by Rennie Airth
'Then you heard what sounded like a police whistle?'
'Yes, sir, like that. The same sort of sound.'
'Just once?'
May Birney hesitated, her brow creased in concentration.
'Well, sir, it was like I said' — she shot a glance at Billy — 'first it was there, then it sort of faded away, and then it came back just for a moment.'
Madden's brow creased. 'Was there a breeze blowing?' he asked.
The girl's face lit up. 'Yes, sir, that was it. That's what happened. It came and went on the wind. I heard it twice. But it was so faint…'
'You wondered if you'd heard it at all?'
She nodded vigorously. Shooting another defiant glance at Billy, she said, 'I just wasn't sure.'
'But you are now?' Madden leaned forward. 'Take your time, May. Think about it.'
But she paused for only a moment. 'Yes, sir,' she said. 'Now I'm sure. Positive.'
On their way back to the church hall, Madden paused outside the Rose and Crown. A low brick wall enclosed the cobbled yard in front of the pub and he sat down on it and took out his packet of cigarettes. 'I believe you smoke, Constable?'
'Thank you, sir.' Surprised and pleased, Billy fumbled with his matches. Madden accepted a light. He sat for a while in silence. Then he spoke.
'This job we have,' he drew on his cigarette, 'it gives us a lot of power in small ways.'
'Sir?' Billy didn't understand.
'It's tempting to use it, particularly with people who… who don't know how to defend themselves.'
Billy was silent.
'Do you understand what I'm saying, Constable?'
He shook his head.
'Don't take the easy way, son.' Madden looked at him now. 'Don't become a bully.'
The cigarette in Billy's mouth had turned to gall.
'Now go and see if Mr Boyce has something for you to do.'
The following morning the inspector went from cottage to cottage on the Melling Lodge side of Highfield, inquiring whether any of the occupants had heard a whistle on Sunday evening.
The third door he knocked on was opened by Stackpole. The village bobby, still in his shirtsleeves, carried a small curly-haired girl in the crook of his arm whom he introduced as 'our Amy'.
'Can't help you, sir,' he told Madden. 'It wasn't me that whistled, that's for certain. Sunday evening the wife and I were over having supper with her parents.
They live on the other side of the green.'
A tow-haired boy peered out of a doorway behind him. Madden heard a baby's wail.
'Pardon me for saying so, sir, but young May Birney isn't what I'd call a reliable witness. Got her head in the clouds half the time, that young lady. She's sweet on a lad who works for one of Lord Stratton's tenants, but her parents are dead set against him. I've seen her down by the stream, mooning about.'
Madden smiled. Like all good village bobbies, Stackpole made everyone else's business his own. 'In the end, she seemed quite sure she'd heard it,' he said.
'Could have been something else,' the constable suggested. 'Jimmy Wiggins whistling up his bitch.
Or one of his lordship's keepers.'
'Perhaps.'
The inspector gave an account of his visit to Oakley the day before. 'I didn't take to Wellings. He didn't strike me as being truthful.'
'I'm not surprised,' Stackpole observed. 'Lies as he breathes, that one.'
'Gates said he handles stolen goods.'
'You weren't thinking…?' The constable raised an eyebrow.
'The stuff taken from Melling Lodge?' Madden shrugged. 'It did cross my mind. What's your view?'
Stackpole shifted the little girl to his other arm.
'I'd say if someone offered Sid Wellings a set of silver candlesticks, or a piece of jewellery, he'd snap it up.
But by the time you talked to him he must have known what happened at the Lodge and if he had any connection with it, even by chance, he'd have been wetting himself.'
Madden nodded. 'All the same, next time you're over there, speak to him. Ask him the same questions.
What was he doing over the weekend? Who did he see passing through the village? Let him know we're not satisfied with his answers.'
Stackpole looked at the inspector curiously. 'Do you still think he came through Oakley, sir?' And then, after a pause: 'It is "he" we're looking for, isn't it? Not some gang?'
