Hidden In Plain Sight.

Chapter Fourteen.

At 2am, the only person awake in the Belgravia mansion was Raif. He was sitting in silence in an armchair in semi-darkness in the corner of his room, a full moon glowing outside in a cloudless night sky and throwing eerie shafts of half-light through an open curtained window.

He'd convinced himself that he'd finally buried his memories of Helen and the interminable grief that accompanied them. Having found Theresa again, after so long, the only woman he'd felt any affection for since losing Helen, he'd thought that, by supporting her through what was going to be a difficult time ahead, it would lay his intense sorrow to rest for good and concentrate his mind on pastures new.

But now, once again, his mind was whirring like a cine projector, images of Helen stark as she turned to blow him a kiss, then wave to him for the last time from the top step of the ladder resting against the fuselage and leading to the open door of a Westland Lysander, an aircraft with exceptional short-field performance for clandestine missions using small, unprepared airstrips behind enemy lines to place or recover agents, particularly in occupied France with the help of the French Resistance.

Twisting the plain gold engagement band nervously around the third finger of his left hand continually, the knowledge that she was flying into the jaws of a brutal enemy and the dreadful dangers she might face, especially if captured, had made him swallow the tears bubbling in his throat, not wanting his colleagues to see him crying.

But now, in the privacy of his bedroom, he allowed them to flow freely down his cheeks, the pictures vividly playing out in his mind's eye of Helen disappearing through the aeroplane's open door. He still wore that ring, albeit on the third finger of his right hand and was now twisting it around just as before.

Tonight was the 50th anniversary of her fateful flight and, sitting in slence with eyes tightly shut, he recalled the Lysander taxiing away to the far end of the runway, then, with single engine at full roar, come screaming past him, it's wheels finally letting go of the ground as it soared into the night sky. On that night, so long ago, he remained rooted to the spot until it had completely disappeared from sight.

Raif broke down fully now, the pain in his heart almost unbearable, his tears a continual flow, his chest heaving uncontrollably, until, mercifully, many minutes later, he was eventually spent.

Once his breathing had returned to normal, he calmly and quietly, stood up and went to his battered and well worn leather suitcase, one that had been issued to him in 1942. Opening it, he threw back the lid, unfastened a secret area in the fabric via a hidden zip and looked down at the .45 calibre Ballester-Moliner semi-automatic pistol nestling in it's specially designed compartment. It was one of 8,000 purchased by the War Department from the Argentinians in 1941 and was still in perfect working order, Raif having regularly stripped, cleaned and oiled it, even though he hadn't fired it for nearly 50 years.

Next to it was a piece of grey coloured cloth. Raif unwrapped it carefully, finally lifting out the ammunition clip, still packed full with seven bullets, and slid it into the handle grip from the bottom, slamming it into place with the palm of his hand, then pulling backwards hard across the top of the weapon, before letting it spring back into place with a satisfying, loud click.

Now, it was armed.

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Over at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead, Paul Lewis hadn't slept much either. His mind was full of Georgina's revelation as to who exactly had been behind the attack on him and his business.

By mid morning, following a request to Jenny Sanders to bring him a telephone, his partner Dave was paying him a visit and they were deep in whispered conversation, something not gone unnoticed by Jenny. After another half an hour, Dave stood up, patted the bedclothes and raised his hand in a gesture of farewell, catching Jenny's eye and winking at her on his way out.

"Your business partner, I presume?" she asked.

"Yeah." replied Paul. "Big sod isn't he!"

"He is rather." agreed Jenny. "Handy to have around, I'd say."

"Very." answered Paul. "Unnattached too, if you're interested."

Jenny reached into her pocket and produced a small velvet covered box. Lifting the lid exposed a diamond ring. "I'm a happily married woman, I'll have you know, Mr Lewis."

"That won't stop him!" chuckled Paul. "Anyway, why do you keep your ring hidden?"

"Rules." replied Jenny. "We nurses aren't allowed to wear jewellry whilst on duty. For one thing, too many occasions where certain trinkets have accidently been sewn up inside a patient during surgery."

"Bloody hell! You kidding!? asked Paul, incredulously.

"Straight up." confirmed Jenny, giggling at the look on his face. "Now, lunch?"

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The melancholy mood that had settled over them the previous afternoon was still prevalent in the dining room when Harry and Dempsey joined the others for breakfast. No-one in particular seemed to want to discuss the subject of Kurt Scheel, the proof still proving so elusive of his true history that the feeling of so near, yet so far had, albeit temporarily, dampened their enthusiasm.

