by Rennie Airth
‘Anything but.’ Billy grinned.
‘I don’t want to bother Mr Sinclair. He’s got his hands full. He and Mr Braddock are drawing up a statement to give to the newspapers. But there’s something that ought to be checked…’ He noticed that Cole had turned from the map and was regarding him with curiosity. ‘My name’s Madden, Sergeant.’ He went over, offering his hand as he did so. ‘I used to be a policeman.’
‘I know, sir.’ Cole’s face was split by a grin. ‘The word’s gone round the station. We all remember Melling Lodge. Lord, what a business that was!’
They shook hands.
‘Sergeant Styles worked with me on that case. We were partners.’
Billy’s pleasure at hearing the word was heightened by the glance he received from the Midhurst copper, and his grunt of acknowledgement, grudging though it was.
‘Can I do anything for you, sir?’ Cole asked, and Madden nodded.
‘I need directions.’ He gestured towards the map. ‘Would you show us where your library is?’
On the way, Madden explained what was in his mind.
‘I think Lang might have called in at the library yesterday. Have you read the statement Mrs Hall, the doctor’s nurse, gave? The full statement, I mean? The one she made to the detective Inspector Braddock sent over later?’
Billy shook his head. They were striding across the market square, past an old set of stocks and a pillory, hands plunged into coat pockets against the freezing fog that had gripped the countryside all day. Sergeant Cole had told them the library was only a few minutes’ walk away.
‘She was asked to recall all the details she could about Lang and she mentioned a book he had with him, on his lap, while he was sitting in the waiting room. He took it into the doctor’s office when he was called in and later she noticed it lying on the desk and glanced at the title. It had to do with birds, she said, and she thought the author’s name might be Howard, though it was probably Coward. T. A. Coward. His books are well known. Birds of the British Isles. We’ve a set of them at home. They belonged to Helen’s father.’
Madden had stopped for a moment to check a sign. Following Cole’s directions, they had left the square and arrived at a curving street of timber-framed houses, some of them still with the narrow, glazed windows of an earlier age.
‘When I read what she’d said, I wondered what he was doing with it. Lang, I mean.’
Billy scratched his head. ‘Well, we know he’s a birdwatcher, sir…’
‘Yes, but I mean what was he doing with it there? At the doctor’s rooms?’ Madden gestured as they walked on.
‘Perhaps he took it along to look at while he was waiting.’ Billy still couldn’t see what his old chief was driving at.
‘That’s not what the nurse said. She’s an observant witness. She said he had it with him. To me that suggests he’d brought it for some other purpose. But if he was going for a walk in the country later and needed it with him, surely he’d have left it in his car. Driscoll’s surgery’s not far from here – it’s on the Petersfield road. I looked at the map. Mrs Hall locked the door when he left – doctor’s hours were over – and she saw him walking off in the direction of North Street. That’s the main street. He was heading back to the centre of town.’
‘Where he stopped at the chemist’s shop,’ Billy reminded himself with a shudder.
Madden scowled. ‘Yes, but he still had the book with him, that’s the point, and I wondered where he went next, and whether it might have been here.’
They had reached their destination, yet another timber-framed dwelling, but this one with a sign on a brass plate beside the door proclaiming it to be the Midhurst Public Library. When Billy tried the door, he found it locked. It was not yet two o’clock.
‘You see, there’s no reason he shouldn’t have joined the library.’ Madden blew on his fingers. ‘It’s not as though the police have been on his trail. As far as he’s concerned, using a false name was only a precaution. If he’d wanted to get his hands on any reference books, this was the obvious place to come. He could have been returning one yesterday. After all, he’s on the point of leaving. Or so it seems.’
While they’d been standing there, the lights inside the library windows had come on. Billy hesitated a moment longer.
‘But would he bother, sir? A man like Lang? Wouldn’t he just pocket the book?’
‘Oh, no, I don’t think so.’ Madden was quick to respond. ‘His aim in life is to avoid attracting attention. If he did borrow the book, he’s more likely to return it than not.’
