Dead of Winter

habits left the chief inspector with no option but to continue:

‘So with that in mind, we’re faced with the question of motive. Why did he kill her? One theory is that he meant to rob her — her belongings, what she was carrying, were strewn all about — but of what? Not money, surely. But Styles found a number of charred matchsticks on and around the body indicating he’d been trying to strike a light in the wind: which in turn suggests he was looking for something. But there’s no way of telling whether he went through her coat pockets, for example, or whether he found her wallet, which ended up under some corrugated iron and could either have fallen there by chance or been tossed away by the killer after he’d searched it.’

‘Was there anything in it?’ Madden spoke at last. ‘Anything of value, I mean?’

Sinclair shook his head. ‘Quite the reverse. It contained her identity card and a small amount of money. Nothing more. So it’s possible he could have removed something from it. But these are all rational questions, and they may be the wrong ones to ask. It’s possible we’re dealing with a disturbed individual, someone who killed the girl for no reason at all, then set about trying to strike a light in order to examine his handiwork. But it’s worth pointing out that lunatics of that sort usually have a weapon of some kind, often a knife, and they seldom attack with their bare hands. At least not in my experience.’

Sinclair sat back heavily in his chair. He’d already had a long day.

‘You asked me earlier, John, if I still thought it was a crime of chance, and the answer is, yes, I do, on balance. But only on balance. We can’t get away from the fact that the act itself was deliberate and that for all we know there may have been a motive behind it. A rational motive. We have to consider the possibility that she was killed by someone she knew.’

‘Oh, no! Surely not.’ The exclamation came from Helen. She stared in disbelief at the chief inspector. ‘You mean a man, don’t you? Someone she was involved with?’

‘As I say, it’s something we have to consider, and it’s where I’m hoping you and John can help me. Was there anyone here she’d become friendly with? Have you heard any gossip? I might add that her aunt, a Mrs Laski, scoffs at the notion. But she hadn’t seen her niece for nearly two months and wouldn’t necessarily have known of any new development in her life.’

‘No, but she knew Rosa, and that was enough.’ Helen’s response was immediate. ‘You never met her, Angus, but if you had you’d understand. It wasn’t just that she kept to herself. She simply had no interest in … that side of life. In men. It was as though she had taken a vow: as if she was still in mourning. John …?’ She turned to her husband, and Madden nodded in confirmation.

‘We can ask around tomorrow, if you like, Angus, but you’ll find it’s a blind alley. Anyway, it’s hard to see some man following her up to London from here with the express purpose of killing her.’

‘I agree. But I had to put it to you.’

The sigh that came from the chief inspector’s lips then was partly one of relief. He knew better than most the distress a murder inquiry brought to any community, and his fear that the trail might lead back to Highfield had prompted him to ring the station commander at Bow Street that morning to inform him that he was going down to the village himself and would assess the need, if any, of extending the investigation outside the capital. Reassured now, he felt able to relax, and to let the wave of tiredness he’d been conscious of for some time wash over him. His stifled yawn caught Helen’s eye.

‘You must be exhausted, Angus. And though you haven’t mentioned it, I think your toe is bothering you. Why not go up to your room and have a rest before dinner.’ She rose from the settee. ‘I have to go out myself. We’ve an epidemic of whooping cough in the village, and there are some children I must look in on.’

Mildly put out to discover he’d failed to hide his discomfort from his hostess’s all-seeing eye, the chief inspector waited until she had left the room. Then he rounded on Madden.

‘You’ve been mighty quiet,’ he accused his old colleague. ‘Enough of that. Come on, before I go up, tell me what you think. I’ve given you the facts. What do you make of them?’

Emerging from the depths of his armchair, Madden leaned forward. His expression hadn’t changed and the chief inspector was unable to gauge his reaction from his eyes, which were dark and deep-set.

‘Not much, I’m afraid. Nothing that hasn’t occurred to you already. But there is one thing. I’m still not clear in my mind what Rosa’s movements were that night. How she came to encounter this man. Could you go through them again for me?’

‘Willingly.’ The chief inspector put down his glass. ‘As well as I can, that is. We still don’t know her exact route after she reached Waterloo, though it seems likely she came north to Tottenham Court Road by the Underground and then walked from there. Posters with her photograph are being put up along that route. We’re hoping someone will remember seeing her. Once she got to Bloomsbury, however, the situation becomes much clearer. I think I told you about the air-raid warden she bumped into. After they’d exchanged a few words, the girl continued down Little Russell Street while the warden went the other way, up Museum Street towards the British Museum. It seems she was killed within seconds of the two of them separating. And no more than twenty paces from where they’d been standing. So it looks as though she met her murderer coming down Little Russell Street. He must have been walking in the opposite direction.’

‘Or following her, surely?’

Madden’s intervention brought the chief inspector up short.

‘Well, yes … I suppose so … technically.’ Sinclair frowned. ‘But there’s no indication of that. They stood there talking for a minute or two and according to the warden there was no one else about.’

Madden sat pondering.

‘Yet you say they bumped into each other in the darkness?’ he went on after a moment. ‘Did she seem to be hurrying? Was she nervous, perhaps?’

‘Because she thought someone was following her? John, I’ve just said there was no suggestion of that.’ The chief inspector’s puzzlement showed on his face. ‘It wasn’t only that the warden didn’t see anyone. He didn’t hear any footsteps either. The Bow Street detectives asked him. Mind you, that could be explained by the fact there was a strong wind blowing.’

‘Or because the killer heard him speaking to Rosa and stopped.’

‘Around the corner, you mean? In Museum Street? Out of sight?’

Sinclair stared at him, and as he watched, Madden got to his feet. The fire had burned down to a bank of smouldering embers and he stirred it, adding fresh logs to revive the blaze.

‘Yes, but if he was following her with the intention of killing her, doesn’t that suggest it was someone she knew?’

Sinclair resumed speaking, but this time his companion made no reply.

‘And didn’t we agree that the odds were against that?’

‘True … But there’s another possibility.’

Madden put down the poker and straightened, his tall figure casting a long shadow across the hearth. He looked down at the chief inspector.

‘What if he knew her?’ he said.

‘John and I have decided. We’re going up to London for the funeral. Do you know when it will be, Angus? Have the police released Rosa’s body yet?’

Helen Madden sat back on her heels. She brushed a strand of fair hair from her eyes and regarded Sinclair, who was seated on a tombstone. Seeking to fill in time before the chief inspector’s train departed, they had stopped at the churchyard, where Helen had a task to perform.

‘I’m not certain,’ Sinclair said. ‘But I can find out for you. In any case, it won’t be long. There’s no reason for it to be held back. The pathologist has done his work.’ He reflected for a moment. ‘If you let me know what train you’re catching I’ll send your friend Billy Styles with a police car to Waterloo. The funeral will be at Golders Green, I expect. He can run you up there and collect Mrs Laski on the way. I dare say she’d be grateful for a lift.’

‘That would be kind, Angus.’ She smiled her thanks. ‘And it means we can take Rosa’s things with us and return them to her aunt. I know you looked through them today, but will the police in London still want to see them?’

The chief inspector considered the question. He had been watching while his hostess busied herself attending to her family’s plot in the moss-walled cemetery, sweeping it free of dead leaves and branches and trimming the uncut grass with a pair of garden shears. The chore was a necessary one, Helen had explained. Highfield had been