They ate in silence, until Freddy broke it.

"How is Alex this morning?"

"Oh she's well on the mend now, Daddy." replied Harry. "And she's desperate to see Hilda."

"I expect she is, bless her." said Freddy. "But she's still contagious, isn't she?"

"Yes, so she's having to stay indoors and kept warm." said Harry. "She might be clear by the weekend though, perhaps Sunday. It's only a couple more days. I'll call Georgina on Saturday and see if Hilda would like Alex to go over."

"Goddammit!" exclaimed Dempsey suddenly and making them all jump. "Can we stop pussy footin' aroun' an' get back ta the job in hand. Kurt Scheel!"

Harry covered Dempsey's hand with hers, Freddy cleared his throat.

"Yes, yes of course James." he said. "You are quite right. We all feel the end is in sight but frustrated as to how to reach it. I'm going to call Simon Weisenthal and some contacts in Berlin. One way or another we will find incontrovertible proof that Christopher Steele existed as Kurt Scheel prior to 1948. We've been digging, but not deep enough."

"Did ya think ta ask that Kimmel guy if he knew of anybody else aroun' at the time who might still be livin'?" asked Dempsey. "He can't have acted alone in arrangin' new identities."

"We did, yes." confirmed Freddy. "But he said as far as he was aware they were all either dead, in gaol or, if they'd escaped capture, living anonymously."

"Well mebbee his memory needs tweakin' a bit more" proposed Dempsey.

"And how do you suggest we go about 'tweaking' his memory, James?" asked Raif.

"I dunno. Play ta his God fearin' nature!?" suggested Dempsey. "Get some names outta him an' get ya contacts trawlin' for 'em, Freddy."

"I'll have a word with his priest." said Freddy. "If anybody can draw a few names out of him, Father Scholz can. He was there when Kimmel converted to Catholicism."

"Yeah an' in the meantime, I still wonder whether we oughtta confront Steele." mused Dempsey. "Put some heat on the frickin' maggot! Let him know we're snappin' at his heels. Mebbee he'll let somethin' slip."

"We don't necessarily have to arrest him at this stage, Dempsey." said Harry. "Why not just pay him a visit?"

"Uh-huh." nodded Dempsey " An' say what, princess?"

"We could say that having arrested Theresa, we found under questioning, that she kidnapped Hilda as revenge for his role in her brother's death. See how he reacts and take it from there."

"Yeah, an' I guess we can also tell him we got the first ransom note, fingerprints provin' it was Theresa who put it together." said Dempsey. "An' we have the second note with his fingerprints all over, but not hers, provin' he put it together."

"Yes and we want some answers." smiled Harry, taking his arm. "Even if we don't get any, at least we can let him know we're on to him. Come on, what are we waiting for?"

"Good luck you two." said Freddy. "He'll prove slippery, so keep your wits about you. I hope to have some news for you when you return."

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Christopher Steele had only been in his office for fifteen minutes when his intercom buzzed.

"Yes!" he snapped, irritated that he hadn't even had his morning coffee brought to him yet.

"Sorry to disturb you sir, but there's a Chief Inspector Dempsey and an Inspector Makepeace here to see you." Rose, his secretary, announced.

"What do they want!?"

"They say it has to do with your granddaughter, sir."

Steele sighed.

"Alright, show them up." he ordered. "But Rose, buzz me in ten minutes to say my meeting is due."

"Er, yes sir." she replied. "Will you all want coffee?"

"Yes, I suppose so." moaned Steele.

A few minutes later, Dempsey and Harry were ushered into Steele's palatial office.

"Would you like some coffee?" asked Rose.

"Er, yeah, black, no sugar." replied Dempsey, Harry nodding and holding up two fingers to indicate the order was in duplicate. Rose retreated quietly.

"So, what is it about my granddaughter that makes you barge in here without an appointment?" hissed Steele. "I'm a very busy man, so get to the point."

Dempsey could feel his hackles rising already, but a light brush of his arm from Harry and gritted teeth on his part, kept his temper in check.

"Mr Steele, we arrested a Theresa Creighton for the abduction and imprisonment of Hilda, your granddaughter on Tuesday." said Harry. "Does her name mean anything to you?"

"No! Why should it!?" answered Steele, irritably.

