who’s asking, is good enough for me.” Donald read out the
three numbers, and Leeke asked him to hang on for a moment. While we waited,
Donald told me, “All they have to do is press a few buttons in the control
room, and the numbers will appear on a screen in front of him. Things have
changed since I first joined the force. In those days we had to let our legs do
the walking.” The Deputy Chief Constable’s voice came back on the line.
“Right, the
first number’s come up. 64o737 is a Wing Commander Danvers-Smith. He’s the only
person registered as living in the house.” He read out an address in Great
Shelfor& which he explained was just to the south of Cambridge. Jenny wrote
the details down.
^”767 is a
Professor and Mrs. Balcescu, also living in Great Shelfor& 787 is Dame
Julia Renaud, the opera singer. She lives in Grantchester. We know her quite
well. She’s hardly ever at home, because of her concert commitments all over
the world.
Her house has
been burgled three times in the last year, always when she was abroad.”
“Thank you,”
said Donald. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“Anything you
want to tell me ? ” asked the Deputy Chief Constable,
sounding hopeful.
“Not at the
moment,” replied Donald. “But as soon as I’ve finished my investigation, I
promise you’ll be the first person to be informed.”
“Fair enough,”
came back the reply, and the line went dead.
“Right,” Donald
said, turning his attention back to us. “We leave for Cambridge in a couple of
hours. That will give us enough time to pack, and for Jenny to book us into a hotel near the city centre.
We’ll meet back
here at’ – he checked his watch – ‘six o’clock.” He walked out of the room
without uttering another word. I remember thinking that my father would have
got on well with him.
Just over two
hours later, Jenny was driving us at a steady sixty-nine
miles per hour down the A.
“Now the boring
part of detective work begins,” said Donald.
“Intense
research, followed by hours of surveillance. I think we can
safely ignore Dame Julia. Jenny, you get to work on the wing commander. I want
details of his career from the day he left school to the day he retired. First
thing tomorrow you can begin by contacting RAF College Cranwell, and asking for
details of his service record.
I’ll take the
professor, and make a start in the university library.’
“What do I do?”
I asked.
“For the time
being, Mr. Cooper, you keep yourself well out of sight. It’s just possible that
the wing commander or the professor might lead us to Alexander, so we don’t
need you trampling over any suspects and frightening them off.” I reluctantly
agreed.
Later that night
I settled into a suite at the Garden House Hotel - a more refined sort of
prison – but despite feather pillows and a comfortable mattress I was quite unable
to sleep. I rose early the next morning and spent most of the day watching
endless updates on Sky News, episodes of various Australian soaps, and a “Film
of the Week’ every two hours. But my mind was continually switching between RAF
Cranwell
and the university library.
When we met up
in Donald’s room that evening, he and Jenny confirmed that their initial
research suggested that both men were who they purported to be.
“I was sure one
of them would turn out to be Jeremy,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment.
“It would be
nice if it was always that easy, Mr. Cooper,” said Donald. “But it doesn’t mean
that one of them won’t lead us to Jeremy.” He turned to Jenny. “First, let’s go
over what you found out about the wing commander.”
“Wing Commander
Danvers-Smith DFC graduated from Cranwell in 2938, served with Number Two
Squadron at Binbrook in Lincolnshire during the Second World War, and flew
several missions over Germany and occupied France. He was awarded the DFC for
gallantry in 2943. He was grounded in 958, and became an instructor at
three numbers, and Leeke asked him to hang on for a moment. While we waited,
Donald told me, “All they have to do is press a few buttons in the control
room, and the numbers will appear on a screen in front of him. Things have
changed since I first joined the force. In those days we had to let our legs do
the walking.” The Deputy Chief Constable’s voice came back on the line.
“Right, the
first number’s come up. 64o737 is a Wing Commander Danvers-Smith. He’s the only
person registered as living in the house.” He read out an address in Great
Shelfor& which he explained was just to the south of Cambridge. Jenny wrote
the details down.
^”767 is a
Professor and Mrs. Balcescu, also living in Great Shelfor& 787 is Dame
Julia Renaud, the opera singer. She lives in Grantchester. We know her quite
well. She’s hardly ever at home, because of her concert commitments all over
the world.
Her house has
been burgled three times in the last year, always when she was abroad.”
“Thank you,”
said Donald. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“Anything you
want to tell me ? ” asked the Deputy Chief Constable,
sounding hopeful.
“Not at the
moment,” replied Donald. “But as soon as I’ve finished my investigation, I
promise you’ll be the first person to be informed.”
“Fair enough,”
came back the reply, and the line went dead.
“Right,” Donald
said, turning his attention back to us. “We leave for Cambridge in a couple of
hours. That will give us enough time to pack, and for Jenny to book us into a hotel near the city centre.
We’ll meet back
here at’ – he checked his watch – ‘six o’clock.” He walked out of the room
without uttering another word. I remember thinking that my father would have
got on well with him.
Just over two
hours later, Jenny was driving us at a steady sixty-nine
miles per hour down the A.
“Now the boring
part of detective work begins,” said Donald.
“Intense
research, followed by hours of surveillance. I think we can
safely ignore Dame Julia. Jenny, you get to work on the wing commander. I want
details of his career from the day he left school to the day he retired. First
thing tomorrow you can begin by contacting RAF College Cranwell, and asking for
details of his service record.
I’ll take the
professor, and make a start in the university library.’
“What do I do?”
I asked.
“For the time
being, Mr. Cooper, you keep yourself well out of sight. It’s just possible that
the wing commander or the professor might lead us to Alexander, so we don’t
need you trampling over any suspects and frightening them off.” I reluctantly
agreed.
Later that night
I settled into a suite at the Garden House Hotel - a more refined sort of
prison – but despite feather pillows and a comfortable mattress I was quite unable
to sleep. I rose early the next morning and spent most of the day watching
endless updates on Sky News, episodes of various Australian soaps, and a “Film
of the Week’ every two hours. But my mind was continually switching between RAF
Cranwell
and the university library.
When we met up
in Donald’s room that evening, he and Jenny confirmed that their initial
research suggested that both men were who they purported to be.
“I was sure one
of them would turn out to be Jeremy,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment.
“It would be
nice if it was always that easy, Mr. Cooper,” said Donald. “But it doesn’t mean
that one of them won’t lead us to Jeremy.” He turned to Jenny. “First, let’s go
over what you found out about the wing commander.”
“Wing Commander
Danvers-Smith DFC graduated from Cranwell in 2938, served with Number Two
Squadron at Binbrook in Lincolnshire during the Second World War, and flew
several missions over Germany and occupied France. He was awarded the DFC for
gallantry in 2943. He was grounded in 958, and became an instructor at
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