‘What about the Henley angle? The girl whose body was found in the Thames? Do you mean to take any action over that?’
‘Yes, I do, sir. Mind you, it’s still a sensitive issue. I’ve spoken to the Oxfordshire police. They’re no longer inclined to treat it as a case of accidental death. But they’re undecided as to how to launch an investigation, particularly with the body in the state it’s in. However, I’ve been informed confidentially that they plan to open a murder inquiry soon. Once it’s official, they’ll be only too pleased to accept our help. In the meantime, I’ve told them we’d like to sniff around discreetly, and they’ve informed the Henley police accordingly. I’m sending a man down there tomorrow.’
Bennett glanced at his watch. ‘I can give you another three minutes, Chief Inspector. Where do we stand with the press?’
‘Like us, they’re sniffing around, sir.’ Sinclair shut his file. ‘They didn’t make too much of the Brookham murder, thankfully. But with this latest body discovered and the Yard called in, they’re bound to take an interest. Still, the subject’s not an easy one for the newspapers to handle. Sexual crimes involving children are something we all instinctively shy away from, and their readers are no different. So far, published details concerning the facial injuries have been kept to a minimum, and if my wishes are heeded that will continue. Needless to say, they’ve no idea yet that the inquiry might stretch back several years. That’s something I’d particularly like to keep from them. We’ll have to see how we go.’
Bennett nodded. ‘Very well. That will do for now.’ He rose. ‘Gentlemen…’
As they walked back to their offices Holly’s broad brow creased in a frown.
‘Do you really feel it’s worth pursuing this Henley business, Angus? The connection seems very iffy to me.’
‘Perhaps. But I want to get to the bottom of it, just the same. There’s a good chance this man may have been active for longer than we think, and if that proves to be the case, it puts a quite different complexion on things.’ The memory of his conversation with Franz Weiss not long since was still vivid in the chief inspector’s mind.
‘Well, I wish you luck.’ They had reached the chief superintendent’s office and he paused at the door. ‘Who are you sending down, anyway?’
‘An officer I’ve had my eye on for some time now, a detective sergeant.’ Sinclair opened the door for his superior. ‘Come to think of it, he did his first serious work under Madden. John thought very highly of him.’
‘I’m duly impressed.’ The chief super’s deep laugh rumbled in the corridor. ‘Now all I need to know is his name.’
‘Why, it’s Styles, of course.’ Sinclair smiled broadly. ‘Billy Styles. I thought you’d have remembered that, Arthur.’
11
The traffic that morning was light, and Billy was glad of it. The old Morris he’d been allocated from the Yard’s car pool had tired gears and a tendency to stall. Not that he was complaining, mind you. Still clear in his memory were the days when motor cars provided for the use of detectives had been rarer than unicorns.
The very concept of mobile policing hadn’t taken hold in the Met until the early twenties. The first patrols had been restricted to bands of uniformed police who’d been ferried around the capital – stopping at prearranged points to telephone headquarters – in a pair of vans bought second hand from the RAF. Some wag had dubbed them the ‘Flying Squad’ and the name had stuck. Now a fleet of wireless-equipped cars roamed the streets of London day and night and the roof of Scotland Yard spouted a forest of aerials.
All that notwithstanding, the job Billy had been assigned wouldn’t normally have called for a car. He could just as easily have taken the train to Henley. But Chief Inspector Sinclair wanted him to have freedom of movement when he got there.
‘Don’t pay too much attention to what the local police tell you,’ he’d advised the sergeant. ‘They’ve got some explaining to do. Nose around on your own if you can. Bear in mind, if it’s the same man he would have had a car.’
The summons to report to the chief inspector’s office had come out of the blue, and Billy had responded to it with alacrity. After a dozen years with the Met he could look back on a varied career during which he’d been involved in a wide range of investigations.
None, however, had approached the drama of the Melling Lodge case, and Billy had never forgotten the nerve-racked weeks he had spent in the company of the then Inspector Madden as they’d searched for a savage murderer.
The inquiry had been conducted under Sinclair’s leadership, and, ever since, Billy had nursed the hope that the chief inspector might hold him in some special regard. Whenever they met, as they sometimes did, in one of the corridors at the Yard, the older man would pause for a word, and Billy retained the feeling, which dated from their very first meeting, of being perpetually weighed in the balance of Angus Sinclair’s steady flint-grey gaze.
His greeting when he’d arrived in Sinclair’s office the previous day had been warm.
‘Sergeant! It’s been a while. How are you?’ Sinclair had risen from behind his desk to shake Billy’s hand. ‘I spent last weekend with the Maddens. John was asking after you. I trust you keep in touch.’
‘Oh, yes, sir.’ Billy had taken the chair indicated. ‘I go down and see them quite often.’
Sometimes for a whole weekend, just like the chief inspector had done, he might have added, though on the first such occasion Billy had been so nervous at the prospect of a dinner party his host and hostess were giving that evening he’d barely found the courage to present himself in the drawing room beforehand, and it had taken all of Helen Madden’s skill in the art of gentle teasing to restore him to his usual cheery self.
‘You’re not married, are you?’ Sinclair had inquired. ‘Or am I mistaken?’
‘Not entirely, sir. Engaged, as it happens.’ Billy grinned.
‘Well, well! Congratulations.’ The chief inspector leaned forward and they shook hands formally. ‘What’s the young lady’s name?’
‘Elsie Osgood, sir. We met when I was posted to Clapham for a spell last year. She owns a small dress shop down there. We’re getting married next spring.’
‘I wish you both well.’ Sinclair regarded the younger man benignly. Then his expression changed. ‘You’ve heard about Madden finding that child’s body, I take it?’
‘The Brookham killing? Yes, sir. It was all round the Yard.’ Billy straightened in his chair. He guessed he was about to learn the reason for his summons. ‘And now there’s been another one, I see. Down Bognor Regis way.’
‘Quite right. That’s why you’re here. The cases are clearly linked and the Yard’s been called in. But there’s more to it than that. It’s possible the murderer has killed before. At Henley, three years ago. That’s where you’ll be going tomorrow.’
Billy felt a tingle of excitement. Mention of Madden’s name had reminded him of that day, far off, but still fresh in his memory, when the two of them had been sent flying to Waterloo station to catch a train bound for Highfield. He watched as the chief inspector picked up a buff-coloured folder from his desk, then paused before speaking again, as though to underline the importance of what he was about to say.
‘This is not only a serious matter, Sergeant. It’s one of particular urgency. As I’m sure you know, sexual criminals have a tendency to offend again, and that’s specially true when it comes to attacks involving children. The man we’re hunting is extremely dangerous. And violent. But what concerns me even more is that he may think he’s in the clear, that no one’s picked up his trail yet. You’ll grasp the implications of that, I’m sure.’
Billy nodded. ‘It means, likely as not, he’s already on the lookout for another victim.’