They had retraced their steps up the yew alley and had come to a long terrace flanked by empty borders with a path running parallel to it. At the far end of the terrace the football game was still in progress, and after a moment’s pause the two men continued their stroll, taking the path in the opposite direction.
‘Of course, once Bok had established his position in Rotterdam he had less need for Marko’s services. But by then he must have realized what a valuable asset he’d acquired and in due course he let it be known that his killer was available for hire. It’s hard to be certain just how active he was — legend has a way of inflating reality — but over the next few years Marko seems to have employed his talents quite widely. He was sought for murders in several other countries — Austria and Spain among them — though on scant evidence. There’s no known photograph of him; only descriptions that more or less fit the one we got from Florrie Desmoulins. He was given to altering his appearance, too. His hair was sometimes longer or shorter and he was glimpsed wearing a beard and spectacles. I mention that because a witness at Wapping said the man who went into the pub with Alfie Meeks had a moustache, which is something Florrie didn’t mention.’
‘Was there any indication as to his true identity? His real nationality?’
The chief inspector shook his head. ‘But based on what we know, he could well be British. Assuming he’s our man, he seems to have chosen to sit out the war here. And the fact that we’ve found no trace of him in our own records might even support that premise. For some reason hired killers, political or otherwise, don’t figure much in our way of life. They’re more of a Continental phenomenon. Maybe that’s why Marko took his skills elsewhere. The one person who might have known where he came from was Bok. But if so, he never let on, and for a good reason. It was to his advantage to keep the fairy story about the Black Hand alive. Bok himself was well known to us, incidentally, by name at least, and not only for his role in the opium trade. He had his finger in a lot of pies — prostitution, extortion, the white slave trade — and something else that might prove significant: the disposal of stolen goods. Since Poole’s brainwave I’ve been wondering if that might not be relevant to this investigation.’
‘How so, Angus?’ Head down, hands clasped behind his back, Madden kept his naturally longer stride in check, matching it to the other’s shorter steps.
‘I told you about Solly Silverman and his chequered past. What I didn’t mention is that we always suspected he had a European outlet for the stones he fenced — it was why we were never able to charge him. If Bok was his contact then that would help to tie up at least one loose end. It would explain how this Marko figure — if he is our killer — got hold of Solly’s name, and why, since Bok could only have given it to him years ago, before the war, he didn’t know he’d retired.’
Pausing for breath, Sinclair glanced over at his companion. He was still waiting for some reaction from Madden, whose brow remained knotted in a frown.
‘That’s the sum of what Duval told me when he was over here, and soon afterwards the war started, since when we’ve been in the dark. There’s been no communication with the Continent: we don’t know what’s been going on over there. But now that Paris has been liberated we can at least get in touch with the French police again, and I’ve sent them a message.’
Madden’s scowl lifted. He looked at Sinclair in surprise.
‘Oh, not by the usual channels. Those aren’t functioning yet. I did try to telephone the Surete but I was told that the lines were reserved for government use. I had to scratch my head, but I came up with an idea. I asked our colleagues in the Military Police to help. You may not know it but we’ve had a detachment of them stationed at the Yard throughout the war, and apparently the service has a pouch that goes by air almost daily to their headquarters in Paris. They agreed to deliver my message to the Surete. It went yesterday and I marked it for Duval’s attention.’
‘What exactly are you asking them?’
‘Well, for a start if they’ve any fresh information about Marko. For all we know, he may have been arrested years ago. He may be dead. I don’t want to start a search for him over here then find out it’s been a wild-goose chase. But I gave them an account of the Wapping shooting, pointing out the similarities to Fontainebleau, and also told them about the gems we think might have been the bait that got Silverman down to that pub. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but there was a list of stones in his pocket described in detail as to weight, colour, clarity and cut. Diamonds, according to a contact of mine in Bond Street. He says the gems listed could be worth upwards of?30,000 on today’s market. The piece of paper on which the list was written as well as the figures are of European origin. The Paris police may know something about them.’
Sensing his companion was about to speak at last, Sinclair fell silent.
‘The Fontainebleau murders were in 1937, you said.’ Madden shook his head. ‘That’s too early.’
‘Too early for what?’
‘For Rosa to have been there. She didn’t arrive in France until the summer of 1939, when her father sent her.’ He saw Sinclair’s look of bafflement. ‘I’m not suggesting she had anything to do with that. I’m just trying to imagine where she might have run into this man. Marko. As far as I know she never went to Holland, so France seems the most likely place. But as I say, the dates don’t fit.’
The chief inspector grunted. ‘Yes, but wouldn’t it be better to concentrate on Wapping for now?’ He was surprised by his old colleague’s train of thought: after what he had just told him he’d expected him to be looking at the questions raised by the case with a different eye. ‘Assuming Marko’s our killer, it offers the best chance of tracking him down. We can deal with the question of Rosa’s murder later, when we catch up with him. After all, other than the fact that these crimes seem to have been committed by the same man, there’s no obvious link between them.’
He paused, seeing the expression on Madden’s face.
‘Or is there?’ he asked.
Madden shrugged. ‘It depends on what you mean by a link. Don’t forget, all this began with Rosa’s murder. Immediately afterwards this man got in touch with Alfie Meeks. Why? Not simply to locate Florrie Desmoulins, surely. What he really needed him for was to set up the Wapping robbery. Apparently he wanted to lay his hands on a large amount of money in a hurry and was willing to take the risk that entailed. We still don’t know why, but whatever the reason was I’ve a feeling it had something to do with Rosa. It was killing her that got him started.’
The path along which they’d been wandering had come to an end at a ruined folly with a stone bench beside it. Noticing that the chief inspector’s limp had got worse, Madden suggested they sit down. At the other end of the terrace the football game had come to an end and the young officers, some of them in their uniforms, others in heavy sweaters and scarves, were moving in a straggling line back towards the house.
‘Isn’t it strange, though, how all this keeps coming back to Alfie Meeks?’ Busy flicking dirt from the seat with his handkerchief, Madden looked up. ‘Ever since you mentioned his name I’ve been wondering how on earth he came to be mixed up in it, and nothing you’ve told me today makes it any easier to understand. Assuming for a moment that Marko’s our man, what’s a criminal of his kind doing associating with the likes of Alfie Meeks? Why choose him as his jackal?’