the whole summer with her uncle and aunt Colonel Fletcher's brother and his wife — at their home outside Edinburgh. An attack of measles had kept her in Highfield, however, and her brother James had been sent on ahead. She was due to have travelled to Scotland by train the following week in the company of her nanny, Alice Crookes. Shortly thereafter the Fletchers had planned to leave for France.
The last part of Dr Blackwell's statement, an account of her urgent summons to the house on Monday morning, was given in cold medical language.
She had examined each of the victims in turn and pronounced them dead. Rigor was starting to recede and she had estimated the time of death at a little over twelve hours earlier. She said 'something' had made her look under the bed in the nursery. She employed the same phrase as she had used with Madden to describe Sophy's condition when she found her. 'Profound shock.'
The question of strangers in the village over the weekend was dealt with in several of the statements.
Frederick Poole, the landlord of the Rose and Crown, reported a busload of passengers in a Samuelson motor coach stopping at the pub for lunch on Saturday. The company had alerted him ahead of time. As far as he knew, all those who alighted from the bus had boarded the vehicle again later. Apart from that, there had been upward of a score of motorists and cyclists who had called in at the pub on Saturday and Sunday.
None had stuck in his mind. All had continued their journeys.
Freda Birney, the wife of the owner of the village shop, Alf Birney, reported seeing two hikers picnicking by the stream between the outskirts of the village and Melling Lodge on Sunday just before twelve o'clock. She had been taking the dog for a walk before preparing lunch for her family. Madden made a note to have the hikers traced and questioned.
Running his eye over the next statement in the pile, he paused, went back and reread it carefully, checked the name of the interviewing officer, and then put it to one side.
Billy Styles pushed the form across the table, watched the man sign it, said, 'Thank you, sir, that'll be all for now,' then leaned back in his chair and stretched. His tenth interview of the day. Harold Toombs, the village sexton. Billy had had to fight to keep a straight face as he wrote it down. Toombs had spent the weekend working in his garden. He had neither seen nor heard anything out of the ordinary.
It was a matter of amazement to Billy that he was still part of the investigation. After his experiences of the day before he had expected to find himself back in the CID pool at Scotland Yard.
Detective Sergeant Hollingsworth, who'd brought him the news, seemed equally surprised. A stocky, nut- faced man with twenty years on the force, he affected to find Billy's presence among them a source of wonder. 'Can't think what the guv'nor has in mind.
No bloodhounds in your family tree, are there, Detective Constable Styles? No hidden talents we're not apprised of?'
On receiving word, Billy had experienced a moment of elation, quickly followed by one of foreboding as he contemplated the prospect of spending another day under the dark glance of Inspector Madden.
But thus far, beyond a polite, 'Good morning, sir,' from Billy, and a distracted nod in response from the inspector, they hadn't exchanged a word, and Billy had found himself mildly bored as he recorded the villagers' bald accounts of the long, sun-drenched weekend.
Now he saw Madden, sitting in the corner of the hall, beckon to him. He rose from the table and went over. 'Sir?'
Madden held out a statement form. 'Yours, I think?'
Billy glanced at it. 'Yes, sir. May Birney. Her father owns the village store.'
The inspector eyed him. 'Well, did she, or didn't she, Constable?' he asked.
'Sir, she wasn't sure.' Billy shuffled nervously. 'First she said she did, then she changed her mind. Said she must have been mistaken.'
'Why did she do that? Change her mind?'
'Sir… sir, I don't know.'
Madden stood up so abruptly Billy had to spring backwards. 'Let's see if we can find out, shall we?'
With a nod to Boyce he strode from the hall. Billy hurried after him.
The village store, a few minutes' walk away down Highfield's only paved road, was situated between the pub and the post office. Alf Birney, plump, with a fringe of grey hair like a monk's tonsure, came from behind the counter to show them into a curtained-off toom at the back of the shop.
'It's not right this should have happened,' he muttered.
'Not to a lady like Mrs Fletcher. Not to any of them.' He shifted a carton of custard powder off a chair to make room for Madden. 'I can remember when she was a child. She used to come to the shop every Saturday to buy her sweets. Little Lucy He left them there, and a minute later his daughter came in. May Birney was no more than sixteen. She was dressed in a dun-coloured work smock, her bobbed hair cut in a fringe across her pale forehead.
'Get it straight in your mind now, girl.' Her father's voice came from beyond the curtain. 'Tell the inspector exactly what you heard.'
Miss Birney stood before them, nervously twisting her fingers. Madden looked at Billy and nodded.
Taken by surprise — he'd assumed the inspector would handle the questioning — Billy cleared his throat. 'It's about this business of the whistle you say you heard.
Or didn't hear.' He spoke loudly, and watched her flush and steal a glance at Madden, who was seated at a table in the middle of the room.
'You were out walking the dog, you said,' Billy prompted her.
May Birney stared at her feet.
'Tell us again what happened.'
The girl said something inaudible. 'What?' Billy heard himself almost shouting. 'I didn't hear. What did you say?'
'I said I told you before but you said I was imagining it.' She spoke very quickly looking down.
'I never said that-' Billy checked himself. 'I asked you if you were sure you'd heard a police whistle and you said, no, you weren't-'
'I said like a police whistle.'
'All right, like a police whistle, but then you said perhaps you'd been mistaken and you hadn't heard it at all. Do you remember saying that?'
The girl fell silent again.
Billy stepped nearer. He felt Madden's eyes on him.
'Now listen to me, May Birney. This is a serious matter. I don't need to remind you what happened at Melling Lodge on Sunday night. Stop saying you're not sure or you don't remember. Either you heard something or you didn't. And if you're making all this up…!'
The girl turned bright red.
Madden spoke. 'Would you like to sit down, May?'
He drew up another chair for her. After a moment's hesitation, the girl complied. 'Now let's see, I'm a little puzzled, what time did this happen?'
'Around nine o'clock, sir. Might have been a little later.'
'Was it still light?'
'Just getting dark.'
'You were walking the dog?'
'Yes, sir, Bessie. She's getting old, you see, and needs to be taken, but if you put her outside, she just flops down, so Mum and me, we take her down to the stream and make her walk a bit.' She kept her eyes on Madden's face.
'Then you heard what sounded like a police whistle?'
'Yes, sir, like that. The same sort of sound.'
'Just once?'
May Birney hesitated, her brow creased in concentration.
'Well, sir, it was like I said' — she shot a glance at Billy — 'first it was there, then it sort of faded away, and then it came back just for a moment.'