‘So if he’s a subscriber, they’ll have his name. Or rather, De Beer’s. Is that what you’re thinking, sir?’
‘More than that.’ Madden’s voice had hardened. ‘He’d have had to give an address. And while it’s possible he might have left a false one, I’m inclined to doubt it. It’s the sort of thing that causes questions to be asked. Eyebrows to be raised. If it comes to light, I mean. No, if he joined the library – and it’s a big if – I think he’d have given them his true address. But we’ll soon find out…’
Billy checked the index for a second time, riffling through the cards with his fingers, looking at the Bs now.
‘It’s no use, sir. He’s not here.’
He’d already been through the Ds.
‘There’s no De Beer.’
Madden grunted. He was standing by the desk with folded arms, watching. Billy saw the disappointment in his face.
‘Could he have used some other name, do you think?’ he asked, but Madden shook his head.
‘I doubt it. Going under one false name is difficult enough; it’s something you have to keep in mind constantly. A second would only compound the problem. I know Lang’s accustomed to doing this, but I doubt he’d take unnecessary risks. And as I said before, he’s had no reason to feel threatened.’
Although the library had not yet opened – it seemed that a quarter past two was the appointed hour – they’d been admitted after Billy had knocked on the door, by a woman clutching a pile of books to her chest. Friendly, but harassed-looking, she had given her name as Miss Kaye and told them she was not in charge there, she was merely the assistant to the head librarian, a Miss Murdoch.
‘Agatha’s away, I’m afraid. She’s gone to Chichester for the day to see her mother. The poor dear’s not well. I’ve been left to manage as best I can.’
Slight, with red hair tucked up in a bun at the back of her neck, and green eyes blinking behind spectacles, she’d ushered them through a raised flap in the counter to a desk on which a small wooden cabinet, equipped with drawers, stood.
‘That’s our index of subscribers. By all means examine it.’ The horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose gave her an owlish look. She’d declined Billy’s offer to inspect his warrant card. ‘But you’ll have to excuse me. I came in early to tidy up.’
Madden glanced at his watch.
‘I’m sorry, Billy, I’ve dragged you over here for nothing. I must be off.’
Peering about, he saw Miss Kaye approaching from the direction of the stacks carrying a pile of old newspapers in her arms and he lifted the wooden flap in the counter to let her through. Smiling her thanks, she dropped her burden into a large wicker basket already brimming with waste paper behind the desk.
‘Have you had any luck?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not. We’ve bothered you for nothing. But thank you all the same.’ Madden smiled in response.
‘Just who is this man you’re looking for?’ she asked, as Billy rose from the desk. She seemed reluctant to let them leave.
‘A foreigner called De Beer,’ Madden replied. ‘We thought he might have joined the library recently. But his name’s not in the index.’ He paused, as though reflecting. ‘Sergeant Styles has a photograph of him. May we show it to you?’
‘Of course.’ Eagerly, she turned to Billy, who’d already taken the poster out of his jacket pocket and was unfolding it on the desktop. But after st
udying it for a few seconds, she shook her head.
‘No, I’m afraid not. I don’t remember seeing him.’ She seemed disappointed at having failed them, and watching her reaction, Billy smiled. It was not the first time he had observed the effect of Madden’s personality on a witness, even if his memories of the phenomenon came from many years back. There was some quality his old chief possessed, a gravity, perhaps, some deep well of seriousness, that seemed to draw a response from others. As though they accepted without question the importance of what he was asking of them and the need to help.
‘If he was here at all it would have been yesterday, just before one.’ Madden smiled at her again, encouragingly, but she shook her head.
‘You’ll have to ask Agatha, I’m afraid. Miss Murdoch. She was working here, at the counter, all morning. I was mostly in the stacks, putting books away.’ She gestured towards the shelves. ‘But why yesterday, particularly?’
‘We think he’s leaving the district for good.’ Madden buttoned his coat, nodding to Billy, who had folded the poster and put it away in his pocket. ‘He was seen with a book that might have been borrowed from a library. It occurred to me he might have come here to return it, but it seems I was wrong. Thank you again.’
