The Reckoning (19 page)

Madden's gaze had lost focus while he was speaking. To Billy it seemed that he was miles away. Or was it years?

‘I was appointed to defend him at his court martial and initially I had hopes of getting him off. It was plain, to me at least,
that Ballard wasn't fit to stand trial: that the proper place for him was a hospital. But it was a lost cause from the start. We know how Oswald Gibson reacted. He made that clear in his diary. Perhaps the others felt the same: Singleton and that Scottish doctor. I know it left a mark on me. I felt soiled afterwards, as if I'd been made to play a part in a squalid charade whose outcome was never in doubt. It's the only explanation I can give for why I never connected it to these murders, why I can't even recall that officer's name, even though I knew I was somehow involved in this business; even though I'd guessed it might have a link to the war.'

Madden's dark eyes were filled with pain.

‘It was something I didn't want to remember.'

16

‘W
E
'
RE MAKING PROGRESS
,
SIR
, but it's slow going. And I'd better warn you now: there's good news and bad news.'

With a grunt Billy slid into a chair in front of Chubb's desk. It was late in the afternoon and through the windows at the back of the office he could see the last of the sunlight glowing on the coppery surface of the Thames. Less than forty-eight hours had passed since the revelations contained in Oswald Gibson's diary had come to light, and he and Lily Poole had been hard at work ever since chasing up whatever slender leads there were to pursue.

‘Give me the good news first.' The chief super scowled.

Billy had found him sitting with his jacket slung over the back of his chair and his tie loose, a breach of sartorial etiquette unthinkable in the days when Angus Sinclair had held sway and a sight that had made him smile.

‘We've traced Ballard's widow. She was living practically on our doorstep, just down the road in Richmond.'

‘What's the bad news?'

‘She died this June.'

‘Damn and blast!' Chubb glowered. ‘What about the daughter then? I trust she's still in the land of the living.'

‘As far as we know.' Billy shrugged. ‘But she's left the
country. She's gone to Canada. According to their family solicitor, she was planning to emigrate even before her mother died. She went over there at the end of July.'

‘Canada!' Charlie was indignant. ‘What she want to go there for?'

‘I couldn't say, sir.' Billy scratched his head. ‘But a lot of people seem to have the same idea these days. Canada, Australia, South Africa . . .'

He was referring to a rash of recent newspaper stories detailing the growing tide of emigration from Britain's shores. Fed up with the never-ending restrictions and lured by the prospect of greener pastures abroad, families were leaving in the thousands, the reports said.

Chubb sighed. ‘What else?'

‘Poole and I have been digging and we've come up with a lot of stuff about Ballard himself. For a start, we got hold of his enlistment details from the War Office. He gave St Ives, in Cornwall, as his home town and his wife, Hazel, as next of kin. At that stage they had no children, but six months later Mrs Ballard gave birth to their daughter. Her name's Alma: Alma Rose.'

‘You got that from the War Office?' Chubb was surprised.

‘No, from a lady called Eve Selby. She's lived in St Ives for the past forty years. She's a painter, like Ballard was. They were part of an artists' colony down there. The local police put me on to her. When I mentioned Hazel Ballard's name, she asked me at once where she was living and if she was all right. They had been friends, she told me, but she hadn't seen or heard from her for thirty years, not since Hazel received word of her husband's death. But what's interesting is that, as far as Eve Selby or anyone else in St Ives knew, James Ballard simply died in action.'

‘You mean Hazel never mentioned the court martial?'

‘She never breathed a word about it. Mind you, that wasn't unusual, and she wouldn't have been the first to behave that way. According to Mr Madden, the normal practice then was to
inform the man's widow or next of kin of his trial and execution, but not to publicize the fact in any way. Eve Selby was shocked when I told her the truth. She said a few days after receiving the letter from the War Office, Hazel upped sticks and left, taking the baby with her. Selby was expecting her to return, but instead she got a letter from Hazel saying she couldn't face living in St Ives any longer. It held too many memories for her. She was going to settle elsewhere and would contact her later on. But Miss Selby never heard from her again.'

