The Death of Kings

by Rennie George Airth

  ‘It’s more for show than anything else,’ he had told Madden with a smile. ‘Though I do pot the odd rabbit for the larder.’

  The gate through which they passed had given onto a wide field where cows were grazing. Seeing Madden pause to cast an appreciative farmer’s eye over the well-fed herd, Jessup, too, had stopped. He had pointed to a row of cottages at the far end of the meadow.

  ‘That’s where our farmworkers are housed. One of the first things Sarah did when we settled here for good after the war was to install new plumbing and otherwise bring them up to scratch. Her whole family is strong on social conscience and I’ve found that it’s catching. I’ve got our management in Hong Kong drawing up plans to improve working conditions in the cotton mills we own. In some cases it’ll require complete rebuilding and I’ve had some opposition to it from my board of directors. But Sarah’s father, Saul Temple, came down strongly on my side. He’s a very active partner in the business and one I’ve come to value greatly.’

  ‘He’s not seriously ill, I hope.’

  ‘No, the stroke seems to have been a mild one; more of a warning to ease up a little, Sarah says. We spoke last night on the phone. I do wish she had been here to meet you and Helen. We’ll have to fix another meeting soon.’

  They had walked on, and it was not until they had left the open fields behind them and entered an area where the wooded hangers for which the district was noted rose on either side of the path they were taking that Madden had returned to the subject they had been discussing earlier.

  ‘Wing was guilty of two mortal offences against the Triads’ code,’ Jessup replied to his question. ‘One was to turn informer; but the other was more personal, and in some ways graver.’

  ‘More personal?’

  ‘He committed the ultimate sin: he caused the Triad leader, the head of the Tang, to lose face. The man was an acknowledged Dragon Head, the highest rank in the Triad hierarchy.’

  ‘How did he offend?’ Madden was fascinated. ‘And was he aware of what he was doing?’

  ‘Only too well. But he was caught between . . . between Scylla and Charybdis, if you like. On orders from the Triad boss he had managed to get on close terms with one of the most senior Japanese officers stationed in Hong Kong, a general. The man was something of a dilettante, an art collector, and Wing had been providing him with pilfered objects stolen from graves on the mainland and smuggled into Hong Kong in much the same way as he had done with Western collectors before the war. As chance would have it, he had come into possession of an exceptional jade piece, an unusual bas-relief depicting two lovers in a garden. Though carved by an unknown hand, it was clearly the work of a skilled artist. Collectors knew of its existence, but it had been lost to sight for more than a century.’

  ‘Until it fell into Wing’s hands?’

  Jessup nodded. ‘It was promised to the Japanese general, but unfortunately for Wing, the Dragon Head to whom he owed absolute loyalty had got wind of it and wanted the piece for himself. It was left to Stanley to decide which of the two should get it, and not surprisingly, he plumped for the general. The Japanese were in complete control of Hong Kong at the time. If he had reneged on the deal he would more than likely have been executed out of hand. Of course he was in no less mortal danger from the Triad chief, but as long as the Japanese were there he could count on their protection. Once the war ended, however, his days were numbered, and since there was no way he could escape from Hong Kong, he surrendered himself at once to the returning British authorities. Even so, the Tang leader wanted his head.’

  Jessup eyed Madden meaningfully.

  ‘I mean literally, John. He wanted Stanley’s head removed from his body. Apparently it’s the trademark of this particular Triad boss: his signature, if you like. Where possible, the victim’s body is destroyed or disposed of, leaving only the head as a warning to others. I told you Wing was attacked in gaol. The two prisoners who carried out the assault did their best to decapitate him, but they were attempting to saw his head off with the only weapon available, a makeshift knife, and they were stopped before they could complete the job. Even so it was a near-run thing. They apparently got to within a hair’s breadth of Stanley’s carotid artery before the guards intervened.

  ‘One moment . . .’

  Jessup stopped to look back.

