Dead of Winter

by Rennie Airth

  ‘And most likely his own.’ Madden nodded his agreement. ‘He was coming home.’

  ‘That’s what it looks like. But unfortunately we can’t dismiss the possibility he arrived here under another alias, so we’re going to have to check on all foreigners who entered the country in the weeks following the occupation of Paris. The same goes for British subjects, the ones who bothered to report their return. It’s going to be a long job, I’m afraid, which means Marko will have all the time he needs to cover his tracks, something he’s had plenty of experience doing. I should have listened to you, John. I was too cocksure. I thought we’d catch him easily once we had him in our sights. I was wrong.’

  He looked at his watch at the same moment that Madden glanced at his.

  ‘So you’re going back to Highfield tomorrow – is that right?’

  Madden nodded as they rose from the table.

  ‘We’ve been hoping Rob will be with us for Christmas. But it’s only a week away now and there’s still no word from him. The trouble is they won’t tell you when his destroyer is due back. They won’t tell you anything.’

  Sinclair pressed his arm: there was little else he could offer in the way of comfort. But once they were outside, making their way down the dark street towards the tube station at Tottenham Court Road, he turned to a more cheerful subject.

  ‘And what of Lucy? You haven’t said a word about her.’

  ‘She’ll be home for Christmas. I can tell you that much. They’ve given her a few days’ leave. But the fact of the matter is I’ve hardly set eyes on her since I came up. She’s never in. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Helen.’

  ‘You arrived with instructions, did you?’

  ‘You might put it that way. Helen wanted me to have a serious talk with her. Father to daughter. I’m supposed to find out what she’s been doing since she came up to London.’

  ‘Dear me.’ Angus Sinclair contrived to look grave. ‘No easy task, I imagine.’

  ‘I told you – I haven’t been able to sit down with her, even for a minute. She’s always in a rush. But try explaining that to Helen …’

  The hint of self-pity in his old friend’s tone brought a gleam of mischief to the chief inspector’s eye. He was finally deriving some enjoyment from the evening.

  ‘She expects you to be firmer, does she?’

  ‘In a nutshell. Though I don’t think she holds out much hope. She says Lucy has always known how to get the better of me. Like most daughters with their fathers, according to Helen.’

  He meditated on his own words in silence as they walked on. Then he sighed.

  ‘It seems I’m putty in her fingers.’

  17

  THE TRUTH OF THIS judgement, harsh though it seemed, had been only too evident to Madden during his stay in London. Anxious to see his daughter before she went on duty, he had caught the early train from Highfield, but as often happened nowadays the service was delayed – this time by a breakdown in the signalling system, or so the passengers were told as they sat motionless for more than an hour in Guildford station – and it was not until mid-morning that he’d reached his destination, only to discover that Lucy was still asleep.

  ‘Poor dear – they work her something dreadful,’ Maud Collingwood’s maid, a woman he had known for twenty years but only by her first name, which was Alice, had confided to him on his arrival. ‘Until all hours. She has to catch up on sleep as best she can, poor child.’

  Not entirely surprised – it was Helen’s contention that Lucy’s vagueness on the subject of her working hours arose from a confusion in her mind (she was unable to distinguish the Admiralty from Quaglino’s and the Stork Room) – Madden had offered no comment. He intended to get this matter, and others, sorted out when he sat down with her later. Instead he had enquired after Aunt Maud, only to be told that she seldom came downstairs before one o’clock.

  ‘She and Miss Lucy usually have breakfast together in her room, and that can be any time,’ Alice had informed him. Well into her sixties now, she had acquired a benign motherly look that reminded Madden of the pictures of Mrs Tiggywinkle he had shown Lucy when she was little. ‘It depends …’

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘On what time Miss Lucy wakes up. We don’t like to disturb her.’

  Forced to bide his time, Madden had set about carrying out the instructions he’d received from Helen before departing.

  ‘Look over the house, would you, darling. Aunt Maud’s far too old to keep an eye on things and Lucy’s a scatterbrain. Make sure all the doors and windows are secure and see that everything’s in working order, not just the boiler.’