"Because she had a brother. Sergeant Jonny Creighton. He was an agent with the SOE in World War Two." replied Harry, certain she saw a flicker of recognition pass over the cold pale blue eyes staring at her from across his desk.

"You heard of the SOE?" asked Dempsey.

"Yes. So? What of it?" asked Steele. "I don't know of any Sergeant Jonny Creighton. Why should I?"

Dempsey wasn't going to mess about. He was going straight for the jugular, hit Steele with something he was least expecting and wait or the reaction.

"'Cos you tortured and murdered him." said Dempsey, quietly yet with menace in his voice, his brown eyes boring into Steele.

There was a second's pause before Steele answered.

"What complete nonsense!" he retorted. "Where did you get that rubbish from?"

"Well, for starters, a note, compiled by Miss Creighton, which stated if you didn't come clean as an ex Gestapo officer, you'd never see your granddaughter again." said Dempsey. "An' another note, put together by you, demandin' five million pounds for her safe return. Both are verified by fingerprints."

"And the first note was designed as revenge for Theresa Creighton on you for torturing and murdering her brother and the second was your futile attempt to bury that information." followed up Harry. "Isn't it true, Mr Steele, that you are, in fact, Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer-SS Kurt Scheel, ex Gestapo officer, a 'specialist' in interrogation methods of the most inhuman kind, who fled Berlin in 1945 to Sao Paulo, Brazil, where a Heidrich Kimmel sheltered you via ODESSA, provided you with a new identity and where you met and married your wife, Madeleine and successfully entered this country in the late autumn of 1947."

Steele's complexion had gone from pale to red and now puce with rage.

"Get out!" he exploded, standing up and throwing his arm out towards his office door. "Get out of my office! How dare you accuse me of being a Nazi war criminal! I am a British citizen, a successful businessman and, so help me God, I'll have you both marched out of the police force!"

Dempsey turned calmly to Harry and smiled.

"Guess we hit a nerve there, Tonto."

"Guess we did Kemosabe." nodded Harry, before turning her gaze on Steele, her eyes deep blue and as cold as ice. "We know who you are and it's only a matter of time before you are indicted for war crimes, Herr Scheel. Sweet dreams."

They both stood and made their way to the office door, just as it was opened by Rose carrying a tray upon which were three cups of coffee.

"By the look of him, sister, he's gonna need more'n coffee! Triple shot of bourbon should do it!" chuckled Dempsey as he glanced back at Steele, still standing and visibly shaking with rage. Or was that fear?

"Well that was short and to the point, Dempsey." said Harry, as she buckled her seat belt.

"Sure was, honey." agreed Dempsey. "But I didn't see the point of stringin' it out. He now knows that we know who he really is. We'll jus' have ta see if he sets off any fireworks. If he's innocent and had jus' been falsely accused, he'll make a hullaballoo 'bout it. But somethin' tells me he ain't gonna say a thing 'cos, if he's smart, he'll know we jus' sent him a shot across his bows. An' if he tries ta take it any further, he risks us torpedoin' his ass!"

Harry chuckled, nodded, but then fell silent.

"Somethin' on ya mind, tiger?" asked Dempsey, as he started the car and accelerated away.

"Something has crossed my mind, Dempsey, yes." replied Harry, quietly.

"Well come on sugar, what is it?"

"It could be morally incomprehensible." murmured Harry.

"Eh, what was that?" questioned Dempsey. "Morally incomprehensible!?"

"Alright, what I'm going to say is basically me thinking out loud, okay?"

"Okay." replied Dempsey, glancing across at her. "Well? Spit it out honey."

"We could throw a bombshell into the Steele family, you know." said Harry. "And it would blow them apart, but might just be enough for Steele to finally put his hands up."

"Go on." said Dempsey, waiting while she gathered her thoughts.

"Okay." said Harry finally. "Look, neither Madeleine nor Steele know of each others history do they. I mean, if Steele learned Madeleine was a Jewess and Madeleine learned her husband was ex Gestapo and a notorious, brutal torturer what do you think that'd do?"

Dempsey pulled the car to a stop and leaned back in his seat.

"Hell fire, Harry!" he exclaimed. "It would tear that family apart!"

"Yes I know, darling. It would be devastating." said Harry. "But, and it's only a but right now, the truth will out at some point and the family will be shredded. But, if it's going to happen anyway, although we don't know exactly when that will be, at least we finally put Steele where he belongs sooner rather than later."