'We believe it's one man,' Madden confirmed. 'But keep that to yourself for now. About Oakley, I'm not sure. He had to have some kind of transport. We think he was carrying a rifle, and when he left he must have had what he took from the Lodge. I don't think he could have come into the area on foot, even through the fields, without someone spotting him.'
'A rifle, sir?'
'He killed them with a rifle and bayonet — we're fairly sure of that. All except Mrs Fletcher.'
'Is he a soldier then?' Stackpole scowled.
'I doubt it. There's no military camp anywhere near.
An ex-soldier, more like it.'
'Plenty of them about.' The constable pressed Madden to come in for a cup of tea, but he declined the offer. Stackpole himself was due at Melling Lodge to join the party searching the woods. 'Between you and me, sir, it's a waste of time. Even with Lord Stratton's keepers helping. Most of these lads are town-bred.
They'll more likely step on something than see it.'
An hour later Madden was back at the church hall.
He had found no one to confirm May Birney's story of the whistle. Sergeant Hollingsworth was seated at the table where Boyce had been the day before. The Guildford inspector was supervising a check of all boots in the village.
'He's got a fingerprint team with him, too, sir.
They'll take the prints of anyone who called regularly at the Lodge.'
'Anything else?' Madden began leafing through the pile of statements on the table.
'Only the lady doctor, sir. She came by, asking for you. It's to do with the little girl.'
'What about her?' Madden looked up quickly. 'Is something the matter?'
Not that I know of, sir.' Hollingsworth scratched his head. 'Dr Blackwell just wants a word with you.
But she said it was important.'
Madden broke the police seal on the front door of Melling Lodge and went inside. The house lay in semi-darkness, with the curtains pulled. The metallic smell of blood was still strong in the hot, musty air.
Standing in the flagged hall, he pictured the scene as it must have happened. The man with the rifle bursting into the drawing-room from the terrace, glass and wood splintering, the maid with the coffee tray turning, mouth open, ready to scream- In! Out! On guard!
The commands he'd once been taught came back to him, accompanied by a sickening image.
The killer had caught Colonel Fletcher before he could reach the guns in the study, then the nanny in the kitchen, running from room to room down the long passage.
In! Out! On guard!
Why such haste? Madden wondered. What was driving him?
Racing up the stairs he had encountered Lucy Fletcher, dropped his weapon and seized her by the upper arms. He was big and strong, judging by the size of the footprint in the stream bed, if it was his.
Madden saw him picking up the woman by the arms and holding her clear of the floor — they had found no heel marks dragged across the carpet — carrying her into the bedroom and flinging her across the bed like … Lord Stratton's words returned to him: like a sacrifice.
He saw the white throat hideously slashed, the cascade of golden hair…
The nursery, papered with daffodils and bluebells, was at the end of the passage upstairs. It contained two beds, one unmade. Dolls and stuffed toys sat in a row on a wooden shelf. A model aeroplane hung from the ceiling. Madden took a laundry bag off its hook behind the door, emptied it and put in fresh clothes from the cupboard and two pairs of girl's shoes retrieved from a foot locker. Other items went into a brown paper bag he found on top of th
e cupboard.
A uniformed officer had been posted in the forecourt outside. At Madden's direction he made a list of everything taken from the nursery, which the inspector signed.
'I'm removing these articles from the house,' he told the constable. 'My compliments to Mr Boyce and see that he's informed.'
The avenue of limes led to a pleasant half-timbered house with a garage on one side where a red Wolseley two-seater was parked. The maid, whom Madden had seen upstairs on his previous visit, answered the doorbell.
She led him straight through the drawing-room out into the garden. Dr Blackwell was seated in an arbour at one end of the terrace with a little girl beside her. Sophy Fletcher had waist-length fair hair.
She was dressed in a blue muslin frock belted with a yellow sash.
At the sight of the inspector she sprang from her chair and threw herself on to the doctor's lap, burying her face in her shoulder.
Shocked, Madden halted. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm her.'
He turned to go back inside the house, but Helen Blackwell called out to him, 'Don't go, please.'
To the child, she said, 'Sophy, this is Inspector Madden. He's a policeman.'