  A quick tour of inspection had proved reassuring. He had found nothing that required immediate attention apart from the boiler, which Alice confirmed had been ‘playing up’, adding that arrangements were already in hand for its repair.

  ‘Since when?’ This was news to Madden.

  ‘We had a man come in yesterday,’ Alice had told him.

  ‘He said it needed some part which he’d have to get hold of. He’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘What man? Who is he?’

  ‘Ah, well, you’ll have to ask Sid that. He’s the one who sent him round.’

  ‘Sid?’

  ‘Miss Lucy’s friend. Have you met him, sir?’

  Madden had not. Nor had he ever heard of him. But the omission was soon repaired. At eleven o’clock – just as the first faint stirrings could be heard on the floor above – the doorbell had rung and Alice had admitted a young man wearing a sharp-looking suit and sporting a pearl-grey fedora which he’d doffed on being introduced.

  ‘Morning, squire,’ he’d greeted Madden.

  Sid’s black hair, plastered flat on his head, had shone with brilliantine. His wide smile revealed a gold tooth.

  ‘Luce up?’ he’d enquired of Alice, and on being told she had not yet appeared had placed a parcel wrapped in brown paper on the kitchen table.

  ‘Nice bit of fillet, that,’ he’d confided to Madden in a low voice. ‘Trouble is there’s no one here to eat it. Luce is never in and as for Miss C …’ He had raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Well, she don’t seem to consume. Isn’t that right, love?’

  His last remark, directed at Alice, had brought a giggle from her lips.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Sid, Miss Collingwood eats like a bird. It’s no use bringing all this food. It’s just going to waste.’

  ‘Well, you never know …’ Sid had sounded philosophical. ‘Squire …’

  Saluting Madden with a further flourish of his hat, he’d departed.

  Not averse to gossip, Alice had told him that Sid had knocked on their door one day to enquire if they needed any coal and that from that moment on his relationship with the household had blossomed.

  ‘Do anything for Miss Lucy, he would.’

  Shortly afterwards the subject of their discussion had appeared, still in her pyjamas and dressing gown, and with her long hair uncombed. Catching sight of her father as she burst into the kitchen, her face still flushed with sleep, she had flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Daddy, why didn’t you tell me you were here? Why didn’t you wake me?’

  She had hugged and kissed him, and paused only long enough to inform Alice that Aunt Maud would like toast and tea but that she herself would do without breakfast that morning.

  ‘I’m in a rush,’ she confided to them. ‘I’ve been late on duty twice this week.’

  The transformation between the rumpled child he had held in his arms for a brief moment, so familiar, so deeply loved, and the poised young woman who appeared not ten minutes afterwards, elegant in her navy blue coat and with her golden hair coiled neatly under a Wren’s hat, had robbed him of all words.

  It’s so lovely you’re here, Daddy. I’ll try not to be late this evening.’

  She had kissed him warmly and departed.

  Later he’d discovered, when he ascended the stairs to pay his respects to Aunt Maud, that th
e old lady had been only too happy to hand over the running of her household to her great-niece.

  ‘She’s such a dear girl. So full of surprises. Do you know what she found for me to eat the other day? A jar of caviar. And now she’s having the boiler repaired. Such a treasure.’

  Aunt Maud had received him propped up by pillows in her bedroom. Shrunken by age, she retained a bright eye, but although she took a lively interest in all matters relating to the family, she’d been unable to enlighten him on the subject of Lucy’s activities outside the house.

  ‘The poor child works till all hours,’ she had said, repeating the theme Madden had already heard voiced by Alice. But she comes in to see me whenever she can and we have such lovely talks. She’s so like her mother. Sometimes I forget it’s not Helen sitting there on the end of my bed.’

