be no more than a fantasy so far as his old pal was concerned, but was no less real to her on that account. She was sitting now, staring at the bowl of shelled peas before her, the glint of tears held back shining in her eyes. ‘She told me she’d be playing bridge.’
‘That’s right…’ Bess came back to herself with a half-sob. She pushed a strand of hair back under her white cap. ‘She’s gone over to Petersfield. She said she’d try and get back not too late…’
Sam grunted. He’d been hoping the mistress of the house would be there, either to share his burden of worry, or, better still, to tell him his fears were groundless. But he saw he’d have to act on his own.
‘Can I use the phone again?’ He got to his feet. ‘Is that all right?’
‘The phone? Yes, of course… but why?’ She looked up, blinking. ‘What for, Sam?’
‘I’m sorry, lass. It has to be done.’ He couldn’t keep his concern from her any longer, and with a sigh he reached across the table to pat her on the shoulder. ‘We need to know if anything’s happened to Eddie. I’m going to ring the police.’
29
Billy helped himself to a fish paste sandwich – they were the only kind left – and then refilled his cup from the tea urn. The CID office, which ten minutes ago had been thronged with plain-clothes men, was deserted. Only Sergeant Cole was there, busy sticking coloured pins into the map of Midhurst, marking out areas of the town already covered by the teams of detectives, whose brief lunch hour had just ended and whose assignments now bore an urgency that needed no underlining.
The news Billy had taken in haste to the office on the floor above had galvanized the chief inspector into action. After canvassing both Braddock and Madden for their opinions, and finding they shared his view, he had telephoned Bennett at Scotland Yard with a radical new proposal.
‘We have to go public, sir. We must see to it that tomorrow’s papers carry stories about this investigation, particularly the fact that we’re looking for a foreigner, and giving Lang’s description. I hate to do it: I think it’ll only scare him off. But better that than he kills another child.’
Billy had stood by the open door watching, his presence seemingly forgotten by Sinclair, who was listening to what Bennett was saying to him, his brow knotted in a frown, his fist clenched on the blotter in front of him.
‘Yes, sir, all the national papers, and Mr Braddock and I will deal with local editors here in Sussex.’ There’d been a pause while the chief inspector’s fingers drummed on the desk. Then he’d spoken again. ‘It seems unlikely, I grant you. But one can’t read the mind of a man like that. The information has to be taken at face value: we must assume he means to strike again.’
When the call ended a few moments later, Sinclair had turned to Madden.
‘Bennett was wondering whether Lang would really choose to endanger himself now, just when he was about to leave. What’s your view, John?’
Billy heard Madden grunt. He’d watched as a scowl came over his old chief’s face.
‘I’m not so sure, Angus. From what Vane told you, it sounds as though Lang is finding it harder to control himself. Isn’t that why he had to get out of Germany in a hurry? He’s kept a check on himself since Brookham, but it can’t have been easy. Now that he’s leaving he may feel he can afford to take risks. He may even see an advantage in it. He can leave the police investigating another of these crimes, and searching for the killer in England, while he makes his escape.’
In the silence that had followed, the chief inspector’s eye had fallen on Billy, who was still standing by the door.
‘Is there anything I can do, sir?’
‘Tell Cole from me to keep the men at it. The search goes on as before. Any further sightings of Lang to be reported immediately. They must get word back without delay.’
Billy had already passed the message on and he strolled over now to inspect the map and see how much progress had been made. Like spreading ripples, the circle of red pins was approaching the outskirts of the town and Billy bent close to read names that heralded the start of the countryside beyond: Beggars Corner, June Meadows, Nine Acres, Guillard’s Oak. So far he’d found little to do of any use. His position as a Scotland Yard officer set him apart from the others – in their eyes, at least – and he’d been forced to stand by while men who knew both the town and each other well had gone about their business.
And there was another thing bothering him: the memory of the chief inspector’s reaction when he and Madden had presented themselves to him earlier that morning. For a moment he’d seemed displeased, or at any rate disapproving, and Billy had felt that Sinclair’s censure was directed towards him.
‘You say your car’s broken down?’ The chief inspector had contrived to make the question sound like an accusation, meanwhile glancing across at Madden, who was talking to Braddock. ‘Couldn’t you have found some other way to get here?’
The thought that his superior might not have wanted to see his former colleague there had never occurred to Billy, and while under normal circumstances Madden’s civilian status would have presented a problem, the scene he had just witnessed upstairs between the two men, when the chief inspector had turned to his old friend as naturally as if they were still working together, seemed to contradict any such notion. So what was it all about?
The sergeant was still ruminating on the riddle when he saw the door open and Madden enter.
‘Ah, Billy! There you are…’ He was wearing his coat and had his hat in his hand.
‘Are you leaving, sir?’ Billy put down his cup.
‘Yes, I must get back. This business could take a while. Helen will be worried.’ He advanced into the room. ‘But there’s something I want to do first. Perhaps you could give me a hand. It would be easier if we made it a police matter. Are you busy?’
‘Anything but.’ Billy grinned.
‘I don’t want to bother Mr Sinclair. He’s got his hands full. He and Mr Braddock are drawing up a statement to give to the newspapers. But there’s something that ought to be checked…’ He noticed that Cole had turned from the map and was regarding him with curiosity. ‘My name’s Madden, Sergeant.’ He went over, offering his hand as he did so. ‘I used to be a policeman.’
‘I know, sir.’ Cole’s face was split by a grin. ‘The word’s gone round the station. We all remember Melling Lodge. Lord, what a business that was!’
They shook hands.
‘Sergeant Styles worked with me on that case. We were partners.’
Billy’s pleasure at hearing the word was heightened by the glance he received from the Midhurst copper, and his grunt of acknowledgement, grudging though it was.
‘Can I do anything for you, sir?’ Cole asked, and Madden nodded.
‘I need directions.’ He gestured towards the map. ‘Would you show us where your library is?’
On the way, Madden explained what was in his mind.
‘I think Lang might have called in at the library yesterday. Have you read the statement Mrs Hall, the doctor’s nurse, gave? The full statement, I mean? The one she made to the detective Inspector Braddock sent over later?’
Billy shook his head. They were striding across the market square, past an old set of stocks and a pillory, hands plunged into coat pockets against the freezing fog that had gripped the countryside all day. Sergeant Cole had told them the library was only a few minutes’ walk away.
‘She was asked to recall all the details she could about Lang and she mentioned a book he had with him, on his lap, while he was sitting in the waiting room. He took it into the doctor’s office when he was called in and later she noticed it lying on the desk and glanced at the title. It had to do with birds, she said, and she thought the author’s name might be Howard, though it was probably Coward. T. A. Coward. His books are well known. Birds of the British Isles. We’ve a set of them at home. They belonged to Helen’s father.’
Madden had stopped for a moment to check a sign. Following Cole’s directions, they had left the square and arrived at a curving street of timber-framed houses, some of them still with the narrow, glazed windows of an earlier age.
‘When I read what she’d said, I wondered what he was doing with it. Lang, I mean.’
