‘By all means—go ahead.’
Morton thanked her, then began carefully to photograph the images and the letter, intending to conduct a more detailed analysis later. Once he had finished he handed them back, asking, ‘Have you ever heard of a lady by the name of Ada Potter?’
Susan thought for a moment then shook her head. ‘No, never. Should I have done?’
‘No, not necessarily. I believe she was the social worker involved with Elsie’s baby.’
Susan’s eyes suddenly became illuminated. ‘Ah, well I wasn’t formally introduced, but I met her at Cliff House the day I went to see Elsie. Horrible woman she was, too—don’t I sound awful? She didn’t want to even let me in the house. I got a bit shirty with her and that was when she said she was a social worker.’
‘Maybe she was just being protective over Elsie?’ Morton ventured.
‘Maybe, but she certainly wasn’t very nice, and I don’t think Elsie liked her much either.’
Morton quickly scanned his notepad, ensuring that he had covered everything. One thing still bothered him. ‘One last question before I leave you in peace—earlier on you said that Daniel had stormed off when you told him that Elsie had had a baby—do you know why?’
Susan looked up towards the ceiling, taking an inordinate amount of time to answer his question. ‘He was angry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was being claimed that another pilot, William Smith was the baby’s father.’
‘He was though, wasn’t he?’ Morton asked.
Susan shook her head. ‘No. No, he wasn’t.’
Chapter Seventeen
It was a cold and wet summer’s day. Having woken Morton in the early hours of the morning, the incessant barrage of rain continued to pour from the pewter sky, pelting his study window. He sat at his desk and started up the laptop. It was definitely a day for indoor research; the fact that he wasn’t planning on going out, coupled with his desire to pursue Susan Stubbs’s disclosure, had meant that Morton hadn’t even yet bothered to get out of his pyjamas. He opened his pad to the notes that he had made yesterday. He had been surprised by Susan’s revelation that Daniel Winter had not believed that William Smith was the father of Elsie’s baby. ‘I don’t know who the father was,’ Susan had said when Morton had probed further. ‘At the time—with his fiery outburst, and storming out like that—I wondered if it might have been Daniel himself who was the father—how else could he have known for sure?’
‘Oh, right,’ Morton had replied. ‘And do you still think that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Susan had answered. ‘Maybe. Something happened the day that William Smith died, I know that much—something to do with Elsie.’
‘Did you ever ask her?’ Morton had asked.
Susan had shaken her head. ‘The baby was adopted. Daniel was dead. Elsie was back doing her thing with the WAAF—what would have been the point?’
And so, the Finch Case had just taken a step backwards, with the father of Elsie’s baby now lost to the past. Morton needed to find out as much as he could about the day William Smith died.
Google told Morton that RAF combat reports for the Second World War were held at The National Archives. He was relieved to see that the entire collection of the Air Ministry reports had been digitised and were available online for a small fee. In the search box, Morton entered Daniel Winter’s name and the date of William Smith’s death, 15th August 1940. Two minutes later, in exchange for three pounds forty-five pence, Morton had the combat report ‘Form F,’ marked as secret, onscreen in front of him. He zoomed into the handwritten account and began to read. I was No.2 in Red Section when the Squadron was ordered to patrol Hawkinge around 14:30hrs. The enemy was sighted heading east towards Essex. There were about twenty machines—Messerschmitt 109s, around 9000ft. Red 1 took the centre of the enemy formation and I quarter-attacked the rear of a machine and fired a burst at 300 yards closing to 100 yards. Pieces broke away and black smoke issued from the enemy aircraft. Flames came from the engine but the pilot did not bail out and I watched the enemy aircraft descend vertically towards the sea. I watched as Green 1 took a direct hit from an enemy aircraft climbing out from the sun. Green 1 did not bail out and crashed with his machine. Green 2 did not engage with enemy aircraft, banked hard left and was not seen again during combat—he was later reported missing. Remainder of enemy aircraft headed back across the channel and I returned to base. The entry ended with Daniel Winter’s signature.
Morton printed the account, read it several times then added it to his Finch Case file. Clearly, William Smith’s codename had been Green 2 and, for some reason, he had left the rest of the squadron in battle, not engaging with the enemy. How this explained that he could not be the baby’s father, though, was very unclear. Morton accessed an online conception calculator that had helped in previous cases, including his own. He looked at the date suggested—a five-day window between 12th and 17th August 1940, with William’s death right at the centre. Unsubstantiated ideas were forming in Morton’s mind. Could Daniel have been the baby’s father and William, unable to cope with idea, killed himself? It seemed pretty flimsy.
Next, Morton located the references for Agnes Finch’s death. It had occurred in the September quarter of 1943. He placed an order for the certificate, then turned his attention to Susan’s pictures.
There were five black and white photographs, plus the reverse of each image. The caption on the back of the first picture read ‘Me! October ‘39.’ It was