  ‘I just want to make sure the children aren’t following us. Jack will be on our heels as soon as he realises we’ve gone for a walk; and Katy won’t be far behind him.’

  He scanned the valley.

  ‘She must still be resting. Adele’s strict about that. She has to stay on her bed for an hour after lunch. They’re not allowed to follow where we’re about to go now. But there’s always the temptation to break the rules.’

  Satisfied, he went on, but after only a few steps he veered to the right, leaving the path they had been following. Madden quickly caught up with him. Walking side by side, they ascended a grassy rise that formed a saddle dividing the ridge into two wooded hillocks. Although it was late in the afternoon the sun was still hot and both men were sweating by the time they reached the top of the slope, where they paused to take in the view.

  ‘I used to walk these hills when I was a boy,’ Jessup said. ‘I’d put a piece of bread with a lump of cheese and an apple in a knapsack and disappear for a whole day. I’d take a book with me and lie in the shade for hours reading. Edward Thomas lived not far from here for a time—at Steep.’ He pointed to a distant cluster of red roofs topped by a church spire. ‘Have you read his work?’

  ‘I came across his poems after the war,’ Madden said. ‘The first war, that is.’

  ‘He was one of those who didn’t come back. But you did.’ He caught his companion’s eye. ‘I bumped into Ian at the club on Friday evening. He filled me in about your past; or some of it, at any rate.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘War’s terrible enough, but the worst thing for me, what I found hardest to bear, was the knowledge each time we went into action of how much I had to lose. In the end I had to stop thinking about Sarah and Jack, who was just a baby then, and about this house and these hills, about everything I loved. I had to put them out of my mind. A wise old soldier once told me that the only way to go on and hope to survive was to think of oneself as already dead. Did you ever feel that way?’

  ‘More than once.’ Madden smiled grimly. ‘And I didn’t even have what you had to come back to. Not then.’

  ‘But later, yes . . .’ Jessup smiled in turn. ‘Adele told me something of what you told her . . . about yourself . . . and Helen. You understand, then . . .’

  His voice trailed off and he turned his gaze back to the rolling tree-clad country in front of them. Madden waited for a moment before speaking.

  ‘About Thomas’s poems, though—I was struck by them. He had a voice all his own.’

  ‘Do you remember the one about the weasel and the gallows?’

  ‘And the gamekeeper . . . ?’

  ‘Who shot the weasel, yes . . . and hung him on a bough.’ Jessup’s gaze swept the land around them. ‘And left him to swing there in the wind and rain, without pleasure or pain. I read it when I was a boy. It was an image I couldn’t get out of my mind.’

  ‘Why won’t you let the children come this way?’ Madden asked.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ his companion replied. ‘It’s not much farther.’

  They continued across the saddle until they came to a straggling line of holly bushes, where they halted.

  ‘There’s an old chalk quarry on the other side of this hedge,’ Jessup said, ‘and I’m always afraid that the children might forget about it one day and go dashing through. A couple of boys from the village who were bird-nesting tried to climb down the side of it last year and one of them lost his footing and was killed in the fall. The drop’s all of two hundred feet.’

  He picked his way throug
h the tangled branches. Madden followed. The short stretch of turf beyond ended abruptly and he found himself looking down the almost vertical side of an old chalk pit.

  ‘We’re at the very edge of the Downs,’ Jessup said. ‘There are plenty of quarries still active south of here. But this one hasn’t been worked for years. I’ve told the county council they ought to fence it off for safety reasons, but nothing’s been done yet, as you can see.’

  They retraced their steps, and as they crossed the saddle and came down the slope they saw a figure standing, as if held back by an invisible barrier, rooted to the path below. It was Jessup’s son. He was barefoot. Catching sight of his father, he sprang into life and came running up the slope towards them, calling out:

  ‘Daddy, you said you’d tell us when you were going for a walk.’