  With the repair of the boiler now out of his hands – at least for the time being – Madden had been reduced to pottering about the house, and though he’d had no intention of prying further, nevertheless found another shock awaiting him. Conscious of the relative good fortune all country dwellers shared when it came to the matter of food rationing, he’d arrived laden with produce from the farm, and having deposited the butter, eggs and cheese he had brought with him in the conspicuously crowded fridge, had looked for a place to put the pork pie May Burrows had made at his request, eventually settling on one of the cupboards in the pantry.

  ‘Good God!’

  Its contents revealed, he had stood aghast.

  ‘What on earth … ?’

  Stacked up before his eyes was an assortment of delicacies now little more than a memory to most. Tinned pheasant, pâté de foie gras, preserved truffles; yet another jar of caviar. Three tins of olive oil marked ‘extra vergine’ and bearing the name of a Genoese manufacturer. Two bottles of champagne; two of cognac. On the shelf below were bars of chocolate laid one on top of the other beside expensive prewar condiments – chutneys and sauces with exotic names – and beside them a noble Stilton, its cloth wrapping as yet untouched.

  And what were these?

  ‘Oranges!’ Madden had exclaimed out loud.

  ‘Ooh, yes.’ Alice had been standing behind him, watching. ‘They were a surprise. I did squeeze one for Miss Collingwood yesterday morning to have with her breakfast but she said it was too acid for her stomach.’

  Though resolved to get some explanation from his daughter, Madden had been thwarted when Lucy had rung during the afternoon to say she would not be home until very late – an emergency had arisen at the Admiralty – and he was not to wait dinner for her. When midnight had come and gone with no sign of her he had gone to bed, but the following morning when she appeared downstairs already dressed in her uniform and in the same hurry to be off he had moved to intercept her.

  ‘Daddy, I can’t stop now,’ she’d implored him.

  He had never found it easy to resist her appeals, and the uncanny resemblance she bore to her mother, not only in looks, but even in her gestures and the tone of her voice, only added to his difficulty. But on this occasion he had steeled himself.

  ‘No, wait, Lucy. I must have a word with you.’ He had stood in the doorway of the kitchen barring her exit. ‘This man …’

  ‘What man?’ For a moment panic had flared in her eyes.

  ‘This Sid!’

  ‘Oh, Sid?’ Her smile pierced his heart. ‘Have you met him? Isn’t he an angel?’

  ‘No, he’s not an angel. He’s a spiv. All that food in the cupboard – where on earth do you think it comes from?’ And when she’d failed to reply. ‘You can’t imagine he got hold of it legally?’

  Two tears had appeared in her sapphire eyes.

  ‘Lucy … !’

  ‘It’s not for me. It’s for Aunt Maud. She never eats anything, but I keep hoping we can find something she wants. Sid’s doing his best.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. Have you any idea what it must be costing her?’

  She had stayed silent. But her glance had been accusing.

  ‘My darling, it’s quite normal for old people to behave this way. They lose interest in eating.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ had been her riposte. But if you like I’ll speak to him. Poor Sid. He’ll wonder what he’s done wrong.’

  Unable to detain her any longer – she’d warned him she would be ‘disciplined’ if she was late again – he had had to let her go without fixing a time for the talk he meant for them to have, and sure enough, when he’d returned after his long afternoon at Scotland Yard it was to discover yet another telephoned message to the effect that she would be working a double tour of duty that evening and would be spending the night with friends, two other Wrens who had a flat in Victoria not far from the Admiralty.

  ‘Does this happen very often?’ he had asked Alice when she served him what proved to be an excellent dinner. (Only after Madden had sunk his teeth into one of the tender slices of beef put before him did he realize it must be the piece of fillet Sid had brought the day before that he was eating.) Surely they can’t expect these young girls to work double shifts?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t know about that, sir.’

  Alice’s pursed lips had suggested she did not think the subject a suitable one for discussion. But on the topic of the illicit hoard of food Madden had discovered, and which continued to trouble him, she had proved surprisingly sympathetic to his point of view.

  ‘I do wish Sid would ask first. There are all sorts of things Miss Collingwood can’t digest nowadays. Chocolate, for example. Nor those oranges. I’m sure I don’t know what I’m going to do with most of it. You couldn’t help, could you, sir?’

