obvious explanation and it's staring you in the face.
The man's a thief — I've said so from the start. He buried what he stole because he didn't want to be caught with it on him. Two weeks later he went back to collect it. He assumed the police would have left the area by then, and he was right. Madden's presence in the woods was pure chance. My God, he even brought a bag with him so he could load the stuff and take it away. Just look at the facts, man.'
He thrust his head forward, brilliantined hair glinting in the sunlight that came through the window.
'Let me offer you another suggestion, Chief Inspector.
Have you considered that this man may be simply a loner who holed up in those woods? Who saw Melling Lodge as a tempting target and set out to rob it, but lost control of himself I'll grant you he may be deranged. But calling this hole a dugout! Why not say he simply built himself a shelter? Of course he has an Army background — the same is true of most able bodied men in this country. He built what he'd been taught to build — a place to sleep and protect himself from the weather. And as for this gas mask, He picked up the single large drawing and squinted at it. 'I'm glad you know what it is, Madden, because I'm damned if I do.'
He put down the piece of paper and turned to Bennett. 'What is certain, sir, is that the child was a key witness and she was allowed to go to Scotland out of our control and protection. I have strong reservations about that. I think it was an error of judgement.
But it's done.' He made a dismissive gesture.
'Let's concentrate now on what we know and what we can find out and stop cooking up wild theories unsupported by evidence.'
There was silence. Bennett coughed. He looked at Sinclair.
The chief inspector was gazing at the ceiling. 'A loner holed up in the woods who has a motorcycle.
No, I don't think so.' He shifted his glance to Bennett.
'Sir, this man has a job, I believe. He seems to move only at the weekends. Now, it's true he may have returned to collect what he stole. But we must look at the crime as a whole. The bayoneted victims were all killed within seconds of each other — the evidence is clear on that point. He didn't 'lose control'. He broke into that house with the intention of killing the occupants, and we still don't know why.' He paused deliberately. 'As for Sophy Fletcher, I made my decision on the basis of medical advice — that returning her to her family was the best measure we could take, both for the child herself and as regards the possibility of our obtaining any testimony from her in the future. I've heard nothing to make me change my mind.'
He fixed his cool grey eyes on Sampson. The chief superintendent's muddy complexion turned brick red.
Bennett looked from one to the other. He seemed to be enjoying the confrontation.
'Very well.' He shifted in his chair. 'What now?'
Sinclair consulted his file. 'We're still going through the list of discharged mental patients supplied by the War Office. Other police authorities are helping.
That's a long job. We've put out a general description of the man we're looking for, and the motorcycle and sidecar. Harley-Davidson, through their agents, will supply us with a list of purchasers in the last three years — since the end of the war. We'll start with that, concentrating on the Home Counties.
We may have to extend it later.'
'He could have bought it second-hand,' Bennett observed.
'We'll check those registrations, too. But we have to face the fact he may have stolen the machine, and it may be on false plates.' Sinclair straightened the papers in his file. 'Inspector Madden has come up with an idea that we think might be worth pursuing,' he went on. 'Of course, we've already consulted the Crime Index and there's no criminal on record with a modus operandi remotely resembling this man's. But in spite of that, we'd like to put out a general inquiry to other forces to see if they have anything similar to this case in their records.'
'Surely-' Bennett began, but Sampson cut him off.
'That sounds like a waste of time to me. Several people slaughtered in a house? I think we'd have heard about it, don't you?'
'Yes, indeed, sir.' Sinclair turned his tranquil gaze on the chief superintendent. 'But what if he tried and failed? I'm thinking of an abortive attempt, or perhaps an assault with a weapon similar to the one used at Melling Lodge. Some case still unsolved and unexplained.'
Bennett was pondering. 'How would you do it?' he asked. 'Through the Gazette?'
'Yes, sir.' The Police Gazette, containing particulars of crimes and criminals sought, was circulated daily to all forces of Britain and Ireland. 'We'll list some general information about the case, type of wound and so on, and see if it draws a response.'
Sinclair closed his file. He paused, as though gathering himself. 'Sir, there's one further point I'd like to make. While every effort should be made to track this man down by orthodox police methods, we should recognize the special problems we're faced with and be prepared to look at other ways of approaching the inquiry. Taking up the point you made earlier, as to whether he's sane or not, I think it's time we considered calling in an expert in the field of psychology.'
There was silence in the room.- Bennett shifted uneasily in his chair. Sampson, beside him, raised his head slowly and fixed his gaze on the chief inspector.
'We have a unique situation here,' Sinclair went on, seemingly unaware of the effect of his words. 'We're dealing with a man without criminal connections whose motives we don't understand. My most immediate fear is that he may commit a similar crime or crimes unless we apprehend him. I'd feel better in my own mind if I was sure we hadn't neglected any possible line of investigation.'
Bennett was busy drawing a doodle on his notepad.
He didn't look up.
It was Sampson who spoke. 'I'm surprised to hear you say that, Angus. Really I am.' His tone had changed to one of puzzlement. 'We all know what happens when you bring outsiders into these cases.
Before you know it, every half-baked soothsayer and trick cyclist will be telling us how to solve it.'
'I think you're exaggerating, sir.'
'Am I?' The chief superintendent reached into his top pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. 'From this morning's Express. I happen to have it with me.'
With his other hand he fished out a pair of spectacles and placed them on the end of his nose. 'A lady by the name of Princess Wahletka, a well-known psychic, has offered her services to the police to assist them in solving 'the frightful crime of Melling Lodge' — I'm quoting, of course. 'They have only to ask, and I am ready to put all my powers at their disposal.'' He grinned. 'If you want to take her up, she's appearing nightly at the Empire Theatre in Leeds.'
Two red spots had appeared on the chief inspector's cheeks. 'Excuse me, sir, but you're trying to equate a medical practitioner with a quack.'
'I'm not trying to equate anything, Angus.' The chief superintendent was genial. 'I'm just giving you a friendly warning. So far the press hasn't known how to handle this case — they're as baffled as you are, if you like. Start calling in psychologists and you'll hand them an open invitation. Do you know what this is?'
He shook the clipping under Sinclair's nose. 'This is the tip of your bloody iceberg, is what it is.'
'Chief Superintendent!' Bennett spoke sharply.
'I'm sorry, sir.' Sampson sat back. The smile remained on his lips.
The deputy drummed his fingertips on the table.
He avoided Sinclair's glance.
'Thank you, Chief Inspector,' he said. 'I'll consider your suggestion. Gentlemen, this meeting is concluded.'
He rose from the table.
'That was highly educational. I trust you were taking notes.' Sinclair's file landed with a thud on his desktop.
'I thought the clipping was a nice touch. He just happened to have it with him. And did you notice Bennett back-pedalling for all he was worth? All in all you won't see a finer example of the Ripper complex in action.'
'The Ripper, sir?'
'Jack of the same name. By the time he was done there wasn't a smart alec between here and Temple Bar who didn't have a theory as to who he was and how to nab him, and the only point on which they agreed was that the police were a bunch of lamebrained incompetents who couldn't catch cold in an igloo.'
