short spell in 1917 before he got wounded and sent home.’
‘And he can remember one soldier in particular after all these years?’ Sinclair had been impressed.
‘He remembers Ash all right.’ Billy had looked grim. ‘According to Lofty he reacted to the name at once. Asked what had become of him, “What’s he been up to now?” were his actual words, and when Lofty asked him why he had put it like that, he said Ash had been a bad lot. “A cold-hearted devil” was how he described him. He said he knew almost for a fact that he’d murdered three German prisoners.’
‘He what-?’ Bennett had been shocked into silence.
‘He said although it happened after he’d been invalided home, he’d got the details later from the bloke who succeeded him as Ash’s company commander. It was near the end of the war and the Allied side had made an advance and captured some German trenches. Ash was detailed to take these three prisoners back to his own lines, but when he got there he reported they’d tried to escape and he’d had to shoot them. His commanding officer didn’t believe him and he tried to have him court-martialled. But they couldn’t get the evidence they needed. While he was supposed to be bringing the fellows back, the Jerry artillery got going again, and what with the shelling no one could say for sure what happened. Lofty asked why he thought Ash had done it, killed those men, and this major said he’d put the same question to the officer who told him the story, and this bloke had said most likely for convenience’s sake.’
‘Convenience …?’ Bennett had found it difficult to comprehend what he was hearing.
‘He reckoned Ash couldn’t be bothered bringing the men back through the shellfire. It was easier to shoot them.’
Billy had closed his file.
‘One last thing, sir. Cook asked what sort of soldier Ash had been, and this major said he was the sort you didn’t want in your company. Not a troublemaker, but someone the other men didn’t like. A cat who walked by himself, was how he put it, but there was one thing he was good for; something he even seemed to enjoy.’
‘And that was …?’
Billy had shrugged.
‘Seems he was always ready to volunteer whenever there was a night raid into no-man’s-land. A party would slip out of the trench and crawl across to the German lines. The idea was to spy out their positions and take a prisoner if they could. Sometimes they had to deal with sentries, and that’s where Ash came in. It was his speciality; he could do it quicker and quieter than anyone else. And he always did it the same way.’
Billy saw the question in Bennett’s eyes.
‘Yes, always with a garrotte.’
Recalling now the look of distaste that had appeared on his superior’s face at that moment, Sinclair prepared to rise.
‘So here’s where we stand, sir, if the commissioner should ask. We’re still checking hotels and boarding houses in the capital and the same process will be extended to the rest of the country shortly.’
‘You’re looking for a “Raymond Ash”, are you?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘And if he’s changed his name? Got himself a new identity card?’
‘Then there’s still this photograph of him which will appear in the national press tomorrow morning. Some of the people we’ve shown it to say there is a resemblance to Ash as he is now. But only a resemblance. Whether anyone else could pick him out from it only time will tell. We must just hope someone spots him.’
The chief inspector got slowly to his feet. His earlier, halfjocular remark to the effect that he was getting too old for the demands that a major police investigation made both in time and energy were starting to sound hollow in his own ears.
‘But if it would help to pacify the commissioner, you might explain to him some of the difficulties we’re facing. Normally a criminal like Ash would be tracked down through his associates. But it seems he has none. He’s a cat who walks by himself, as that army officer so picturesquely put it, and all places are alike to him. He’ll adapt to his new circumstances. Change his name; change his appearance. He’s done it before. That’s why he’s never been caught. But he’s still in a trap and as long as the war goes on he can’t escape it — he can’t leave the country — and there are all sorts of tripwires that exist now, thanks to the emergency regulations.’
‘So you believe that we’ll get him.’ Bennett looked keenly at his colleague. ‘I can tell the commissioner that.’
‘Indeed you can, sir.’ Sinclair nodded to Billy, who had also risen to his feet. ‘But what I can’t say is when.’
21
‘So all in all you’re the hero of the hour! I’m surprised they haven’t given you a medal. Or something to hang round your neck.’
Helen directed a fond smile over her shoulder at her husband, who was lying in bed in his pyjamas, propped up by pillows piled against the bedstead. She had not yet joined him and was sitting at her dressing table brushing her thick, still golden hair.
‘Angus was grinding his teeth when I told him. He said he ought to have thought of it himself. That it was time he was put out to pasture. I tried to tell him I wasn’t claiming any credit for what he called my stroke of intuition. That it was only when you mentioned Occam’s Razor that the idea occurred to me.’
‘Perhaps it’s I who should get an award then.’ Helen considered the thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want one. I’m happy enough as it is. Did I tell you Rob said they were giving him a fortnight’s leave and it might last even longer than that?’
‘Yes, my darling, you did.’
‘And they don’t know yet how long the repairs will take?’
‘That, too.’
‘Poor Rob. He was so upset. He asked me if I realized it might be weeks before the
Laughing, she turned back to the mirror, but after a few more strokes with the silver-backed hairbrush she set it down.
‘I can’t be bothered this evening.’ She stretched her arms luxuriously, then rose from the low stool she’d been sitting on and went to the window, where she drew the curtains apart a fraction and peered out into the night.
‘It’s still snowing. We’re going to have a white Christmas.’
Madden had returned from London earlier that day to find his wife waiting on the platform at Highfield station for him with a smile and a look in her eyes that had told him what to expect even before she had broken the good news that their son’s ship was back in port.
‘Rob rang from Hull just an hour ago. They had a dreadful time coming home. They collided with one of the merchantmen they were escorting in heavy seas and started shipping water, and for a while it looked as though they might sink. It must have been horrible, but you know Rob. He’s just cross that they’re stuck in port now.’
She had poured out the story into his ear while they embraced one another on the platform.
‘They docked in the early hours of this morning but he wasn’t able to ring us until now. He’ll get away as soon as he can. With any luck he’ll be home the day after tomorrow. On Christmas Eve.’
Madden’s happiness had equalled hers, and in the short time they had spent together while Helen drove him home before leaving to carry on with her afternoon rounds, he had said nothing about his visit to Southwark, feeling his news would keep. It was too late to go to the farm, and on returning to the house he had joined Mary Morris, their maid of many years, in putting the finishing touches to the fir tree that had been installed in the drawing-room in his absence, stringing it with lights and the familiar ornaments brought out of storage each year for display on the drooping green branches. It was a ritual he had come to enjoy, being associated in his mind with past Christmases when his children had been young, and the thought that with any luck this might be the last to take place in time of war had given added meaning to the small ceremony.
Shortly before six Helen had returned, but almost before she had had time to hang up her coat and join them