Dempsey studied her and looked past the beautiful face that never failed to start his heart racing. Finally he spoke.

"Honey, listen. If it wasn't for Hilda, I'd kinda go along with ya." he said, reaching his arm around her shoulder. "But that little girl is gonna find out 'bout her grandfather. An' it's somethin' she's gonna have ta live with all her life. Do ya really wanna be the person who kicks that off? You'll be the person she'll remember for destroyin' her love for him too, 'cos, like it or not, I guess she does love him. You want all that on ya conscience?"

"I doubt it's reciprocated much." replied Harry, sadly. "But Madeleine truly does love Hilda and, you're right, I could never forgive myself for causing either that lovely lady or Hilda such heartbreak. Forget I ever said anything, I was just thinking out loud."

"Okay sugar." said Dempsey, restarting the car. "Best we get back an' see if Freddy's dug anythin' new up, huh?"

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In Holloway Prison, Theresa had been careful to keep herself to herself. The place was rife with all manner of inmates, some exceptionally dangerous, others clearly needing to be in a mental home, but those incarcerated for theft, prostitution and/or drug abuse were, in the main, friendly towards her.

However, there was one who had hated Theresa on sight. No-one knew why, but she'd made it her mission to make Theresa's stay as uncomfortable as humanly possible.

Her name was Tracy Norton and within hours of Theresa arriving, she'd already made her presence felt. Sidling up beside her whilst they queued for food, Tracy dug her elbow hard into Theresa's ribs.

As Theresa gasped for breath, Tracy hissed. "That hurt eh - dyke!"

"What's the matter with you!?" panted Theresa, leaning to one side to try and alleviate the pain.

"I don't like you." snarled Tracy.

"You don't even know me, so how can you say you don't like me?" replied Theresa. "Leave me alone, or I'll report you."

For that she got a second dig. "Do that an' I'll kill yer!"

"What's goin' on 'ere?" enquired a female officer, standing at least six foot tall and built like a front row forward. "What's the matter with you, Creighton?"

Tracy's threatening eyes glared at Theresa.

"Er, no nothing officer." said Theresa. "Nothing at all."

"Don't look like nothin'." said the officer. "Why you holdin' yer side like that?"

"I, er, tripped and fell against the counter here." replied Theresa. "Caught me in my side. Winded me a bit. I'll be okay in a minute or two."

"Alright, so move along will yer." ordered the officer. "Others 'ere want their lunch."

Theresa did as she was told, Tracy following close behind.

"You're learnin' dyke!" whispered Tracy, stamping on Theresa's toes. "You'll stay outta me way if yer know what's good fer yer."

Theresa stifled a yell at the pain coursing through her foot and managed to limp to a nearby table, sitting down and close to tears. She gritted her teeth, anxious no-one was watching her as she began to push her food around her plate, any hunger having left her.

Later, alone in her cell, she couldn't sleep. The constant moaning, shouting, screaming and banging from the cells kept her awake all night, so by morning she was in an exceedingly fragile state of mind. She managed to avoid Tracy at meal times and in the exercise yard that day, but back in her cell, she once again couldn't get any peace, lying awake all night.

She was able to stay out of Tracy's way for most of the next day, but when she started on her in the dinner queue, Theresa snapped. Swinging round to face her, she punched her on the jaw, nearly knocking her off her feet. With murderous intent, Tracy regained her balance and, unseen by those watching, drew a toothbrush from beneath her clothes. But this was no ordinary toothbrush. The end of it's handle had been whittled down into a sharp point and, gripping it just below the brush, Tracy stabbed Theresa in the eye, killing her instantly.

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Paul Lewis's partner, Dave, had been busy all day. He'd met with the head of one of London's leading crime syndicates and obtained the gangsters assurance that he'd help to execute the plan Paul had cooked up that morning when Dave had visited him.

Now it was evening and his team of three ruffians were listening intently to the plan.

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When Dempsey and Harry had arrived back at the mansion, Freddy was able to report that he'd made contact with Father Scholz, who would do his best in obtaining as much information from Heidrich Kimmel about former Nazi officers involved with him in Brazil as he could and to await his call. By early evening they were still waiting.

Then a different call came through.

It was Chas, informing them that Theresa Creighton had been murdered in Holloway. While Harry, Dempsey and Freddy stood in shock, they didn't notice Raif steal away to his bedroom.