The little girl, her face still hidden, gave no response. Madden could see her body trembling.
'Come and sit down,' the doctor urged him. 'I want Sophy to get used to being with strangers again.'
Privately she wondered if it wasn't the inspector's grim aspect that had upset the child. She saw that Madden was carrying a bag in each hand.
'You'll have some lemonade with us, won't you?'
She sought to lighten the deep frown with a smile.
'Mary, pour the inspector a glass, would you?' A jug and glasses stood on the table in front of them.
Madden tugged open the laundry bag. 'I brought some of Sophy's clothes from the Lodge,' he explained.
'How very kind of you.' She was touched by his gesture. 'I was going to ask about that. This is something Mary ran up.' She patted the blue muslin back. 'Luckily Sophy left a pair of shoes here on her last visit.'
'You wanted to talk to me?'
'Yes, please. Later…?' She glanced down at the fair head. 'Could you stay a little while?' He nodded.
'I have a patient to see in the village, but I shan't be long.'
She watched as he sat down and began emptying the brown-paper packet he had brought. He took out several dolls and a teddy bear and began arranging them in a circle on the grassed flagstones in front of him. Mary hovered. The inspector looked up. 'Do you have any old tea-cups?' he asked. 'The more chipped the better. And perhaps a jug of water?'
Dr Blackwell nodded to the maid, who went into the house.
'Sophy…' She nudged the small figure on her lap.
'Look what the inspector's brought.'
The child didn't move. Her face stayed sealed to the doctor's shoulder.
The maid returned with a tray bearing an array of china. She put it on the ground beside Madden. He began to lay out the crockery, rattling the cups and saucers as he did so. Helen Blackwell felt a small movement. The child had turned her head. She was watching out of the corner of her eye.
Madden put a cup and saucer in front of each toy, then placed the jug of water in the centre of the circle.
'Someone will have to pour,' he announced.
Mary started forward, but Dr Blackwell checked her with a gesture. The little girl was stirring. She climbed slowly off the doctor's lap. Keeping a wary eye on Madden she approached the circle of figures and dropped to her knees in front of them. She studied the group for several seconds. Then she picked up the teddy bear and placed him at the head of the circle near Madden's feet. Her eyes met his. Whatever she saw in the inspector's sombre glance seemed to reassure her and she lifted the jug of water and began to pour.
Dr Blackwell rose. 'I must go and see my patient,' she said, without urgency. 'Can I leave you here for a little while, Inspector?'
He nodded in answer.
'Sophy, I'll be back soon.'
The child, absorbed in the business of filling the cups, made no reply.
When the doctor returned half an hour later she found the arbour deserted. Mary was standing at the edge of the terrace with folded arms looking out over the garden. Helen Blackwell joined her and saw Madden and Sophy, hand in hand, at the bottom of the lawn, near the orchard.
'Did he take her down there?' she asked the maid.
'No, she took him, ma'am.' Mary smiled. 'She's showing him the garden.'
'Is she talking to him?' Dr Blackwell hardly dared to hope.
'No, just pointing.'
As she spoke, the little girl lifted her hand and indicated the weeping beech at the edge of the lawn.
They went there together and vanished from sight beneath the drooping branches. After a minute they reappeared. The child stood close to Madden with her head bowed while the inspector bent over her and carefully picked the twigs from her hair.
'He's talking to her,' Mary observed.
Dr Blackwell said nothing. She found herself feeling breathless in the hot midday sun.
'Let's go inside.' She drew the maid away. 'I don't want her to see us watching.'
From the drawing-room window they observed the little girl lead Madden back to the terrace. At the bottom of the steps she halted and reached up her arms to him. He lifted her easily, and in a moment she had attached herself to him, winding her arms about his neck and pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
He stood still, as though stunned, then turned and slowly mounted the steps to the terrace. Helen Black well saw the tears on his cheeks.
'Oh, ma'am…' Mary said beside her.
The doctor moved away from the window.
'Mary, would you go and ask Cook to get Sophy's lunch ready?' she said. 'I'll bring her through in a moment.'
