She thought now with pleasure of the days they would soon be spending together. William and Charlotte were taking the children to Cornwall to stay with friends. The maids would be sent off. She and Annie would have the house to themselves. They would gossip and reminisce.
Meanwhile, Robert's small hands had been busy in the deep pocket of Annie's skirt. Whatever it was he found there seemed to give him pleasure, and Alison followed his example. Annie shot a guilty glance back in the direction of the house. Apparently contraband was being passed. Not wishing to spy further, Mrs Merrick rose to her feet and dusted off her dress. A slight movement on the slope below caught her eye and she stood still and watched as a pair of red squirrels worked busily, gathering nuts from beneath a walnut tree.
She noticed something else as she started back down the hilclass="underline" half a dozen cigarette stubs lying in a neat line on the ground near to where she had been sitting.
It seemed someone else had found the bank a pleasant place to sit and meditate.
Five minutes after he arrived at his desk on Monday morning Sinclair received an urgent summons from Deputy Assistant Commissioner Bennett. He was gone half an hour and returned with a thick manila envelope on which the heavy red wax seals had been broken. 'From the War Office,' he told Madden, as he tossed him the packet. He stuck his head into the adjoining office. 'Sergeant, in here! You, too, Constable.'
Hollingsworth and Styles came in from their cubbyhole.
Sinclair perched on the edge of his desk. There was a light in the chief inspector's eye.
'A criminal attack very similar to the ones we're investigating took place in Belgium in September 1917. A farmer and his wife and family were murdered in their home. The assault bears a remarkable resemblance to the Melling Lodge killings. The husband and his two sons were bayoneted. The wife had her throat cut.'
Billy's whistle brought a glower of disapproval from Hollingsworth.
'An inquiry into the murders was conducted by the investigation branch of the Royal Military Police.
From the file, it appears there was little doubt in anyone's mind that the killer or killers were serving British soldiers. What the War Office has sent us is a record of the inquiry. It includes a detailed crime scene report, a pathologist's findings and a verbatim record of all interrogations.'
Madden frowned at the file cover he was holding.
'The case is marked closed.'
'So it is.' Sinclair slid off his desk and began to pace up and down. 'The chief investigating officer was a Captain Miller. In deciding to terminate the inquiry he wrote a memorandum to accompany the case files in which he explained his decision. It's logged in the file index, but unfortunately it's missing. Nothing sinister there, I'm told — the ministry's snowed under with wartime records. They have a warehouse somewhere in London stacked to the ceiling. We're lucky they were able to dig out what they did.'
'Is Captain Miller available?' Hollingsworth asked.
'No, he's dead,' Sinclair answered bluntly. 'His staff car was hit by a stray shell behind the lines. It happened a few weeks afterwards, but by then the case was wrapped up. Let me go on.'
He seated himself behind his desk.
'For whatever reason — we can't be sure from this distance in time — suspicion fell on a battalion of the South Nottinghamshire Regiment. On a company, rather, B Company, and just a small part of that fifteen men, to be precise. They were all questioned.'
'Were they together?' Madden asked.
'Apparently they all went to the farmhouse for a meal. The battalion was being rested. They'd been in action and taken a mauling and were waiting for replacements. The point, as far as we're concerned, is that these were the only men questioned in connection with the crime. Captain Miller must have had strong reasons for thinking the killer was one of them.'
'Then why was the case closed?' Billy Styles spoke before he could stop himself.
The chief inspector's smile was deceptively inviting.
'Why don't you tell us that, Constable?'
Billy blushed bright red. Hollingsworth, beside him, was grinning.
'Sergeant?'
'Because he must have reckoned whoever did it was dead, sir.'
'Just so.' Sinclair nodded his approval. 'The battalion was back in action a week later. It was that Passchendaele business. Of the fifteen men, only seven came out alive. Colonel Jenkins did some checking.
Miller closed the case right about the time the battalion was withdrawn a second time. Which suggests he believed the murderer was one of the eight men who were killed.'
In the silence that followed, the sound of a tugboat's whistle floated in through the open window.
Hollingsworth cocked his head. 'Could he have had the wrong man in mind, sir?'
'I wonder, Sergeant.' Sinclair sat forward in his chair. His eye met Madden's. 'Of the seven who came out, only four were alive at the end of the war. Their names and service records are in the file, and Colonel Jenkins was good enough to check with the Army to find out where they were paid their twenty pounds.'
'Twenty pounds?' Billy didn't understand the allusion.
'That's what the government gave every private soldier who came through the war. A gratuity. Two of them were paid in Nottingham, one in Brighton and the other in Folkestone.'
Madden extracted a sheet of paper from the file and handed it to the chief inspector. 'Here's a list of the names, Sergeant.' Sinclair passed it on to Hollingsworth.
'You and Styles find yourselves a couple of telephones and see if you can come up with four current addresses by lunch-time. But go carefully.' He raised a warning finger. 'Just say we want a word with these people. Don't start any alarm bells ringing.'
The chief inspector waited until they had the office to themselves again. He took out his pipe and tobacco pouch and laid them on the blotter in front of him.
His fingers beat a rapid tattoo on the desktop. 'Well, John?'
'Was she raped?'
'She was not.'
Madden grunted. He was studying a fan of documents spread out before him. 'These verbatim interviews — they don't tell us much.'
'"Yes, sir, no, sir, it wasn't me, sir." We'll have to go through 'em, just the same.' Sinclair began filling his pipe. 'Damn it, John, we might have struck lucky.
We could come up with a name and a face.'
But he was smiling as he went on with his reading.
Madden said nothing,
Sinclair struck a match, 'I've just had a large pat on the back from Bennett.'
'Have you, sir?'
'In front of the chief super, too. He came expecting our usual Monday morning get-together. Instead he had Bennett telling him what my "leap of imagination" had uncovered. I thought Sampson was going to be sick on the carpet.'
Madden was grinning now. 'A leap of imagination, sir?'
'Those were his words. I was overcome. Speechless, you might say.' The chief inspector blew out a cloud of mellow tobacco smoke. 'By the way, how is Dr Weiss? Safely back in Vienna, I trust.'
Donald Hardy, who worked as a solicitor's clerk in Have. The fourth man, Alfred Dawkins, had had various addresses in Folkestone over the past eighteen months.
'The police don't know where he's living at present, but they know where to find him — that's how they put it.' Hollingsworth scratched his head. 'I let it go at that, sir. Didn't want to stir them up.'
After reflection, Sinclair issued his orders: 'John, you go to Folkestone tomorrow morning. Take Styles with you. Hollingsworth and I will deal with Mr Hardy in Have. Let's both be clear on one point. If there's any suspicion that either of these two is the man we're seeking, the help of armed officers must be sought before he's approached. I want no more casualties.'