kind of sexual life he might have had during these years. Perhaps none. Until the murder for which he was sought, which occurred when he was in his twenties, there was no record – in Switzerland, at least – of any similar unresolved crimes. Mind you, he’d been working for Hoffmann for some time, often as a courier, so it’s not to say he didn’t take advantage of his trips abroad. For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to think that in these earlier years, at least, he was able to hold himself in check. The kind of life he’d fallen into was already dangerous enough. He can’t have wanted to add to it. The killing for which the Swiss police sought him may well have been his first. But as I’ve told you, the information we’ve received from the various police forces around Europe is sketchy at best. All we can say for sure is that there are a number of unsolved sexual crimes in the countries we know he’s visited, some of them not dissimilar to the attacks he specialized in.’
The chief inspector broke off to place his cup of tea, untasted, on the desk before him. Bennett remained by the window. But he had turned to listen.
‘It’s tempting to believe that his fixation with facial assaults harks back to the murder of his stepsister, and I’ve no doubt a psychologist would make much of it. The increasing ferocity of these episodes over the course of time suggests they were gaining a hold on him. Certainly he took more risks. If he hadn’t stopped to attack that child near Midhurst last November, he might have escaped. My God! Just imagine him wandering about America! The sheer size of it. Would we ever have caught him, I wonder?’
Holly growled his agreement. A frown had settled on the chief super’s face as he’d listened.
Bennett returned to his desk. ‘You said you’d received a letter, Chief Inspector. I gather it has some bearing on the German attitude to this investigation?’
‘Yes, I have it with me.’ Sinclair took an envelope from his pocket and removed several handwritten pages from it. He spread them on his knee. ‘It’s from Inspector Probst – I’m sure you remember him. He wants all the facts about this case to be made known. That’s why he’s written to me. It’s a letter I’d rather not place in the file. There’s no telling what kind of relations we’ll end up having with the new order in Berlin once the dust’s settled over there – though for my part, I hope they’re minimal – but I wouldn’t like to think it might fall into the wrong hands one day.’
‘I see…’ Bennett’s eyes had narrowed. ‘But isn’t he taking a risk writing to you behind his superior’s backs?’
‘A risk, I’m sure. But he’s not with the police any longer, so it isn’t a question of him disobeying orders. He resigned as soon as the Nazis took over at the end of January. “As a policeman one cannot serve criminals: it is a contradiction in terms.”’ Chuckling, Sinclair read from one of the pages. ‘He doesn’t pull his punches, does he? Of course, he wouldn’t have lasted in the job. One of the first things the Nazis did when they took over was purge the police. He’s amusing on that score, too. Well, perhaps “amusing” is not quite the right word…’
The chief inspector squinted at the sheet of paper he was holding.
‘“Goering came in person to the Alexanderplatz and shook many hands.”’ He quoted from the page. ‘“They say he’s good company; jovial; the war hero with the common touch. I looked into his eyes and saw a natural-born killer. How well I know the type.”’
Sinclair laid the sheet of paper back on his knee.
‘But with regard to the Lang investigation, Probst said they’d continued with it up to the time the government changed hands. Inquiring into his background, that is. Whether or not they guessed that he was an agent he doesn’t say. But he describes his past as “murky” and says he was not what he seemed to be: in other words the representative of an Austrian textile firm. In tracing his movements between Berlin and Munich they also discovered his Nazi connections, and it was at this point, or very soon afterwards, that the inquiry was brought to a halt. Whether Nebe acted on his own initiative, or was spoken to, isn’t clear. But he seems to have known which way the wind was blowing. Probst says the investigation is no longer being actively pursued; nor will it be.’
There was silence while Bennett absorbed what he’d been told.
‘Of course, he joined the party, didn’t he? Vane told us that.’
‘Indeed he did, sir.’
‘And the last thing the Nazis would want is for their reputations to be tarred by a case like this only months after they’ve taken power.’
‘I’m sure that thought occurred to them.’
‘So even if they do discover some link to our intelligence service it’s unlikely they’d want to air it. Mud sticks, after all.’
‘Quite. And there’s no prospect of anything more coming out at this end, is there? Lang’s background remains a mystery as far as our press is concerned. My impression is they’ve given up digging. I think your friends in Whitehall can sleep easy.’
‘My friends, Chief Inspector?’ Bennett favoured him with a stony glance.
‘A slip of the tongue, sir.’
Sinclair had derived some amusement from the minuet he had just performed with his superior. Not so Holly, who cleared his throat loudly.
‘Well, I think it’s a damned disgrace,’ he said bluntly. ‘The whole wretched business. What’s worse is, no one’s going to answer for it.’
In the embarrassed silence that followed, Sinclair returned Probst’s letter to his pocket.
‘And we’ve no cause to congratulate ourselves, either.’ The chief super was working up a head of steam. ‘There’s only one person who comes out of this with any credit: John Madden. I hope you’ll tell him that when you see him next, Angus. And thank him from me.
‘I will, Arthur,’ Sinclair promised him. He looked at his colleague with affection. ‘And sooner than you think. I’m going down to Highfield this weekend.’
A solitary figure was standing on the platform when Sinclair’s train pulled into Highfield. As he stepped from the compartment, the glint of sunlight on golden hair caught his eye. Helen Madden advanced down the platform to greet him.
‘John was planning to meet you himself. But the children insisted on an expedition into the woods. They’ve been cooped up for days with the rain we’ve been having. They’ll come back soaked, I know.’
The showery weather she’d been speaking of had begun to clear at lunchtime and the chief inspector’s train had passed through sunlit fields bright with spring flowers.
‘The house is packed at the moment. I hope you won’t find it too much for you. Franz was so pleased when he heard you were coming down. But you won’t see him till this evening. He’s been in London all day house- hunting.’
The blue woollen dress she was wearing matched the colour of her eyes, Sinclair noted. The pleasure he took in her company had never diminished with the years and he felt a lightening of his step as she linked her arm in his. They went out to where her car was parked.
‘I know you’ve been away, but it seems ages since we last saw you. I’m afraid it took me a while to get over that dreadful business. I needed time to recover.’
She glanced at him. They were driving past the village green.
‘But I’ve thought of you often, and particularly the day we went down to Midhurst. That family… the Ramsays… invited us. Not for the first time, either, poor dears. They wanted to thank John. But I hadn’t felt able to face them before. I thought it would be too upsetting. But it turned out to be a lovely day. Mrs Ramsay had organized a picnic for the children on the Downs and they’d also invited the man who was stabbed, Sam Watkin, and his family. It was his friend whose body was found in the burned out barn later. Eddie was his name. But they’d all known him, it seems, and they talked of him with such affection, particularly the girl, Nell, and her mother. They’d been trying to help him find a proper job – the Ramsays, I mean – and John and I could see how upset they still were by what happened.’
She mused in silence for a few moments.
‘Afterwards we walked up to the farm. The children insisted on seeing it and Nell told them the whole story. Needless to say, they were spellbound. They wanted to hear all the grisly details. It was poor John who couldn’t bear to listen. All he could think of was what might have happened. He knew better than anyone how close it came to ending in tragedy. People who don’t know him think he’s detached and unaffected by things. It’s because of his manner. But he’s not like that at all. He’s quite the opposite.’
She brushed a tear from her eye, then turned towards him, smiling. ‘But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’
