She looked at him directly, and not for the first time the chief inspector felt the effect of her personality, that particular combination of physical beauty and firmness of will against which he felt powerless. But just as he was about to reply – he wanted to reassure her – they were interrupted.
‘Excuse me, sir… Mr Sinclair?’
Angus Sinclair’s grizzled eyebrows shot up in mock astonishment. He peered down at the eager young face that had materialized in front of them.
‘Robert Madden? Is it you?’ Despite his forty years on the force, the chief inspector retained the precise accents of his Aberdeen upbringing. ‘I can scarcely believe my eyes. You were six inches shorter the last time we met. How are you, my boy?’
They shook hands solemnly.
‘Have you come about the murder, sir?’ Despite a peeling nose and one scabbed knee, Madden’s son managed to convey the earnestness of his inquiry. His frown, the near image of his father‘s, brought a wistful smile to Sinclair’s lips. He and his wife had been childless, to their sorrow. ‘It was Daddy who found the body, you know?’
‘I’m aware of that.’ The chief inspector looked grave.
‘The police are looking for a tramp.’
‘I see you’re well informed.’
‘Is Daddy going to help you catch him?’ The boy’s hopeful expression faded when he saw Sinclair shake his head.
‘Scotland Yard’s not involved, Robert. The Surrey police are in charge. I just happened to be passing…’ He caught Helen’s eye. ‘But since I’m here, I would like a brief word with your father. Do you happen to know where he is?’
‘You must have put a bee in Jim Boyce’s bonnet. He rang me on Friday in a lather, right after the inquest. I couldn’t get down to Guildford till today, but he came into the office to show me the file. On a Sunday, too!’
‘I felt they’d made up their minds too quickly about the tramp. I wanted him to think again.’ Madden scowled.
Led by his guide, Sinclair had come on his quarry outside the marquee standing beside a table laden with silver cups and other trophies. The chief inspector had paused for a moment to digest the spectacle of his erstwhile partner, dressed in serviceable tweeds, a soft hat and thick-soled shoes, deep in conversation with a party of similarly attired worthies of both sexes. Catching Madden’s eye, he had winked.
‘I’ve just spotted a pumpkin of outstanding merit,’ he’d confided as they shook hands. ‘Would you like me to point it out to you?’
‘What are you doing here, Angus?’ Grinning, Madden had declined the bait. ‘Is it the Brookham murder? Don’t tell me the Yard’s been called in already.’
‘No, we’re not involved. Not as yet. Surrey are handling it. But there are one or two points I’d like to discuss with you. I’ve cleared it with higher authority.’
‘You needed the Yard’s permission?’ Madden was mildly surprised.
‘I was referring to your better half.’ Sinclair chortled at his own joke. ‘Forgive me. I couldn’t resist that. I ran into Helen a moment ago, and she spoke her mind, as always. Robert was with her. My word, he’s a fine-looking boy.’
The delight that shone on Madden’s face when he heard these words was reward enough for the chief inspector, who could remember a time when his old friend’s eyes had born a permanently haunted look; when it had seemed that the legacy of the war and the sufferings he’d endured in the trenches would pursue him to the grave.
‘How can I help you, Angus? You say you’ve seen the file?’
Madden had drawn him aside, out of earshot of the crowd milling about in front of the tent, and as he took up his stance, arms folded and head bent, his face masked in the shadow cast by his hat brim, Sinclair was assailed by a painful sense of familiarity, aware all at once of how much he had missed this man’s presence by his side these past years.
‘I’ve studied the various reports and read the interviews taken. Based on what I know so far, I’d have to say the tramp’s the most likely suspect.’
‘So he is,’ Madden agreed. ‘And they have to find him, in any case. He may turn out in the end to be their key witness.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Why, the evidence, of course.’ Madden frowned under his hat brim. ‘It all depends how you read it, Angus. The Surrey police have their version. Wright thinks the tramp picked up the child on the road to Craydon-’
‘Wright-?’
‘The officer in charge. He’s a good detective. Sharp. No fool. He reckons the tramp brought her back to the wood and that after he’d killed her and hidden her body he ran off down the stream, wanting to get away as quickly as possible, dropping his knife and bandana in the confusion.’
‘And?’ Sinclair was listening intently.
‘It holds water, as a theory, up to a point. But there’s another way of interpreting the facts. You see, Beezy, the tramp, ran off in the wrong direction…’
‘The wrong direction – how do you know that?’
‘Because he must have come into the wood originally from the fields. He had an appointment at a camp site by the stream with another tramp called Topper.’
‘A friend of yours, I gather.’ Sinclair nodded.
‘When Beezy fled, it wasn’t back the way he came, it was in the opposite direction, towards Brookham, and that doesn’t make sense, unless you take Wright’s view that he was confused, in a panic, and didn’t know which way he was heading.’
‘Could there be another explanation?’
‘Yes, it’s possible he heard someone moving towards him through the bushes. And from the same direction he’d come himself, from the fields. Since he was expecting Topper to arrive, that shouldn’t have alarmed him. So if he did run off then – and in the other direction – it could well have been because he saw something that frightened him.’
‘A man carrying a young girl in his arms? The killer?’
Madden nodded mutely.
Sinclair let out a sigh. The morning was growing warm. He took off his homburg and fanned his face. ‘What you say is interesting, John. But supposition, just the same.’
‘No more so than Wright’s version. All the evidence is circumstantial.’
‘Yes, but you can’t overlook the fact he’s disappeared. This Beezy. Gone into hiding. That’s not the behaviour of an innocent man.
‘It’s the behaviour of a tramp, Angus. An outcast. I know these men. They’ve no faith in the courts or our system of justice. It’s quite possible he’s afraid of going to the police in case he’s charged with the crime himself. And he wouldn’t be far wrong.’
Sinclair grunted as the shaft went home. ‘Very well. But I’m still at a loss. As I understand it, either way the Surrey police must find this man. That’s not a job for the Yard. Why did you suggest to Boyce that he get in touch with us?’
Madden was slow in responding. He stared at the ground before him. As the silence between them lengthened, Sinclair felt a premonition growing in him. He knew he hadn’t yet discovered the true reason behind the other man’s concern. But he thought the moment might be approaching.
‘You saw the photographs of the girl’s face?’ Madden looked up.
‘What remained of it. The degree of damage inflicted is unique in my experience. I can only imagine the killer was in a frenzy.’
‘Perhaps. But did you note what a thorough job he did?’
‘Thorough?’ Sinclair showed distaste at the word.
‘He set out to obliterate her features. That’s what it looked like. This wasn’t simple abuse of a victim’s body. It was something more. Has it been determined yet what was used in the way of a weapon? I spoke to the pathologist a few days ago and he seemed to think it might have been a hammer.’
‘That’s confirmed now.’ Sinclair nodded. ‘I read it in the file. He was able to take some measurements from holes made in the cranium. He believes a common workman’s tool was used.’ He shot a glance at Madden. ‘There’s no reason why the tramp shouldn’t have had one in his bundle.’