Billy paused. A scowl had appeared on Chubb's face.

‘That doesn't sound right. It's not how people behave. After a while they get in touch with old friends again.'

‘Well, Hazel Ballard didn't. Like I say, she just vanished. But Selby did tell me something interesting. It wasn't a lead exactly, but it does help to explain how Hazel managed her disappearing act. It seems she had money of her own, enough so that she and her husband were able to live comfortably while James was trying to make his name as an artist. According to Miss Selby, Hazel adored him. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. But as far as the money was concerned, it meant she could take off at a moment's notice and go . . . well, anywhere.'

Billy spread his hands.

‘Where did the money come from?' Charlie's interest had been aroused.

‘Her grandfather, originally. The family hailed from Gloucester, but he went to London when he was a young man and set up as a wine merchant. The business did well and was carried on by his son, Hazel's father. But when
he
died – and his wife soon after him – the firm was sold and the money divided between their two children. Hazel had an elder brother, but he was killed early in the war, so in the end it all came to her. She wasn't exactly wealthy, Selby said, but she was certainly well off.'

Billy bent over his notebook.

‘Selby also knew something of Ballard's own family
background. His mother was a maid who was working in a Plymouth hotel when she got in the family way. James was the result. The girl died in childbirth and, since her family didn't want to cope with the baby, he was adopted by an elderly couple named Ballard who gave him an education and sent him to art school. After they died he was offered a job as an apprentice in an artist's studio in St Ives, which was where he met Hazel, who was there on holiday. She was a few years older than him, but according to Selby, it was a case of love at first sight – on her side at least. Hazel had lost her parents a few years earlier and the rest of her family was opposed to the match. For one thing, she was older than him by a couple of years; for another, it seems they didn't fancy the idea of her marrying a bastard. But it didn't stop her and they got hitched.'

Billy paused for a breather. He could see that Chubb was digesting the information he'd been given. The chief super was doodling with his pencil on a piece of paper.

‘Are you trying to tell me Ballard may have some relatives that no one knows about; that somewhere there might be a bloke who's a little wrong in the head and wants to avenge his long-lost kinsman?'

‘It's a thought, sir.' Billy grinned. ‘Anyway, I've asked the Plymouth police to get on to it and see if they can track down any members of the maid's family. There's just a chance one of them might know the name of James's real father.'

‘You'll pardon me if I don't hold my breath.' The chief super eyed him askance. ‘About Ballard's widow, though – how did you get on to her?'

‘Through the national register of births and deaths at Somerset House. Her death was recorded there along with her address.'

‘What about the daughter – Alma? How much do we know about her?'

‘Not a lot as yet; only what I've got from that solicitor, a
chap called Royston. The Richmond police gave me his name and I rang him yesterday. He didn't know Hazel well – she was just a client to him – but after her death he had several meetings with Alma to do with her mother's will. It was he who told me she had gone to Canada.'

‘Does he know her address?'

‘She was staying in Toronto until quite recently. But she said in a letter that she didn't want to settle there and was going to travel across the country on the Canadian Pacific to Vancouver. She gave him the names of a couple of cities where she planned to stop, and said she'd check for letters left poste restante in case he needed to get in touch with her urgently.' Billy hesitated. ‘We could ask the Mounties to trace her for us, if you like.'

Chubb grunted. ‘It's something to consider.' He made a note with his pencil. ‘Did this Royston bloke know about the court martial?' he asked.

‘I don't think so. I asked him about Hazel's husband and he said he'd been killed in the First World War, but nothing more. Maybe he thought it was none of our business: he was starting to get shirty; wanted to know why I was asking all these questions. But I don't think he knew. It's possible she never told anyone.'

Billy chewed his lip thoughtfully.

