him, though he looked different. The reason he recalled the name was a, because it was foreign, and, b, because he’d been in three times a week, regular as clockwork, for the past month asking if there was anything for him. Which there wasn’t, not until last Wednesday, when finally something arrived. A small package, the clerk said.’ He glanced at Sinclair, who nodded.
‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ The chief inspector continued. ‘You’ll understand now why we think this man has been residing locally, rather than just passing through. However, as I said earlier, he may be about to leave. Our reason for thinking so springs from something he said to Mrs Hall. When told he would have to come back to have his dressing changed, he said he’d be unable to do so because he was leaving to return home, but would see to it when he got back to Amsterdam.’
Sinclair paused. His expression was reflective.
‘Now it’s true he might have been lying about his departure, except I can’t see any reason for it. Why not return and have his dressing changed, if that is necessary? There is nothing stopping him, unless he really is going. And then there’s the matter of this item of post he’d been awaiting – with some impatience, it sounds. It looks like his decision to leave may well be connected to its arrival. At all events, I intend to read the situation this way and to assume that we have very little time in which to lay hands on him. Which brings us to the question of means…’
He looked about him: once again his eye caught Madden’s.
‘What we want, of course, is his address, or, failing that, some indication of his movements, where he might have been seen in and around Midhurst during the past few weeks and months. These inquiries have already begun. Three of the four detectives stationed here were sent out earlier, one to take detailed statements from Dr Driscoll and Mrs Hall, the other two to visit local estate agents to inquire about flats or houses let to single men in recent months. Since we know Lang hasn’t been staying in a hotel or boarding house, this is an avenue that must be explored. But it’s only a beginning. We must spread our net wide. In the course of the next few hours you’ll be visiting shops and offices, showing Lang’s photograph and trying out the name De Beer on whoever you meet. It’s important that we cover the town systematically, street by street, and you’ll be assisted in this by Sergeant Cole, who’ll assign each pair of detectives a district to search, and to whom you’ll report, and by members of the uniformed branch, who’ll accompany you. No doubt this will cause some stir, but that can’t be helped. It’s the quickest way to achieve results. And time, as I said before, is of the essence.’
The chief inspector fell silent. But it was plain from his frown that he had not finished, and after a brief pause he continued, speaking in an altered tone.
‘One final word. I’m aware of the feeling most of you have that you’ve not been fully informed: that from the moment this search was launched, both here and in Surrey, questions about this man have remained unanswered. Questions you had every right to ask of your superiors. I can only apologize to you and say that, again for reasons I cannot reveal, this has been unavoidable. However, there’s one point I wish to stress: it concerns the warning all of you already engaged in this operation have received regarding the danger Lang poses. I mean the danger he poses to you.’
Once again Sinclair paused, allowing time for his words to sink in.
‘It may be that in the course of today, one or more of you will encounter this man, or someone who appears to resemble him, and whom you think might be worth questioning. Should this happen – be on your guard.’ The words issued from the chief inspector’s mouth like the crack of a whip, causing several among his audience to start with surprise. ‘Lang isn’t just a sexual killer, nor are these poor children his only victims. He’s a criminal of a kind none of us has encountered before, one who as likely as not will show no surprise if accosted and may even appear to cooperate. Don’t be deceived. He carries a knife, and I can tell you now that he’s used it before, on a detective, too, with fatal consequences. Since arrest for him means a certain death sentence, he’ll stop at nothing to escape capture.’
The chief inspector’s glance was drawn once more to the back of the room, where Madden was standing with folded arms. It seemed to Sinclair that his old partner nodded.
‘So I say once more, and I urge you to remember it. Be warned!’
The telephone rang and Braddock picked it up. ‘For you, sir.’ Putting the receiver down on the desk in front of him, he rose, leaving his seat free for Sinclair, and came around to sit beside Madden, who just then was busy reading the detailed statements made by Dr Driscoll and his nurse which the detective sent to interview them had delivered earlier. As Sinclair began to speak into the telephone, there was a knock on the door and a constable came in with a tray on which three steaming cups of tea and a plate of sandwiches were balanced. At a nod from his superior he laid the tray on the desk and went out, shutting the door quietly behind him.
‘Thank you, Arthur, that’s clear… I’ll speak to you later.’
Sinclair replaced the receiver. He regarded the other two.
‘That was Chief Superintendent Holly. He says all ports have been warned to look out for Lang. We’ve told them about the changes to his appearance; they already have copies of the poster.’
‘What if he’s only moving base?’ Braddock was on his feet again. He offered one of the cups to Madden, who shook his head; he was busy with the statements.
‘It’s possible, I grant you. But the odds are he’s getting out. Quitting England. He can’t fit in here. There’s no hiding the fact he’s a foreigner. He’ll want to be somewhere where he’s less noticeable.’
Sinclair began to rise, but Braddock checked him with a gesture.
‘You might as well stay there, sir. And help yourself to a sandwich, if you’d like one. It’s the only lunch we’re likely to get today.’ Following his own advice, the Midhurst inspector took one of the cups of tea and slipped a sandwich onto the saucer before resuming his seat beside Madden. ‘This piece of mail Lang was expecting… what do you reckon it was?’
‘Travel documents of some kind, perhaps.’ Sinclair shrugged. He glanced at Madden. ‘What do you think, John?’
The unexpected appearance of his old partner had caught the chief inspector off guard and he was still taking stock of its implications, not all of them reassuring to him. No matter what their past connection had been, the presence of a civilian in the midst of a police operation of such delicacy – and secrecy – could hardly be squared with standing regulations, and while Sinclair knew that the rules could be stretched if necessary to include a man of Madden’s reputation, he was uncomfortably aware that this was far from being the end of the story.
There was another aspect to be considered, one he could hardly ignore, and which he’d brought up immediately after greeting his old colleague at the conclusion of the gathering downstairs, and learning how he and Styles had come to arrive together.
‘Does Helen know you’re here?’
Discovering from Madden that his wife had been in town overnight and had not yet returned to Highfield when they departed, and that in consequence he had had to leave her a note explaining their absence, Sinclair had raised his eyebrows in silent comment, while reflecting on the near certainty that when the time came for a reckoning, it would be he who would pay the price. Given the degree to which he’d consulted his former partner in the course of the investigation, he could hardly complain of the situation, however, and the chief inspector was honest enough to admit to the comfort he drew from the familiar figure seated opposite him, whose opinion he was seeking once more.
‘Travel documents?’ Madden’s scowl of concentration lifted for a moment as he glanced up. ‘Yes, I should think so, Angus. Papers to support his new Identity… a passport perhaps. He’d know where to get them forged, wouldn’t he? Not here, maybe, but on the Continent?’
‘Why do you say that?’
Inevitably, the question came from Braddock, who had realized they were speaking of things to which he was not party. The Midhurst police chief had shown no disposition to question Madden’s presence. On the contrary, his face had lit up when they’d been introduced earlier and he’d wrung the other’s hand.
‘I know your name well, sir. I was hoping we’d meet one day.’
But Sinclair saw from his frown now that he felt excluded, and the realization brought him to a swift decision.
‘Inspector, I’m going to tell you something I shouldn’t. But you must keep it to yourself, now and in the future. As you may have guessed, Lang’s no ordinary sexual criminal. In fact, he’s been an agent employed abroad for intelligence purposes, and a highly successful one. I’ve already underlined how dangerous he is, but there’s also another side to him we have to consider: his skill at disguising his identity. He’s used many aliases in the past as