He lifted the flap on the counter for Billy, who nodded his own thanks and followed. As they moved towards the door she addressed them again.
‘Leaving, did you say?’
‘Yes, we think so…’ Madden paused. Billy was at his shoulder.
‘Then he might have said so… to Miss Murdoch, I mean?’ She spoke hesitantly. ‘He might have told her he was going away?’
Madden stared at her for a moment. He seemed surprised. ‘I didn’t think of that,’ he admitted. ‘I should have. You’re quite right – that’s exactly what he would have done.’ To Billy, he added, ‘He’d have wanted De Beer’s name removed from their list of subscribers.’
‘I asked because if he was here yesterday, and told Agatha that, she would have taken his card out of the index and torn it up. Deadheading, she calls it.’ Miss Kaye smiled.
‘Yes, of course. I see.’ Madden shook his head in chagrin. ‘So we’re a day too late.’
‘Oh, no… not necessarily.’ Miss Kaye’s green eyes sparkled. Her face had lit up. ‘If Agatha tore up his card, the bits will still be here, with the waste paper.’ She pointed at the wicker basket behind her. ‘It’s only emptied once a week.’
It was Billy who came on the first piece. Sifting through a stack of old periodicals, holding up each in turn and shaking it, he was rewarded by the sight of a torn shred of pasteboard, blue-ruled like the cards he’d already seen in the index, slipping out from between the pages of one of them.
‘Sir! I’ve got half of it.’
His eye had fallen on the letters ‘eer’ penned in a neat hand near the top of the card and right beside the jagged tear. On the line beneath it was the word ‘view’ and below that the letters ‘ane’. At the bottom a single ‘d’ was visible. He handed it to Madden.
They were both on their knees on either side of a heap of old newspapers and magazines mixed with scrap paper. At Miss Kaye’s suggestion, Billy had brought the wicker basket out from behind the counter and tipped its contents onto an empty space on the floor beside the shelves.
‘There’s more room here.’
Pink in the face with excitement, she had hovered about them until the sound of knocking had reminded her that it was time to open the library and she’d gone to unlock the door, admitting two elderly ladies to whom she’d given a brief explanation of the goings on inside, and who themselves now stood a little way off watching open-mouthed as the two men sifted through the paper.
‘Ane…’ Scowling, Madden turned the letters into a word. ‘That could be “lane”. And “view” has an apostrophe after it. It must be the name of a house.’
As he put the fragment of card to one side, Miss Kaye gave a gasp. She was standing close beside him, bending down.
‘There!’
She pointed, and Madden saw a tiny corner of white pasteboard showing beneath the edge of a sheet of carbon paper. He drew it out. Picking up the other portion of the card, he fitted the jagged edges together. Billy watched with bated breath.
‘We’ll need to use your telephone, Miss Kaye.’ Madden spoke calmly.
He handed the joined sections of the card carefully to Billy who received them with shaking fingers. Hardly able to believe his eyes, the sergeant read what was written on them:
H. De Beer,
‘Downsview’,
Pit Lane,
Near Elsted.
30
‘Right, Inspector. Let’s get this over with.’
Sinclair nodded to Braddock, and the Midhurst policeman gave a grunt of acknowledgement. He turned to Sergeant Cole, who was standing a few paces away at the edge of the trees with the others, and signalled with his hand. The sergeant murmured something to the men and they set off down the slope.
‘It doesn’t look as though he’s spotted us,’ Braddock muttered. He settled his cap on his head. ‘When you hear my whistle, it means we’re going in.’ He strode off after the men.
Sinclair drew in a deep breath, expelling it slowly. He watched as the men split into two groups, one party heading for the front of the cottage, which was enclosed on three sides by a yew hedge the height of a man’s head, the other taking up position at the rear, behind a wooden shed. Eight in number, they included five detectives – the men who had happened to be closest to the station when word of Lang’s address had been received – and three uniformed officers. The force had been hurriedly assembled on Sinclair’s orders and bundled into a pair of cars. But not before two of the detectives, the most experienced, had been issued with revolvers.