As soon as the maid had gone Helen Blackwell sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette. She felt drained of energy. She wanted to sit quietly and think.
But there was something she had to do at once, an urgent problem that needed solving, and after less than a minute she extinguished the cigarette, ran her fingers through her hair and went out on to the terrace to speak to Inspector Madden.
'She wants to send the child to Scotland? Och, John, I can't let her do that.'
'It might be the best thing, sir.'
They were sitting in what Mr Poole, the landlord of the Rose and Crown, called the snug bar, a panelled recess at the back of the taproom. He had set it aside for the use of the police. The main bar was shut — it was the middle of the afternoon — but they could hear the barmaid at work cleaning up. She was singing a song Madden remembered from the war.
K-K-K-Katy, my beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore…
'What will I tell the Yard?'
'What Dr Blackwell told me. It's her professional opinion. The child would be better off with her family — she still has a brother alive, remember — and also more likely to recover if she's away from here.'
Sinclair frowned discouragingly. 'You say her aunt and uncle are coming down from Scotland for the funerals?'
'Yes, on Friday. Dr Blackwell would like Sophy to go back with them.'
'The child hasn't said a word yet?'
'No, but Dr Blackwell thinks she will soon. Start speaking 'Well, then?' Sinclair raised his eyebrows.
'The doctor believes it's unlikely she'll talk about what happened that night. In fact, she may have blocked it out of her mind. Repressed memory, I believe it's called.' Madden paused. 'Dr Blackwell's already spoken to someone in Edinburgh — a psychologist — who could start treating the child right away.'
'Takes a lot on herself, your Dr Blackwell does.'
'Not mine, sir. Very much her own woman, I'd say.'
'Would you, now!' Sinclair snorted. 'Damn it, everything she says makes sense.' He took out his pipe and began to fill it. 'This doctor in Edinburgh…?'
'Another woman, s
ir.' Madden smiled. 'A Dr Edith Mackay. She had a full medical training and then studied to become a psychologist. Apparently she specializes in children. Sophy's aunt and uncle are only half an hour out of Edinburgh. She could see the child regularly.'
'Very well.' The chief inspector held up his hands in surrender. 'But if the girl says one word about what happened that night 'Her uncle will get in touch with the Edinburgh police immediately. Dr Blackwell promised that.'Sinclair lit his pipe. 'Anything else?'
'Only this.' Madden took two folded pieces of paper from his jacket pocket. 'Dr Blackwell gave Sophy a pad and some crayons and she started drawing straight away. Always the same thing, the doctor said.' He handed the papers to Sinclair who examined the childish scribbles. The same balloon and string design covered both sheets of paper with little variation.
'What does it mean?'
'Dr Blackwell has no idea. But she thought we ought to see it.'
The chief inspector handed the papers back. He said, 'I'm about to break the law. I'm going to ask Mr Poole to serve us a drink. Then I'll tell you what happened at the Yard this morning.'
'Like the curate's egg, it could have been better and it could have been worse.'
Sinclair set two glasses of whisky on the table in front of Madden. He shut the hatchway to the taproom, picked up his pipe from the ashtray and sat down.
'Parkhurst started off chairing the meeting' — Sir George Parkhurst was the Assistant Commissioner, Crime; effectively head of the CID — 'but he only spoke for ten minutes. Held forth on the undesirability of massacres in the Home Counties, pointed out that the words "police baffled" were already appearing in the press, and then handed everything over to Bennett.'
'That's good, isn't it?' Bennett was the Deputy Assistant Commissioner. He had a reputation for sharpness among detectives who'd come into contact with him.
'Up to a point.' Sinclair glanced sideways at Madden.
'Chief Superintendent Sampson was also present, and he'll be taking a hand in the investigation.'
'Sampson of the Yard?' Madden kept a straight face.
'You may find it amusing,' Sinclair said acidly, 'but take it from me, the man's a menace. I dare say he's already pictured the headlines. "Another Triumph For Sampson Of The Yard!"'