  ‘Take it away, you mean?’ Madden had frowned at the idea. ‘But it’s all been paid for, Alice. By Miss Collingwood.’

  ‘And a pretty penny it’s cost her too, sir, I can tell you. But it’s not doing any good sitting there.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could take some of it. There are plenty of children I know down in the country who’d love a bar of chocolate. And some of them have never tasted an orange. I’ll have a word with Miss Collingwood before I go.’

  ‘At least I’ll return bearing gifts,’ Madden told Helen when he rang her at her surgery the morning after his drink with Sinclair to say he would be taking the train back to Highfield later that day. And the boiler’s purring like a kitten, though no thanks to me. I keep thinking of that advertisement you see in all the railway stations. “Is your journey really necessary?” ’

  As always, his first question had been about their son. He’d been hoping she might have heard from Rob since they last spoke, but Helen told him there was still no news.

  ‘I’m sure his ship should have been back by now. It’s weeks since they sailed.’

  Since pursuing the subject would only have added to their worry, Madden had quickly moved on to other topics, reassuring her first that funeral arrangements for Mrs Laski were in hand – the thought had been causing Helen concern – then relating to her the gist of what Sinclair had told him the night before.

  ‘I’ve heard of criminals like him, paid assassins, cold killers, but in all my time as a policeman I never had to deal with one and I’m afraid Angus has his hands full. This man’s clever. He thinks ahead. The worst of it is, by rights the police ought to know his real name by now. It’s quite extraordinary that they don’t.’

  ‘Why extraordinary?’

  ‘Because of Alfie Meeks. I told you about him. He was just a petty criminal, but for some reason Marko took up with him. Used him, rather. Used him then killed him. But Meeks was a lead that ought to have paid off. Somehow he and this man were connected, but though the police have combed through Meeks’s record they can’t find any link between them. The answer ought to be there, but it’s not, and it makes no sense.’

  Helen made a humming sound. In the background Madden could hear a man’s voice speaking in a monotone. She was listening to the lunchtime news with one ear while they talked.

  ‘I know
what Miss MacFarlane would have said. She was our maths teacher at school. “Girls” – ’ Helen mimicked a Scottish accent – ‘“Remember Occam’s razor.” ’

  ‘What’s that?’ Madden chuckled. ‘Some fiendish surgical device?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s a medieval concept. Roughly speaking it says, when the solution to a problem isn’t clear, look for the simplest answer. Oh, and I’ve just remembered, darling, I won’t be here when you get back. I’ve got to go over to Farnham this afternoon. I’ve promised to help Jim Oliver with his rounds. He’s on crutches at the moment. So I can’t pick you up at the station. Can you manage? I’ll tell Mary you’re coming home. She’ll have tea ready …’

  She paused for few moments, expecting a response, and when one failed to come:

  ‘John … ! You’ve gone silent. What is it?’

  She received no reply. For the last few seconds Madden had been staring at a watercolour of Westminster Bridge with the Houses of Parliament behind it which hung in the hall above the telephone. But his gaze had lost focus: he was staring at nothing.

  ‘Look, dear, I’ve changed my mind.’ He found his tongue. ‘I’m not coming home this afternoon. I’m going to stay up another day. There’s someone I have to talk to.’

  ‘What did I say?’ She was laughing.

  ‘Something very interesting … the simplest answer …’

  ‘And why is that so interesting?’

  ‘Because it’s been there all along, staring me in the face, and I didn’t see it.’

  Obliged to inform the household of his change of plans, he knocked on Aunt Maud’s bedroom door and, as usual at that late hour of the morning, found her up and dressed and sitting in front of a brightly glowing fire fuelled by a substance which these days was as rare as hen’s teeth: real coal.

  ‘He’s a resourceful young man, that Sid,’ Madden observed, after he’d poured them each a glass of sherry. But I’m not sure you should have any more dealings with him. Or you might find the police knocking on your door.’