  ‘Did I? I must have forgotten.’ Jessup looked back towards the house. ‘Where’s your little sister?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The boy stood panting.

  ‘Has she fallen down a rabbit hole?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He turned to scan the way he had come. After a few seconds he pointed. ‘There she is.’

  Madden made out a small figure sitting on the grass beside the path some distance away. Jessup waved to her.

  ‘Come on, Katy,’ he called to her.

  The little girl showed no sign of having heard. She stayed sitting where she was, head bowed.

  ‘What have I always told you, Jack?’ Jessup rumpled his son’s dark hair. ‘You must look after Katy. I can’t be here all the time. You have to keep an eye on her until she’s old enough to look after herself.’

  ‘But she’s only five.’ The boy was despairing. ‘It’ll be years.’

  ‘All the same . . .’ His father patted him on the head. ‘Now run along and see what the trouble is.’

  Listening to them, Madden chuckled.

  ‘You’d better not mention it to Jack,’ he said as they followed in the boy’s footsteps, ‘but when our son Rob joined the navy in the last war he told us with a straight face that it was the act of a desperate man. He said if he didn’t take the chance to escape then, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life getting his sister out of one scrape after another. Mind you, he had a point. Lucy was particularly trouble prone.’

  ‘I know all about your beautiful daughter.’ Jessup smiled at him. ‘I made Ian tell me everything he knew about you and your family. It was the least I could do after burdening you with the history of mine.’

  They had reached the spot where the children were. The little girl’s cheeks were wet with tears and Madden saw that she was nursing a bloody knee.

  ‘What have we here?’ Jessup got down beside her. ‘A wounded soldier? Oh, I think we’ll need a bandage on that.’

  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed her tears dry and kissed her. Then he bound the piece of material about her knee.

  ‘Do we need to call for stretcher-bearers, do you think?’ He addressed the question to his son, who shook his head scornfully.

  ‘Of course not. She’s all right. She can walk. See . . . !’

  The little girl was already on her feet, her tears forgotten.

  As Jessup rose, Jack spoke again, this time in an urgent whisper.

  ‘Look, Daddy . . . rabbits! Over there . . . !’

  Turning, Madden saw a dozen or so feeding on the grass at the bottom of the ridge not far from where they were.

  ‘Shoot one of them!’

  Jessup picked up his shotgun from the ground and slipped a cartridge into the open breech. He fired a shot. The rabbits scattered.

  ‘You missed! Daddy, you’re hopeless. Lennox is a much better shot than you.’

  ‘You’re right, he is.’ With a grin Jessup broke the gun and extracted the spent cartridge. ‘“Dead-Eye Dick”. That’s what we called him. But you don’t even like the taste of rabbit, do you?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘Then why did you want me to kill one?’

  Stumped for an answer, the boy was silent. He shuffled under his father’s questioning gaze.

  ‘Think about that, and give me your answer tomorrow.’ Settling the shotgun in the crook of his arm again, he ran his fingers through his son’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

  ‘Can I carry it?’ Jack looked longingly at the gun. Jessup shook his head.

  ‘Not until you’re older.’

  ‘You always say that.’

  ‘Not until you’re this tall.’ He held his hand an inch above the boy’s head.

  ‘You always say that, too, and you keep moving your hand higher.’

  Jessup laughed. ‘All right. I promise you can carry it when you’re ten.’

  ‘But I’ve only just turned nine.’

  ‘That means you’ve only got a year to wait.’

  ‘A year . . . !’

  The enormity of it left the boy speechless.

  ‘Off you go now, the two of you. Tell Grandma we’ll be back in time for tea.’

  He watched as the two children set off down the path, Jack in the lead, his sister following at a trot. Then he glanced up at the sky.

  ‘Have you noticed that kestrel?’ he asked.

  Madden nodded. ‘I spotted it earlier. He’s been circling for some time.’

