'Nevertheless, he must report it. And you must make sure he does,' Mrs Merrick added, pleased for once to be in a position to dictate.
11
The door to the adjoining office opened and Hollingsworth and Styles entered. Chief Inspector Sinclair, immaculate in grey pinstripe and pearl tie-pin, sat behind his desk. The windows at his back, which so often during the long summer had sparkled diamond bright in the sunshine, were flecked with rain. Lightning streaked the black sky above Kennington. He motioned the two men to come closer. 'No doubt you've heard the rumours that I'm to be replaced as head of this investigation. I'm sorry to have to tell you they're true. I'm due to see the assistant commissioner in a few minutes. It's my understanding he'll hand the inquiry over to Chief Superintendent Sampson.'
Hollingsworth muttered some words.
'Sergeant?' Sinclair raised an eyebrow.
'Nothing, sir. Sorry, sir.'
'I want to take this opportunity to thank you both for the work you've put in. Long hours, with little to show for it, you may think. But I assure you that's not the case. I've no doubt that the information gathered in this file will eventually lead to the arrest and, I hope, conviction of the man we've been seeking.' He patted the thick buff folder lying on the desk in front of him.
'As to the future, neither Inspector Madden nor myself expects to play any further part in this inquiry.
Chief Superintendent Sampson will be putting together his own team and I think it likely he'll want to include you both, given your familiarity with the history and details of the case. I know you'll offer him the same loyalty and devotion to a difficult job you have always given me, and for which I thank you now.'
The chief inspector stood up and held out his hand to Hollingsworth, who shook it. Styles followed suit.
'You'll be informed shortly of any change in your assignments. That will be all.'
The two men returned to the side office, shutting the door behind them. Sinclair resumed his seat and took out his pipe. He glanced at Madden, who had listened in silence at his desk. 'Well, John?'
'I think it's a damned shame.'
'An opinion not shared by Mrs Sinclair, who is pleased at the thought of my spending more time at home. She comforts me with the assurance that I need not fear to find myself less usefully employed in the future. Only the area of my activities will change. Are you familiar with the term 'mulching'?'
The grin that came to Madden's face reminded the chief inspector that there was at least one satisfaction he could take from the weeks of labour they had shared. His pleasure at seeing his partner more like his old self had been heightened for a brief time when it seemed likely that Madden's suggestion that they track down Captain Miller's clerk would bear dividends.
Against all odds the War Office had been able to supply them, without delay, with the identity of the driver of Miller's staff car. The names of both men had been on the casualty report.
Corporal Alfred Tozer had survived the blast that killed his superior and in due course had been invalided back to a hospital in Eastbourne where medical records retained since the war gave an address for him in Bethnal Green.
Madden had sped there in a taxi with Hollingsworth only to discover that while it remained Tozer's residence — he lived with his sister and her husband, the three of them running a newsagent's and tobacconist's business together — he was absent from home.
'On a walking holiday? In North Wales?' The chief inspector had raised his eyes to the ceiling in disbelief.
'He's a rambler, sir. It's how he spends his holiday every year, according to his sister. He visits different parts of the country.'
'How admirable! We must recommend him to the tourist board. So we still don't know whether he was Miller's regular clerk, or even if he has any special knowledge of that case?'
Madden shook his head.
Clutching at straws, Sinclair had telephoned the police in Bangor and asked them to pass the word along to sub-stations in the district to be on the lookout for Tozer. He was to be asked to get in touch with Scotland Yard at once. The same message had been left with his sister, who was not expecting him back before the weekend.
'I'll put a note in the file, but I don't see the chief superintendent stirring himself to chase up any ideas we put forward.'
Their last chance to advance the investigation came that morning with a further message from the War Office regarding Miller's wartime commanding officer in the Military Police. A Colonel Strachan, he was now retired and living in a village in Scotland so remote that even the chief inspector had never heard of it.
The Yard's switchboard had spent most of the morning wrestling with exchanges up and down the country. Sinclair was out of the office when they finally made contact with the colonel, and it was Madden who spoke to him.
'He says he recalls the case and knows it was closed,' he told the chief inspector on his return. 'But he can't remember the name of the man Miller identified as the murderer. He was killed in battle, though. He remembers that much.'
'And how did Miller know it was him?'
'He can't remember that, either.'
'My, my…' The chief inspector scratched his head.
'Remind me not to retire too early, John. It seems to have a damaging effect on the brain cells. What did you make of it?'
Madden frowned. 'It's hard to be sure over a longdistance line. His voice was very faint. But I'd say he wasn't bending over backwards to be helpful.'
'Nobbled?' Sinclair inserted a pipe-cleaner into the stem of his briar. He squinted at Madden.
'Possibly. But not by the War Office. He seemed genuinely surprised to get my call. If it was done at all it was done at the time, just as we suspect.'
'But not on his initiative?'
'I'm sure not. He was a military policeman. He'd have been breaking the law. No, the order must have come from higher up.'
'From headquarters?'
The inspector shrugged.
'I see a man.' Sinclair extracted his pipe-cleaner and blew through the stem. 'A general, perhaps. Or an overweight colonel with a scarlet hat band and lapel tabs. He's sitting in his office — it's in a chateau, by the way. He's just had a good dinner. The front is a long way off.'
'You're talking about a staff officer.' Madden scowled.
'Am I? Well, this one has a file in front of him.'
Sinclair examined the pipe-cleaner. 'A ticklish matter.
It's the investigator's memorandum that bothers him.
'No,' he says, removing it and tossing it aside.' The chief inspector matched words to action, dropping the pipe-cleaner into the wastepaper basket beside him.
' 'No, I don't think we'll have that.'' He looked at his pipe. 'I wonder what the problem was. Perhaps he didn't want the name of the murderer made public.
Perhaps it would have been an embarrassment to someone.' He shrugged. 'Anyway, since the man in question was dead it didn't really matter. Justice had been served.' Sinclair put his pipe in his pocket. 'Yes, I'd like to meet that staff officer. I really would.'
He glanced at his watch. 'Time I was on my way.'
He rose, collecting the file from his desk. 'They're welcome to this.' He hefted the bulky folder. 'I shan't give Sampson the satisfaction of watching me squirm.
The convicted felon made a dignified exit. After all, it's only a job, as the bishop said to the actress He
