. He remembered the shooting-club document he’d seen on the table earlier and wondered uneasily if Jacob had a gun.

‘What were you doing out at Blackwater today?’ Clayton asked, speaking for the first time. ‘I saw you in the woods watching the house.’

Jacob swung round to look at Clayton, and the hostility was back in his eyes.

‘I was looking,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

‘But you broke in there last summer, didn’t you, and had a fight with Claes? Is that why you changed your name? In case he came looking for you? Or the police did?’

Jacob glowered at Clayton and then turned back to Trave. ‘Who’s he?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Does he work for that man who’s taken over from you — Macrae?’

‘He’s with me,’ said Trave. ‘And there’s no point pretending it wasn’t you. Your glasses in the bedroom match the ones Claes knocked off your nose. You broke into Blackwater Hall because you wanted to find evidence against Osman, didn’t you? I’d probably have done the same in your shoes.’

Jacob looked defiant, saying nothing.

‘So what did you do when breaking in didn’t work?’ Trave pressed. ‘What did you do next?’

‘I talked to Katya,’ said Jacob flatly.

‘Yes,’ said Trave quietly. ‘I thought you might have done.’ He put his hand up to his face and turned away, looking out through the window into the darkness. The image of Katya dead pushed up at him from where it always lay, frozen just beneath the surface of his consciousness with all the other horrors that he tried to keep shut out of his conscious mind. Again he saw her long blonde hair trailing across the pillow, her sunken cheeks, her beautiful, empty eyes. She’d died because she’d found something out, because Jacob Mendel had asked her to look, because he hadn’t had the courage to go in there again himself. A wave of hatred for Jacob shook Trave for a moment, but then with an effort of will he pushed it away, clearing his mind of emotion.

‘I wish I hadn’t,’ said Jacob, sensing the accusation in Trave’s silence. ‘God knows I feel responsible for what happened to her. And to Swain — I’ve sent his lawyers copies of everything I’ve got on Claes, but I don’t know if it’ll make any difference…’

‘Tell me what happened with Katya,’ said Trave, ignoring Jacob’s attempt to change the subject. ‘Maybe you’ll feel better if you get it off your chest.’

‘I’d met her at Ethan’s funeral, and so she knew who I was,’ said Jacob, speaking slowly as if the words were hard to get out. ‘We sat in a cafe down the road from here, and I showed her the photographs of Claes. I told her everything, and she went white, whiter than I’ve ever seen anyone — white and silent. And then she believed. Just like she believed it was David Swain before. Because that’s what she was like — she was passionate, overflowing with emotion. And beautiful too — I understood why Ethan had loved her. And I didn’t even have to ask her to look, you know. She said she would — in Osman’s bedroom, in Claes’s bedroom — places I could never hope to get at. She called me a week later at the time we’d agreed on. She said she hadn’t found anything, but not to give up because she hadn’t finished searching. And then, after that, I heard nothing until… until she died.’

‘How long? How long did you hear nothing?’ asked Trave.

‘Three or four weeks. I don’t know. She told me that I’d have to be patient, and there was no way I could contact her without attracting Osman’s suspicion. Don’t you think I regret it now?’ said Jacob angrily.

‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ said Trave. ‘But breaking into Blackwater Hall won’t help.’

‘How do you know? Katya found something. That’s why they killed her.’

‘And if she found something, they’ve already got rid of it a long time ago,’ said Trave. ‘You’re clutching at straws.’

‘Maybe. But that’s better than doing nothing — like you,’ said Jacob angrily. ‘This is the end game, don’t you see?’ he went on passionately. ‘If Swain is convicted of Katya’s murder, if he’s executed for it, then they’ve won. They’ll have got away with everything.’

‘Then you need to give evidence at his trial. Sending Swain’s lawyers copies of old pictures of Claes isn’t enough. You know that,’ said Trave, pointing up at the documents covering the walls. ‘You need to tell the jury that you asked Katya to search. Without that they’ve got no connection between Claes and Katya.’

‘But the connection’s not enough,’ said Jacob. ‘Like I told you before, hiding what I’ve dug up isn’t worth killing for. I need more. That’s why I asked Katya to look, for God’s sake.’

‘The jurors will still need to hear from you. Without you they won’t understand why she was vulnerable in that house,’ said Trave urgently.

‘Assuming they believe me,’ said Jacob. It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t believe they would.