  ‘We’re old friends.’ Jessup watched as the bird glided above them, dipping first one wing, then the other, soaring on the thermals. His face was alight with pleasure. ‘He hunts this valley. He won’t be best pleased today, though. He probably had his eye on one of those rabbits.’

  With their shadows lengthening now, they walked on in companionable silence until Jessup spoke again.

  ‘After you tell the Yard what I’ve told you, they’ll start looking for Wing in London, won’t they?’

  ‘Unquestionably.’

  ‘Then perhaps I should send them that snapshot I showed you in my office: the one of Wing standing with my father and those others. He was a lot younger than he is now, but it might help.’

  ‘I wish you would, Richard. The more I hear about Wing, the more important I think it is that he should be located as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll ring Miss Harmon at home this evening,’ Jessup said. ‘I have to go to Paris for two days, but I’ll get her to send it over to the Yard first thing tomorrow.’

  Glancing at Madden, he saw that his face had settled into a heavy frown.

  ‘But why are you so concerned about this, John?’

  ‘It comes from something Mrs Castleton said to me when we talked,’ Madden replied. ‘The only thing she seemed certain of where Stanley Wing was concerned—and I would call her a good judge of men—was that he hated the people he worked with at Jessup’s; the British, I mean, all of you. We’ve tended to assume that this whole business has to do with blackmail. But that may be a mistake, or not the whole truth. There may be more to it than that.’

  ‘What are you saying, John?’ Jessup had stopped in mid-stride. He was peering at his companion.

  ‘Wing has spent years in prison, more than enough time to nurse his grievances. He must know that sooner or later the Triads will catch up with him. He’s living on borrowed time. He did Garner a great service once, and was never repaid. This could be his way of taking revenge. The pendant, the letters to Derry and the newspapers, the implied threat to reveal the true identity of the murderer . . . they’re like . . . like . . .’

  ‘The Chinese water torture?’ Jessup’s smile was bleak. ‘The death by a thousand cuts? I take your point.’

  ‘Not altogether, I think.’ Madden hesitated. ‘I’ve found it hard to get a picture of the man. Just how dangerous is he?’

  The question seemed to disconcert Jessup. He looked away, staring into the distance. Twice he seemed about to speak, but each time he thought better of it. But
at length he turned to face Madden again.

  ‘There is something else I can tell you about Wing. I ought to have done so before, but didn’t because of the feeling of loyalty I have towards my father and the memory of how he always tried to give Stanley the benefit of the doubt. I should add that I have no proof of it. Bear that in mind.’

  Madden waited.

  ‘I learned about it when I was investigating his activities—before his ties with the company were severed. I already suspected him of having Triad connections, as I told you, and I hired a private inquiry agent to look into his background. He found no evidence of any link to them, which is interesting in view of what we know now. They must have kept it very quiet. But he was told a story about Stanley dating from his earlier life, when he was still on the streets, before he broke into my father’s house, which certainly gave me pause. Stanley ran with a gang of boys and one of them told this agent that he had killed a man once.’

  ‘Murdered him, you mean?’ Madden’s eyed widened.

  ‘Not with forethought—at least not as the tale was recounted to this detective I employed. It wasn’t premeditated. But it seems Stanley was lured into the shop of a Kowloon rug merchant, a notorious pederast, on the pretext of being offered work. The man apparently tried to rape him, but Stanley was able to stop him by stabbing him in the ribs with the knife which he carried. Fair enough, you might say. But when he realised the man was still able to cry out for help and could identify him he cut his throat.’

  ‘How old was he then?’ Madden was appalled.

  ‘Twelve, I believe.’ Jessup’s tone was dry. ‘You asked how dangerous Wing was, John. I think that answers your question.’

  • • •

  ‘What a lovely day!’

  Helen waved for the last time to the group gathered in front of the house: Jessup and Adele Castleton lifted their hands in response; the two children waved back vigorously; Ted Lennox gave them a smart soldier’s salute. The chauffeur had a broad grin on his face.