‘After we'd got her address I rang the police in Richmond and they sent a man round to her old house. It was empty and up for sale, but he talked to one or two people in the neighbourhood, who told him Hazel had been living there with her daughter since the summer of 1930.'

‘And before that?'

‘None of them knew. I had the impression Hazel Ballard kept pretty much to herself. But her daughter could tell us that. She wasn't living at home when her mother fell ill – she was in London – but she came back to Richmond to nurse her and was
there when Mrs Ballard died. Soon afterwards she put the house up for sale and word got about that she was planning to emigrate.'

Billy closed his notebook and looked up in time to see his superior give an approving nod.

‘You've been a busy bee. Now I'll tell you what I've been up to.'

Chubb stifled a yawn. It had grown dark while they were talking, and Billy could see the lights coming on in the buildings across the river.

‘John was right in saying that we might have a problem getting our hands on that court-martial record. But I think I've sorted it out.'

When Billy had repeated Madden's warning about the obstacles they might encounter, the chief super had volunteered to tackle the matter himself.

‘I talked to a chap called Cunningham today. He's an under-secretary at the War Office. He told me straight off the bat they wouldn't allow the records to be opened under any pretext, or used in a trial, unless we could persuade them that we had an airtight case: that we could tie these murders to that particular court martial.'

‘Which we can't . . . not yet . . . not without more evidence.'

‘Exactly. So I pointed out that the only way we could be certain was by seeing the papers. We had to be sure that the men who've been shot figured in that trial. And we needed to confirm the name of the presiding officer, since he'd almost certainly be next on the list. Cunningham hemmed and hawed and then said he'd put the matter before the minister. Apparently he's the only one who can give permission for the records to be unsealed. But Cunningham warned me not to get my hopes up. They're dead-set against doing it.'

A glint had appeared in Chubb's eye.

‘I said I quite understood. But then I warned him that the press were hot on the trail, and it was hard to see how the min-istry
wouldn't be seen as blocking a murder investigation if word of that court martial got out, as it was bound to. After all, it wasn't every day a Lord Lieutenant got topped.'

‘But it won't, will it?' Billy was surprised. ‘Get out, I mean. I thought you'd decided to keep quiet about it, at least for the moment.'

‘Yes, but they're not to know that, are they?' The glint was replaced by a twinkle. ‘Let 'em fear the worst, I say.'

Chubb covered the yawn he'd been trying to keep in check.

‘Remembering what John told you, I also asked Cunningham if there was any way our killer could have found out the names of those officers on the court-martial board without seeing the file, and he swore there wasn't. There were no other records of those proceedings kept anywhere. So that's still a riddle, unless the shooter works at the Public Record Office, where the papers are stored. Even then he shouldn't have been able to get his hands on them. They're kept under lock and key apparently.'

Chubb shrugged.

‘Anyhow, as regards being allowed to see the record ourselves, I think I put the wind up Mr Cunningham. He said he'd get back to me as soon as possible.'

He mused for a moment.

‘I gather you've been keeping Madden informed?' Chubb said.

Billy nodded.

‘He asked me to. This business is weighing on him. He seems to think it's his responsibility somehow.'

‘Well, it's not.' Chubb scowled. ‘That court martial took place thirty years ago, and he wasn't to blame for how it turned out. Didn't he do everything he could for the poor chap?'

‘That and more, I should think.' Billy spoke with assurance: he knew his man. ‘But he sees things differently, Mr Madden does. He always has. He feels guilty about not being able to recall that officer's name. But if you ask me, he blocked it out of
his memory. He wanted to forget the whole business. And I'll tell you something else: he won't let go of this now. He'll see it through to the end.'

‘Then let's make the most of that. How long is he staying in London?'

‘He's going home for the weekend, but he'll be back on Monday. There's still work to be done on that house.'

Chubb signalled his satisfaction with a grunt. He glanced at his watch.