‘Try them. Maybe they will.’

But Jacob didn’t rise to the challenge. ‘I know what you’re saying,’ he said with a sigh — ‘don’t think I haven’t thought about going to court, still think about it all the time, but if I give evidence, Osman and Claes will know who I am, and I won’t last long after that.’

‘They probably do already, and anyway it’s a chance you’ll have to take,’ said Trave. ‘You owe Katya that much.’

‘I owe her everything. And that’s why I can’t let them find me. I can’t let them succeed. I have to stop them.’

‘They — you keep saying they,’ said Clayton, unable to contain his irritation. He didn’t like Jacob, he realized — didn’t like the man’s melodrama, his certainty that he knew best. ‘You’ve got no evidence whatsoever against Osman that I can see. Just guilt by association. Why couldn’t Claes have been acting alone — if he acted at all?’

‘Because he wasn’t — my brother died because he spoke to Osman

…’

‘You don’t know that. Maybe he talked to Claes that afternoon after he saw Osman,’ said Clayton, interrupting. ‘Didn’t you just say five minutes ago that whatever your brother dug up in West Germany had nothing to do with Osman because, if it had, Ethan wouldn’t have rushed back to have lunch with him? You can’t have it both ways.’

‘I’m not trying to,’ said Jacob angrily. ‘You’re just twisting my words. Claes couldn’t have kept Katya a prisoner without Osman…’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean Osman killed her. He told us he was keeping Katya at Blackwater for her own good when we talked to him, and we’ve got independent evidence that that much is true,’ said Clayton, glancing over at Trave, who refused to meet his eye.

‘You don’t see because you don’t want to see,’ said Jacob, looking over at Clayton with obvious hostility. ‘The two of them — they’re in it together: they have been from the start. Osman targeted my family; he planned the whole thing. He knew my father was wealthy — he’d dealt with him lots of times at the Antwerp diamond exchange before the war, and he knew that my father had hidden most of his diamonds when the Nazis came, just like the other Jewish traders did. He got me and my brother out of Belgium because he knew he had to get my parents to trust him with their escape. And the plan worked — my parents must have had at least half their fortune sewn into their clothes when Claes met them at the border. And sent them to Mechelen. Do you know about Mechelen, Inspector?’ Jacob asked, turning to Trave.

‘Yes, your grandmother told me,’ said Trave quietly.

‘But you didn’t go there, did you? You didn’t see it?’ Trave shook his head. ‘I thought not. It doesn’t look like anything nowadays — just an old barracks near the railway line with a big enclosed courtyard in the middle. The Belgian army use it as an officer training school. A school — can you believe it? And there’s nothing there except a tiny plaque to say what it was, when there should be a monument, the biggest bloody monument in Belgium to stop them forgetting. They shouldn’t be allowed to forget…’

Jacob broke off, drawing deep breaths to control his anger. And when he resumed speaking, it was in a new, flat, expressionless tone, as if he knew that this was the only way that he could safely talk about the past.

‘The commandant there was called Schmitt — Philip Schmitt. He was a sadist — strip-searched the women himself when they arrived and used his big alsation on the prisoners. One of them died from bites. But he was the only one who did. People didn’t die in Mechelen. They needed them alive to make up the numbers for the trains. It was easy at first — the Jews reported to the camp themselves, called up for forced labour in the east, and the SS was sending out two trains a week. But then rumours got out about what was really waiting at the other end of the line, and the Jews went into hiding. The Nazis started doing round-ups, night arrests, but still there were fewer Jews coming into Mechelen than before, and so they had to wait until there were enough of them for a convoy. My parents had to wait two months, Inspector. I don’t know if they knew where they were going — I pray in my heart that they didn’t, but in my head I know they did. And yet they must have hoped, hoped right up to the end that they weren’t going where they feared they were going, that they would survive.’

Jacob broke off, looking out into the darkness outside the window, as if he was trying to search back into the past.

‘The SS used third-class passenger carriages at first when they began the deportations in 1942,’ he went on again after a moment, ‘but then people started jumping out of the windows, and so they switched to goods wagons — seventy Jews locked in each truck for two or three days with no food, no water, almost no ventilation, and at the end — the end of the world. Screaming and shouting and barbed wire and arc lights and dogs and… and…’

‘You don’t need to tell us this. You don’t have to,’ said Trave. ‘We understand…’

‘No, you don’t. You don’t understand,’ Jacob interrupted passionately. ‘The selections were done straight away at the end of the platform. You probably know that — right to the camp, left to the gas. And my parents — they were split up. My father was selected to live; my mother to die. And so that was their last moment — being dragged apart in that terrible place. I see it through his eyes; I see it through her eyes. On and on and on forever.’

