together, and although the love that had flowered between them had drawn a line under Madden’s tortured past, their future together had been dearly purchased. The case, one of the bloodiest in the Yard’s annals, had come close to costing him his life.
7
Feeling out of place in his town clothes – he was clad in a grey pinstriped suit and homburg – Chief Inspector Angus Sinclair paused at the edge of the green to take in the scene before him. Quite close to where he stood a cloth banner erected on poles bore the words HIGHFIELD FLOWER AND VEGETABLE SHOW in bold capitals, and beyond it, the broad stretch of grass ringed with cottages was filled with stalls, where the fruits of a long summer were on display.
Vegetables piled high in baskets – beans, peas, potatoes, carrots – rubbed shoulders with swollen marrows, while beside them there were tables overflowing with bunches of late roses and chrysanthemums. Pumpkins, apples, pears, blackberries, nuts, brown speckled eggs – there seemed no end to the variety of items arrayed for inspection and the avenues between the stands were thronged with villagers dressed in their Sunday best.
Searching the crowd, the chief inspector’s eye lit on a tall, elegant figure wearing a cream-coloured linen dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat standing beside a table stacked with preserves. He gave a grunt of appreciation. A widower now for several years, Angus Sinclair considered Helen Madden to be the best-looking woman of his acquaintance, and it always gave him particular pleasure to see her.
The long tresses she had worn when he first knew her, the fashion of the time, and a legacy of girlhood, perhaps, had long since vanished, but the chief inspector found consolation in the slender white neck their disappearance had revealed. His spirits, dampened earlier that morning by the pathologist’s report and accompanying photographs he’d been obliged to examine at Guildford police station, rose at the sight of her.
But his relief was shortlived. Aware of his approach, Helen put down the jar of honey she was holding.
‘I was wondering when you’d appear, Angus.’
Taken by surprise – he’d expected a friendly greeting at the very least – Sinclair stood abashed.
‘It’s that poor child’s murder, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.’
Struck speechless, the chief inspector sought refuge in action. Bending beneath the brim of Helen’s straw hat, he planted a firm kiss on her cheek. The jasmine scent she’d always favoured was a reminder of happier occasions.
‘I’ll admit I’ve been at Guildford all morning, talking to Jim Boyce about it.’
‘And now you want to see John. Angus, you’re not to drag him into this. I won’t allow it.’ Her dark blue eyes offered no concession.
‘Drag him in! It was John who found the child’s body, for heaven’s sake.’ Sinclair broke off. The subject was a delicate one between them. He continued in a different tone. ‘My dear, I must speak to him. Surely you see that.’
The smile he tendered her was conciliatory. But in truth it was no more than a gesture. Though he had never doubted the strength of Helen’s feelings for her husband, he had equally never forgiven her for the part she had played in persuading the man she loved to give up his job with the police and start a new life with her. It still rankled with the chief inspector that an officer as talented as his former colleague should have quit the force, and fond as he was of Madden’s wife, he could never quite bring himself to absolve her of responsibility for this loss to the public weal.
‘Oh, very well. I see I’ve no choice in the matter.’
Relenting, she returned his kiss. In spite of their differences, they were firm friends.
‘He’s here somewhere. Probably over in that tent.’ She pointed towards a tan-coloured marquee topped with flags near the back of the green. ‘John’s had to stand in as chairman of the prize-giving committee this year. It ought to be Lord Stratton’s job, but he’s managed to come down with gout, rather cunningly.’ She paused. ‘Do stay for lunch, Angus. We don’t see nearly enough of you.’
‘I wish I could, my dear.’ The chief inspector recognized the olive branch he was being offered and declined with regret. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve an engagement in London. I have to get back.’
‘Then you must come down and spend a weekend with us. I’ll write and let you know when.’
Her smile brought momentary relief to Sinclair. But then her expression changed and she grew serious again.
‘You may think I’m making too much of this, but I know John. He won’t turn his back on it now. He feels involved, and that worries me. I can’t explain why, but I feel threatened. I know you have to speak to him, but don’t let it go further than that, I beg you.’
She looked at him directly, and not for the first time the chief inspector felt the effect of her personality, that particular combination of physical beauty and firmness of will against which he felt powerless. But just as he was about to reply – he wanted to reassure her – they were interrupted.
‘Excuse me, sir… Mr Sinclair?’
Angus Sinclair’s grizzled eyebrows shot up in mock astonishment. He peered down at the eager young face that had materialized in front of them.
‘Robert Madden? Is it you?’ Despite his forty years on the force, the chief inspector retained the precise accents of his Aberdeen upbringing. ‘I can scarcely believe my eyes. You were six inches shorter the last time we met. How are you, my boy?’
They shook hands solemnly.
‘Have you come about the murder, sir?’ Despite a peeling nose and one scabbed knee, Madden’s son managed to convey the earnestness of his inquiry. His frown, the near image of his father‘s, brought a wistful smile to Sinclair’s lips. He and his wife had been childless, to their sorrow. ‘It was Daddy who found the body, you know?’
‘I’m aware of that.’ The chief inspector looked grave.
‘The police are looking for a tramp.’
‘I see you’re well informed.’
‘Is Daddy going to help you catch him?’ The boy’s hopeful expression faded when he saw Sinclair shake his head.
‘Scotland Yard’s not involved, Robert. The Surrey police are in charge. I just happened to be passing…’ He caught Helen’s eye. ‘But since I’m here, I would like a brief word with your father. Do you happen to know where he is?’
‘You must have put a bee in Jim Boyce’s bonnet. He rang me on Friday in a lather, right after the inquest. I couldn’t get down to Guildford till today, but he came into the office to show me the file. On a Sunday, too!’
‘I felt they’d made up their minds too quickly about the tramp. I wanted him to think again.’ Madden scowled.
Led by his guide, Sinclair had come on his quarry outside the marquee standing beside a table laden with silver cups and other trophies. The chief inspector had paused for a moment to digest the spectacle of his erstwhile partner, dressed in serviceable tweeds, a soft hat and thick-soled shoes, deep in conversation with a party of similarly attired worthies of both sexes. Catching Madden’s eye, he had winked.
‘I’ve just spotted a pumpkin of outstanding merit,’ he’d confided as they shook hands. ‘Would you like me to point it out to you?’
‘What are you doing here, Angus?’ Grinning, Madden had declined the bait. ‘Is it the Brookham murder? Don’t tell me the Yard’s been called in already.’
‘No, we’re not involved. Not as yet. Surrey are handling it. But there are one or two points I’d like to discuss with you. I’ve cleared it with higher authority.’
‘You needed the Yard’s permission?’ Madden was mildly surprised.
‘I was referring to your better half.’ Sinclair chortled at his own joke. ‘Forgive me. I couldn’t resist that. I ran into Helen a moment ago, and she spoke her mind, as always. Robert was with her. My word, he’s a fine-looking boy.’
The delight that shone on Madden’s face when he heard these words was reward enough for the chief
