Short story: PART 3
DS Carpenter’s investigation uncovers a bitter legacy of the war years
In Part 2 Police detectives are brought in to investigate the threatening notes that Greta has received. When they reach a dead end, Greta reveals that her father was in the Luftwaffe, not the RAF. Could he really be responsible for the death of someone whose relation now wants to take revenge on Greta?
The letters had been posted locally and the graphologist thought they were written by a woman…
DS Tessa Carpenter finished her doughnut and wiped a smear of jam off her chin. She said: “Rolf Brandt was the pilot of a fighter plane protecting bombers coming over the east coast in 1943. Ditched in the North Sea, fished out by a patrol boat.”
“I never knew there were British PoW camps,” sad DS Hughes, a trifle disapprovingly. “I thought only the Germans had them.”
“Grow up, Hughie! What do you think happened to all those Luftwaffe lads who got shot down over England?” “So we had the same thing then? Like in The Great Escape?”
“Yep.” Tessa hadn’t known about the camps either until she researched online, trying to work out why something that happened 70 years ago was coming back to bite now. After all, Greta Hurst hadn’t even been born until 1946. But that last note (‘Your father was a Jerry. I know what he did’) proved there was some connection. So what had Rolf Brandt done? At least they were now searching in the right area. She had people trawling through the records to find a prisoner of that name, but it was taking up valuable time. Time they might not have because who knew if the anonymous letter writer would carry out his or her threats? The police couldn’t mount a 24-hour guard over Greta, but Libby had promised to stay close to her grandmother. Hughes wondered why anyone should care that Greta’s father had been German. During the war, yes. Even after the war while old wounds took time to heal, but now?
Tessa guessed the explanation lay in the England of the Forties. And how was she going to access that with nobody alive to tell her what she needed to know?
“What about Greta’s mother?” Hughes wondered.
“Died of cancer.” Tessa drummed her fingers. “Think I’ll go and have a word with the care home Ralph was in for his last few years.” It was a long shot, but she had run out of any other leads. All Forensics could tell her was that the letters had been posted locally and the graphologist thought they had been written by a woman. “That narrows the field,” Hughes commented bitterly. The manager of the care home wasn’t much help. She said: “All Mr Brand’s belongings were returned to his
family. But have a word with Kate – he was one of her charges and she might remember something useful.”
Kate Smith was a thin woman in her 40s. She wore a blue nylon overall and an air of resentment at having her routine interrupted. “All his photos and stuff were put in an envelope. How do you expect me to remember anything he said? There have been two more people in that room since then.” “Well, it was just a chance,” Tessa said lightly. Kate’s expression softened a little. “I’d help if I could. He was a nice old boy, but I don’t remember anything much about him. Sorry.” Tessa returned to Home Farm. When Greta opened the door, without any preamble she asked: “Have you still got the envelope the care home gave you after your father died?”
“It’s in the box with some other bits and pieces of his,” a startled Greta replied.
“Have you looked at what is in it?” “I just flipped through. Come to think of it, there were a couple of letters missing. They were ones he’d written to my mother from the PoW camp. He kept them in his wallet after she died.” “Oh?”
“Dad fell in love with my mum, Sybil, when he was sent to work here on the farm. That was why he escaped. He was afraid of being repatriated because his home was in the East and it would be under Russian control which meant he might never return. For the last few months of the war, she hid him until they could safely get married. But none of that explains why someone hates me.”
Tessa banged her hand on the table: “I think it might!”
Later that day a sullen Kate Smith sat at the table in the station’s interview room. “OK, I sent them. So? I was never going to hurt her – just make her scared, to pay her back.”
“Pay her back for what?” Tessa asked gently.
“My granddad was a guard at that camp. He broke every rule by allowing Rolf Brandt to escape to be with his girl. Another guard, Alf Connors, got wind of it. Alf was smitten with Sybil, too, so he went to the farm and waited for Rolf. There was a fight and Rolf escaped. Alf blew the whistle on Grandpa who was severely punished. He was not a strong man. He died a week before my dad was born.” “But nobody killed your granddad, or your dad,” Hughes looked confused. “They might as well have killed him. Gran struggled to bring my dad up on her own. Then he died in a car accident when I was only eight. We never had nothing and there was this Greta, swanning around in her nice house and nice car. When I saw Sybil’s name in those letters, I decided to get some revenge.” “Actually,” Tessa said, “it was Sybil who bashed Alf over the head before he could shoot Rolf and claim he was resisting arrest.”
A tear rolled down Kate’s cheek. “What does it matter now?”
Tessa stood up. “You’re right, it doesn’t. Rolf and Sybil fell in love in wartime. They never meant to hurt anyone.”
Kate mumbled: “I don’t know what got into me. We can’t change the past.” “Luckily for you, Mrs Hurst won’t be pressing charges.”
Back in Greta’s kitchen, Libby said: “Quite a story, eh, Nanna? But the war is history so why don’t we sign our own peace treaty with that poor woman, Kate, and ask her over for tea one day soon?”
“Good idea, Libby. And we’ll have your favourite apple strudel my German grandma taught me to make.”
‘We never had nothing… and when I saw Sybil’s name in those letters, I decided to get some revenge’