‘How do you know this?’ asked Trave. ‘Your grandmother didn’t say

…’

‘I didn’t tell her. She’s suffered enough — why should she have to live with that knowledge? I found it out from the SS records — the Germans kept lists of everything. That was their way. Both my parents were on the convoy when it left Mechelen, but only my father’s name was recorded as entering the camp. And he lasted six months and two weeks — about average for someone of his age — before he went to the gas as well. People didn’t survive. It’s a myth to say they did. Twenty-five thousand Jews went from Mechelen to Auschwitz in two years, from 1942 to 1944, and a thousand came back; and then no one wanted to hear what they had to say. No one except people like me — orphaned children who’d been hidden or escaped. And it’s up to us to make devils like Claes and Osman pay for what they did to our people — even if you gentiles won’t.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Clayton, stirring. He was still standing by the door, continuing to bar Jacob’s only possible route of escape.

‘I mean you, Detective Whatever Your Name Is,’ said Jacob, half-spitting out his words as he fixed Clayton with a hostile glare. ‘You seem a lot more interested in me breaking into Blackwater Hall last summer than what those bastards have been doing in there. That’s what I mean.’

‘Burglary’s a crime,’ said Clayton, riled. ‘And you’ve got no proof against Osman, or Claes either for that matter. We don’t punish people without proof — not in this country.’

‘Proof!’ said Jacob with an angry laugh. ‘Like the proof that you police are using against that poor bastard, Swain, up in London just so that you can hang him for something he never did? I won’t let them get away with it, I tell you. I won’t let them win — proof or no proof.’

‘No one’s above the law,’ said Trave softly. ‘If you’ve got something else on Claes or Osman, show it to us. I promise you that I want to find evidence against them as much as you do.’

Jacob gave Trave a long, searching look and then glanced back at Clayton. He looked like he was weighing something up in his mind. ‘Okay,’ he said, as if coming to a final decision. ‘I’ll show you what else I have.’ He got up from his chair and crossed over to the filing cabinet in the corner, using a key on his ring to unlock it. He opened the middle drawer all the way and bent down over it as if searching for something. Suddenly, too late, Clayton sensed what was happening. He rushed toward Jacob but then stopped dead in his tracks as the young man turned round to face him with a revolver gripped in his hand.

‘I know where you want to take me,’ Jacob said slowly, speaking to Clayton now, not Trave. ‘You want to lock me up for that burglary so I don’t try it again and take a gun with me this time. Maybe you’re right: I’ve reached the end of my tether and I’ll stop at nothing now — nothing.

‘Now get over there with the inspector. I’ll use this thing if I have to.’

Clayton didn’t know whether he believed Jacob, but he wasn’t going to put his doubts to the test. Keeping his eyes fixed on the revolver, he edged across the room to join Trave by the window.

Powerless, the two policemen watched as Jacob pulled out a rucksack from behind the filing cabinet. It was already packed, and they realized that Jacob must have been prepared for this day for a long time.

‘You’re making a mistake,’ said Trave. ‘Can’t you see I want to help you?’

‘Yes, maybe you do, although I don’t trust him,’ said Jacob, indicating Clayton with a wave of his gun. ‘But it doesn’t matter what you want any more. You’ve had your chance and you achieved nothing — just got David Swain arrested for something he never did. Osman played you just like he played my father, and now he’s got your pretty wife on his arm and my family’s diamonds in the bank.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Trave.

‘Do? I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring them to justice — I promise you that, Inspector,’ said Jacob. He sounded as if he was taking an oath. ‘Now I’m going to lock you both in,’ he said, backing away toward the door. ‘Don’t come after me or I’ll shoot. I don’t want to, but I will.’

He turned out the light and closed the door, and moments later the two policemen heard the front door of the flat closing and a key turning in the lock.

They crossed over to the window and the pale moonlight illuminated their tired, impotent faces as they watched Jacob getting on his scooter down below. He turned on the engine and rode away into the darkness without once looking back.