‘I’ve no reason to think Lang carries a gun,’ the chief inspector had told his Midhurst colleagues. ‘But I’m not taking any chances.’
Remembering his own words now, he glanced at Madden, who was standing beside him, with Billy Styles at his elbow. Before leaving Midhurst he had requested, and received, from his former partner an explicit undertaking not to involve himself in the police operation that was about to get under way.
‘You needn’t be concerned, Angus.’ Madden had been amused. ‘It’s the last thing I want. Just show me this man in handcuffs. That’s all I ask.’
Reassured, but unwilling to leave anything to chance, Sinclair had found a moment to take the younger man aside. ‘You’re to stay with Mr Madden at all times,’ he’d warned Billy. ‘He’s not to put himself at risk. Do I make myself clear?’
Coming downstairs from Braddock’s office, the chief inspector had found his old colleague waiting in the CID room with the detectives already gathered there. Word of how Lang’s address had been acquired had already spread among them, but seemingly unaware of the glances being cast his way, Madden had been standing with folded arms in front of the poster of the wanted man, his gaze fixed on the eerily white face with its staring eyes.
Realizing that only a direct order on his part would prevent him from accompanying them, Sinclair had taken the next best option and suggested they go together in Madden’s car, taking Braddock and Styles with them. Travelling at the tail of the convoy, they had driven west out of the town, following signs to Petersfield, but soon turned south onto a minor road that led down a valley overlooked by a long wooded ridge. The address provided by the library’s records had not been difficult to locate. Shown as a mere track on the Ordnance map, Pit Lane, as the name suggested, had once led to a chalk quarry, now abandoned. It was at the edge of the Downs, no more than a mile from the hamlet of Elsted.
‘One of my blokes thinks he knows that cottage.’ Braddock had leaned over from the back seat to mutter in Sinclair’s ear. ‘He’s got a girl in Elsted. They walked past it once. She told him it belonged to some old lady who’d had to move into a home and was up for rent. That was six months ago.’
‘Why wasn’t it on the estate agents’ li
sts?’ Sinclair had wondered.
‘Can’t say for sure, but she might have advertised privately, in a newspaper. What’s this now?’
The inspector had frowned as the cars ahead of them drew to a halt; there seemed to be a hold-up. He was about to get out to investigate when the convoy moved on again and they saw that there were road works in progress. A group of men wielding picks and shovels were standing aside while one of their number waved the cars through. They had stared at the police uniforms visible through the windows.
A mile further on the cars had slowed once more, this time to turn off the paved surface onto a narrow rutted track, unmarked apart from a white signpost on which the name ‘Downsview’ appeared, accompanied by an arrow. It led over a saddle in the ridge, on the far side of which a cottage could be seen situated a little way down the slope. Brick-built, in the style of the region, it looked out over a wide expanse of rolling pastureland towards the distant Downs, whose green rounded crests were hidden by mist and low-hanging cloud.
The cars had pulled up short of the house, at the edge of the tree line, and Sinclair had climbed out with Braddock to study the situation. At once they had noticed a trickle of smoke coming from the chimney on the tiled roof. Sinclair had given orders for the men to get out and gather at the edge of the trees. As they were doing so a light had come on in the kitchen at the back of the cottage and the figure of a man had been glimpsed through the window.
‘We’ll enter from both sides, front and back.’ At a nod from Sinclair, Braddock had issued the necessary orders to his men. ‘No talking until this is over. Not a word – is that clear? When I blow my whistle, move! And you needn’t bother to knock. Just get in there and grab him.’
Watching now as the men below moved silently into place, Sinclair felt a quickening of his pulse. A sideways glance at Madden showed him to be equally tense, gazing down, narrow-eyed. The men at the back of the house were already in position; the rest, led by Braddock, were padding along the side of the cottage, heads bowed. Reaching the corner of the hedge, they turned right and disappeared.