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Book Details
Birmingham, England, November 1944.
Chief Inspector Mason of Erdington Police Station is summoned to a suspicious death at the BB Sauce factory in Aston on a wet Monday morning in late November 1944.
Greeted by his enthusiastic sergeant, O’Rourke, Sam Mason finds himself plunged into a challenging investigation to discover how Harry Armstrong met his death in a vat containing BB Sauce – a scene that threatens to put him off BB Sauce on his bacon sandwiches for the rest of his life.
Together with Sergeant O’Rourke, Mason follows a trail of seemingly unrelated events until something becomes very clear. The death of Harry Armstrong was certainly murder, and might well be connected to the tragedy unfolding at nearby RAF Fauld. While the uncertainty of war continues, Mason and O’Rourke find themselves seeking answers from the War Office and the Admiralty, as they track down the person who murdered their victim in such an unlikely way.
Join Mason and O’Rourke for the third book in the quirky, historical mystery series, as they once more attempt to solve the impossible in 1940s Erdington.
Exclusive Content
In which Chief Inspector Sam Mason learns more about the tragic events that have taken place that day close to RAF Fauld in Burton upon Trent, having just returned to the police station after attending the report of an unusual death at the BB Sauce factory.
‘Erdington Police Station,’ he stated quickly. He heard Smythe’s heavy breathing on the end of the telephone.
‘A bad business all round,’ his superior commented without introducing himself. ‘It’s all very hush hush at their end,’ Sam listened carefully. Smythe was acting as though Sam knew much more than he did. He was busy reading between the lines. ‘Their end’ must mean RAF Fauld. ‘A lot of fatalities, mostly the Italian prisoners of war, or cooperators, as we must now call them. I can’t say they deserved such a terrible death. No one’s saying what happened exactly, but it was an ordinance store, so I think we can work that out for ourselves. As far as we know, and they’re still finding people who didn’t survive, those who’ve perished are local to the area. The damn explosions caused a reservoir to fail, and people drowned.’ Sam winced. ‘They say they heard it in Lichfield, but I’m not convinced by that. Fanciful bunch over there.’ Smythe dismissed the assertion, but Sam felt his forehead furrow.
‘It must have been large explosions to have caused the reservoir to fail.’
‘Yes, yes, of course they were, but still. We can’t have people talking about it in such ways. What matters is the poor souls who lost their lives, and the fact that they’re just about certain it wasn’t an enemy attack, but a tragic accident.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Sam nodded as though Smythe were in the room.
‘Tell people those two facts, and leave the rest until they’ve had more time to examine the wreckage and to find those who are lost. If any have a genuine concern about a missing relative, take their names. I’ll forward them on to those at RAF Fauld. They’re leading on this, of course. We’re just here to offer what support we can, which is very little.’
Again, Sam nodded, and then realised Smythe couldn’t see that.
‘Very good, sir. I’ll return to the matter of this morning’s other unusual occurrence.’
‘Very good,’ and with that, Smythe rang off. For a moment, Sam absorbed what he’d been told, and then he turned to Jones.
‘Come on. I don’t want to repeat myself.’ Jones followed Sam inside the main room of the police station, and there Sam turned to the others, for O’Rourke and Williams had returned from their lunch break, and Patricks was sulking behind his desk.
‘That was Superintendent Smythe on the telephone. It sounds nasty, what happened at RAF Fauld. So far, all we know is that it wasn’t an enemy attack, but it was a big explosion, and many people have lost their lives. If anyone comes in concerned about a missing person, take all their details and we’ll pass them on to the staff at RAF Fauld.’
‘What happened, sir?’ Williams asked.
‘Explosions in an ordinance store. It sounds very nasty. Many have perished, either from the explosion or from flooding, because a reservoir failed. Smythe said, and this isn’t to be repeated, that people in Lichfield reported hearing the explosions. He dismissed it as being fanciful, but if they were that big, so many have died, perhaps they did.’ A look of dismay crossed Williams’ face. Sam thought he could hear him muttering a prayer for those who’d died.
‘Now, an unusual day, what with our dead Mr Winterhouse as well. Let’s do what we can for the rest of it. When people return, Jones, Williams, and Patricks, we tell them about the explosion and about the casualties being high, but nothing else. I don’t want to hear anyone speculating on what caused the explosions either, and we’re to quash any talk of enemy involvement. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.’
‘Bloody prisoners of war,’ Jones spoke under his breath, but Sam heard it easily enough.
‘Cooperators, Jones, Cooperators. Do you think they intended to kill themselves?’
‘Of course not. They evidently intended to escape, and it all went wrong.’ Sam wanted to berate him, but held his tongue. After all, he really hadn’t been told very much. He couldn’t imagine anyone would want to start an explosion intentionally, but then, he wasn’t a cooperator, far from home, being asked to work in an enemy ordinance store, buried beneath the ground.
Purchase Link
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Secret-Sauce-incredibly-historical-Erdington-ebook/dp/B0F4PCVJWP
Author Bio
I’m an author of historical fiction and non-fiction (Early English (Saxon), Vikings and the British Isles as a whole before the Norman Conquest, as well as five twentieth-century mysteries), born in the old Mercian kingdom at some point since the end of 1066. Historical mysteries allow me to use such modern inventions as the telephone and the car, which is very exciting when I spend so much of my time worrying about feeding the horses my warriors usually ride.
I was raised in the shadow of a strange little building and told from a very young age it housed the bones of long-dead kings of Mercia, it’s little wonder my curiosity in the early English ran riot. I can only blame my parents!
I like to write. You’ve been warned!
Social Media Links
https://linktr.ee/MJPorterauthor
