Title: FW 1941: Centre of Gravity

Author: Wolseley37

Content: Friendship / loyalty / danger / adventure

Rating: General

Disclaimer: Foyle's War was created and written by Anthony Horowitz. No infringement is intended, no profit is made. Just borrowing the characters and premise.

A/N: First began writing this in July 2007 and shared it on the Quietly Enigmatic Forum's FWFF, posted October - November 2007.

Chapter 1

In the end Foyle had had to set off from the station alone.

His sergeant was at the hospital interviewing the curiously laconic man who had survived the road accident; there were no constables immediately on hand; he had even asked for the police photographer, but learned he was busy at the scene of the lorry crash that had started all of this late yesterday afternoon. And, finally, the car that was meant to be at his disposal had been taken by the new Inspector in Uniform Branch. Sam, more than a little disgruntled at having to wait idly at the station while he departed via taxi, had promised to follow him to the warehouses at Rye as soon as the car was returned.

The frustrations of doing this job under these Wartime conditions – understaffed and apparently now underequipped – were wearing on his nerves.

Gazing out the cab window, he had an uncomfortable feeling that his abrupt manner on departure might have suggested to Sam that he felt the missing Wolseley had been her fault. Of course he didn't, but he had been rather curt…

Foyle admitted to himself he was uneasy approaching this investigation without another officer; the crashed lorry – with a secret compartment full of contraband – had been traced to the warehouses where he was about to interview the manager and foreman. Although the immediate purpose was simply to establish this link, without mentioning the hidden cargo, his instinct told him they would be wary and likely to put up an indignant, perhaps aggressive front.

It would have been more appropriate for a lower-ranking officer to start this line of inquiry; his high rank could have the effect of panicking the suspects. However, if he were to tread carefully – the driver might have been acting alone, but he doubted it – he would gather enough information to warrant escalating the investigation and bringing in more officers to conduct a full search of the company's records and premises.

At ten o'clock the taxi dropped him at the open gates to the property at the end of Rock Channel Road; no one was about in the yard surrounding the two large warehouses; beyond them he could see a very active pier and boats docked for unloading. A large-lettered sign directed all visitors to the Manager's Office on the first floor of a small building to the left of the gate. With the chill October wind whipping his coat around his legs, he made his way up the stairs.

It was half-past ten when the Wolseley was brought back to the station, and Sam didn't hesitate to let the Inspector know that Mr. Foyle had left by taxi to conduct interviews of dangerous suspects. She arrived at the address in Rye at eleven, parked the car within the gates, and, assuming he would come down when he'd finished the interviews, waited some ten minutes. Then she had second thoughts and decided it would be best to let him know she was there.

Sam went up the outside stairs to the Manager's Office. There was no secretary at the front desk, but through the glass and a partly open door she could see into the main office where a thin, balding man was speaking on a telephone while consulting a map. As she waited she surreptitiously glanced over the letters and papers on the desk, and took note of the name on the door, Mr. G. Ransley. She overheard half a brief conversation, something about moving an elderly woman, judging by the old-fashioned name – perhaps his mother or an aunt, she speculated – to another place; then the man had glanced up and seen her smiling patiently at him. Sam saw that he flinched in surprise. He mumbled something into the phone and put it down quickly.

Rising and coming round the side of his desk, he asked,
"Yes? What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to collect Mr. Foyle. I'm his driver."

"Who?"

"Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, of the Hastings Police."

"Dunno what you're talking about, miss."

"Well, he came here this morning to make inquiries; he must be here somewhere."

"Inquiries into what?"

"Er… inquiries connected to the lorry that crashed on the Udimore Road yesterday afternoon. Are you saying you haven't spoken with him?"

"Haven't spoken with him; haven't seen him. Are you sure you've got the right address, miss?"

"Yes, quite sure. Perhaps he went straight to the warehouses. I'll just have a look there, shall I?"

"No, you shan't. I'll escort you down."

Outside the entryway to the cavernous warehouse – Sam had got no further under the watchful eye of the Manager – the foreman was polite but unyielding,
"We've seen no policeman down here, miss."

"Well, do you mind if I look round the works yard for him myself? I've been waiting quite a –."

"Oh no, miss, I can't let you do that; it's not safe. This is no place for a young lady to wander – heavy apparatus, lorries coming and going, cranes slinging cargo."

"But how shall I –?"

Mr. Ransley spoke up,
"Look, we'll send one of the lads to do a search. You go and wait in your car. But I really don't think he's been here."

Ransley took her elbow firmly and steered her away from the warehouse, then watched that she did not turn back. As she walked away she heard the great door being pulled across and clanged shut.

Turning to round the corner of the smaller building, Sam spotted a young boy carrying a wooden crate.

"I say, excuse me."

"Yes, miss?" He paused, shifting the weight of the heavy load in his arms.

"Did you, by any chance, see my boss anywhere about, just now? A policeman in a camel coat and a dark trilby hat?"

"No, miss."

"Well, Mr. Ransley said he hadn't seen him, and I thought perhaps he was interviewing some of the men," she gestured towards the warehouse, "but they say he's not there."

"Did you speak to the foreman, Mr. Elphick?"

"Yes. He told me he knew nothing about it, that he hadn't seen him either."

"That is strange, but I haven't seen him, miss."

"But– he must be here …somewhere." She put her hand to her forehead, confused.

"I can't help you, miss; but no one's to wander round here without permission – or without an escort."

"Well, I can't very well leave without him; could you take me round? My name's Sam; what's yours?"

The boy looked worried for a moment, then gave in to the expression of appeal on her face,
"Er… Just let me set this down. Wait here. …I'm Fred." he said over his shoulder as he carried the crate through the door to the ground floor of the building.

Fred guided Sam between the two large warehouses to look over the docks where there was a lot of confusing activity of boats being unloaded and cargo being shifted. The men carried on their work quite undisturbed; there was no sign of Mr. Foyle.

Sam wouldn't have noticed, but Fred remarked that it was odd that the old 'Belle' was leaving. He gestured towards the water where a largish boat was making its way down the narrow channel of the river, towing a small boat behind it.

Sam asked,
"Why is that odd?"

"Well, she hasn't moved since I've been here."

"Can you make out the crew?"

The boy shook his head; she was about to ask how long he'd worked for Mr. Ransley, when an angry voice hailed them,
"Oy! Fred, what do you think you're doing?"

"Just helping this lady to find her boss, Mr. Elphick."

Sam spoke up,
"It's my fault; I asked Fred to take me round. I didn't mean to get him into trouble."

"Look, no one's seen this Mr. Foyle anywhere here. Have you seen him, Fred?"

"No, sir."

"I sent a man to look, as Mr. Ransley told you we would, and there's no sign of him, all right? Now, I think you should go, miss; before you get hurt. Fred, get back to work."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, miss."

The boy trotted off and the foreman took hold of her arm none too gently, and walked her all the way to the door of the Wolseley.

"Look, please don't blame Fred; I asked him to help me."

"Get in."

She started the engine and manoeuvred the car in reverse through the gates. As she shifted into forward gear, Sam paused to glance at the empty seat beside her, and then stared out through the side window into the warehouse yard, helplessly and with a disbelieving expression. How could she return alone to the station? What on earth would she say to Sgt. Milner – that she'd lost Mr. Foyle?

tbc...