‘I wish I had better news for you, John. Or any news at all. We’ve been checking hotels and boarding houses, but there’s no trace of him.’ Angus Sinclair’s clipped tones couldn’t disguise the weariness in his voice. At the other end of the telephone line, Madden listened with a heavy heart. ‘It’s still going on, and I’m extending the search to the neighbouring counties. I pray we’re not wasting our time.’
More than a week had passed since the chief inspector had unburdened himself at their meeting; they had not spoken since.
‘And there’s been nothing from abroad?’
‘No sightings, if that’s what you mean. But the Swiss have been quick off the mark. The Geneva police have confirmed that Lang’s wanted there on a double murder charge. It’s been so long, the cases had been shelved. But they’re anxious to get their hands on him now.’
‘Do they know about his connection with espionage?’ Madden asked.
‘They haven’t said so. But they’ve promised to send us some background on him, so we’ll wait and see. We’ve also been in touch with the Belgian police. Lang – or Wahl, as he called himself – kept a small flat in Brussels. It’s been empty since he went to Germany, but he had an arrangement with his concierge to keep an eye on it. She hasn’t heard from him in nearly a year. It looks as though Vane was right: he’s cut and run.’
‘Did they search the flat?’
‘They did. No incriminating evidence was found and nothing to indicate what sort of man he was, either, what his business might be. Our friends from the Surete were naturally curious as to his background, but I was unable to enlighten them.’ Sinclair’s chuckle had a hollow ring. ‘Two interesting points, though. There’ve been no killings with his trademark in Belgium. He knew enough to keep his own doorstep clean.’
‘Two points, you said-?’
‘Yes, they found a number of works of ornithology in his bookshelves. So the birdwatching link is confirmed. I’ve had Styles making inquiries among the societies, incidentally, as you suggested. Nothing’s come of it as yet. But hope springs eternal.’ The chief inspector’s sigh seemed to suggest otherwise. ‘Will you give my love to Helen?’
The call came midway through lunch and Madden was relieved not to have to relate its contents to his wife, who had driven up to London earlier that day in response to an appeal from her Aunt Maud, a lady in her eighties, who had fallen and injured her hip the night before and needed comforting.
Only too conscious of the effect his involvement in the case had had on Helen, his guilt on this account was made heavier by his awareness of the debt he owed her. Having returned from the war a broken man – in his own mind, at least – he knew that the deep happiness he had found, his sense of wholeness restored, came from the assurance her love had given him, and in following her wishes and breaking with his past he had made open acknowledgement of the fact.
But the brutal murder on which he’d stumbled had sounded a summons he’d found hard to ignore. The hunter’s instinct, for so long dormant in him, had reawakened and as the weeks passed and the police investigation seemed to draw no closer to its quarry he had realized he would find no peace until the man who had turned Alice Bridger’s face to pulp was brought to answer for it.
Like his old chief, he was tormented by one anxiety in particular: that the longer the killer remained at large, the more likely it was he would strike again. But when news of a fresh tragedy reached him at the close of that same day, it came from a quarter he had not foreseen.
‘It was Molly Henshaw found him, sir. She’d been taking him his meals each day. After his wife left, that is…’
‘Mrs Bridger left her husband?’ Madden was finding it difficult to come to terms with what Will Stackpole was telling him. The Highfield constable, tall in his helmet, stood like a pillar in the misty driveway in front of the house. Drawn up a little way off was an old Morris with its bonnet raised. Billy Styles was leaning on the mudguard, peering down at the motor.
‘Not left, as such, sir. She hadn’t walked out on him. But she said she couldn’t go on living in that cottage, not with the child gone, not with the memories. So she went off to live with her sister in Liphook. Bridger stayed on. He had his job, I suppose, but even there things weren’t going too well. He’d started drinking. Anyway, the farmer he worked for got rid of him not long ago, and after that he went to pieces, Molly said. They were trying to get his wife to come back, or him to leave, but I reckon Jim had his mind made up by then. Poor Molly, though. To come on a man hanging from his own rafters! Now that was wrong… he should have thought what he was doing… who it was who’d find him.’
Lost for words, Madden stared at the ground. He had got back himself only a short while before, having fetched Rob from school, in time to receive a call from Helen who had rung to report that Aunt Maud was being difficult and she would not be able to return until the following day. As he put down the phone he’d heard the sound of a car approaching, its engine labouring.
‘The Henshaws have got word to his wife. She’s coming over. I left Bert Thomas, from Craydon, to handle things.’
Madden shook his head helplessly. In his mind was the memory of the child’s body lying sprawled on the bank of the stream while the thunder crashed above. Catching a look in the constable’s eye, he saw that they shared the same bitter thought.
‘It’s never just the victim, is it?’ Stackpole’s growl came from deep in his chest. ‘It’s everything else that comes with it, the pain it spreads, the damage it does… What I wouldn’t give to get my hands round that bastard’s neck!’
The sound of footsteps approaching on the gravel made Madden look up. ‘How’d you come to be there, Billy?’
‘I happened to be at Albury, sir.’ The sergeant wiped his oil-smeared fingers on a piece of rag. ‘I heard there was some trouble at Brookham, so I drove over… and found Will.’
‘Bert Thomas had rung me earlier,’ Stackpole explained. ‘I managed to get a lift in the post van, but there wasn’t much I could do when I got there.’
The three men stood in silence for a few moments. Then Madden stirred.
‘Come inside, both of you. We’ll have a drink together.’
‘Not for me, thank you, sir. I ought to be getting back.’ Stackpole’s glance remained grim beneath his helmet.
‘Let me at least run you into the village, Will.’
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather walk.’ The constable straightened. ‘Yes, I could do with a breath of fresh air.’ He shook Madden’s hand and then clapped his colleague on the shoulder. ‘Thanks for the lift, Billy. I’ll see you again soon.’
Wheeling about, he strode off down the drive. Madden watched as his figure disappeared into the mist-wreathed darkness.
‘Albury?’ He glanced questioningly at Billy.
‘I went there to see a birdwatcher, sir. Your idea, I believe?’ The sergeant smiled. He’d purposely stood apart while the two older men had spoken together, feeling they might want to share their grief in private. But he hadn’t missed the agonized expression that had crossed Madden’s face when he heard what the other had to tell him.
‘Mr Sinclair told me you were handling that line of inquiry. Have you had any luck?’
‘Not so far. We’ve had plenty of reports of strangers spotted here and there, but no one’s been able to identify Lang. I’ve been getting around a good bit, seeing plenty of the countryside.’ The sergeant grinned. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure I’ll be going anywhere in the near future.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the Morris. ‘The Yard gave me that when I went to Henley. She started playing up this morning. Will and I were lucky to get this far.’
Seemingly oblivious of the thickening mist, Madden stood brooding. ‘Stay the night,’ he said suddenly. ‘No, I mean it, Billy. Helen’s away. I’ll be glad of your company. So will the children. I’ll get someone from the village to look at your car in the morning.’
‘Well, if you’re sure it’s no bother, sir.’ The sergeant was pleased to accept the invitation. He knew his old chief wouldn’t want to be alone. Not that evening.
‘Quite the contrary.’ The frown darkening Madden’s brow lifted. ‘Your presence will be hailed by one and all. Rob has a long list of questions to put to you, I know, and as far as Lucy’s concerned, you need only appear in person to make it a red-letter day. She’ll be as pleased as punch.’