The Reckoning (31 page)

‘Mr Finch, this is a criminal investigation; a murder inquiry, in fact.'

‘A murder inquiry . . . ?' He put a hand to his cheek and stroked it. Billy had the impression of a mind working rapidly. ‘You should have said so.'

‘You're required by law to help the police in any way you can.'

‘I'm aware of that. But until you've said more – in particular how Miss Ballard could possibly be involved in a murder investigation – I don't feel obliged to answer any question that I feel is out of place.'

‘And that would include any question about her?'

Billy had hoped the shot would go home – that he would at least get some reaction from it. But Finch was unruffled. His manner had changed in the last few seconds. He seemed a different person – cold, poised, very much on his guard. Billy pulled a notebook from his pocket. He needed a few seconds while he decided how best to proceed.

In the silence that ensued Finch turned to Madden.

‘You're very silent,' he said. ‘I assume you're not a detective, or you would have said so. But in that case, why are you here?'

‘Yes, I ought to have explained.' Madden was apologetic. ‘I used to be with the Metropolitan Police. Mr Styles and I are former colleagues. My name came up in this case he's investigating – it goes back many years – and he wondered if I could help him.'

‘And can you?' His tone was challenging.

‘I don't know. Let's see, shall we?'

Madden reached for his coffee cup. He took a sip and replaced it on its saucer. His movements were unhurried.

‘At the conclusion of your visit to Richmond, Miss Ballard showed you something. Could you tell us what it was?'

‘I've already made it clear I'm not prepared to discuss that meeting.'

‘Did it have to do with her father?'

Finch offered no reply.

‘Was it perhaps a letter from the War Office? I ask, because we happen to know that Miss Ballard was busy during her mother's last days going through all her papers, helping to get her life in order . . . before it ended. I'm sure she must have talked to you about her father. It was something she liked doing. She was very proud of him.'

‘Indeed she was.' His expression was unchanged.

‘Assuming it was such a letter, did it have anything to do with his death?'

Finch blinked. The reaction was momentary. But he had failed to hide his surprise. Nevertheless he maintained a calm exterior, running the tips of his fingers through his closely cut hair while he pondered his answer.

‘I'm sorry, but that's something I'm not at liberty to discuss.'

‘Not at liberty . . . ?' Madden weighed the reply. ‘That's not quite the same thing as refusing, is it? Is that because she asked you not to reveal the letter's contents? Or are you just being discreet and tactful?'

‘In contrast to you, Mr Madden – is that what you mean?' He glanced at his watch.

‘So you do know that her father was convicted by a court martial in the First World War and executed?'

Finch looked down.

‘I'm aware of it.' He spoke now in a different voice. ‘Alma told me that day. She hadn't known about it before, and it had come as a terrible shock to her. All her life she had thought of him as a hero. She was extremely upset on the occasion you're referring to, desperately overwrought, which would explain the scene overheard by that lady. Alma had found the letter among Mrs Ballard's papers. God knows why her mother kept it. As I understood it, she had spent her whole life pretending it never happened. I felt enormous sympathy for her – for Alma, that is. I still do. But there was nothing I could do to help her, nothing I could say. I think she was in some kind of hell just then, and I could only pray that she would recover in the course of time.'

He looked up.

‘There – is that what you wanted to hear? Perhaps you understand now why I was unwilling to discuss our meeting with you. It involved something deeply personal to Alma, deeply painful, and, quite frankly, none of your business. So unless you're prepared to be more open about this investigation that you say you are conducting, I suggest you both leave.'

Madden grunted. ‘Yes, but that wasn't why you refused to say earlier why you went to Richmond, was it? You didn't know about the court martial until Alma told you. You had another reason for going to see her.'

Finch raised his eyes slowly. He gave his questioner a long look.

‘Take care, Mr Madden.' His soft voice bore a hint of menace. ‘You're on dangerous ground.'

‘Am I?' Madden seemed unmoved by the threat. ‘Or is it you who are treading on thin ice? It's clear from the brief exchange you and Alma had that, far from being merely “acquainted”, you knew each other well – even if you weren't on the best of terms. I don't know what the cause of contention between you was; only that it had nothing to do with the death of her father. Whether you like it or not, you're obliged to reveal to Mr Styles
anything you know about her. I have a feeling you're better informed on that subject than most. Of course you may think you're protected from doing so by the Official Secrets Act, but I believe you'll find those rules don't apply to a capital case.'

‘I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.' Finch stared at him.

‘Haven't you? Then let me ask you another question, a simple one. It should be easy enough to answer. Why did she call you Antoine?' Madden waited, as though expecting an answer. When none was forthcoming he continued, ‘And what did you call her? Sophie, Sylvie, Marianne, Giselle . . . ?'

‘Have you lost your mind?'

‘Because you both had names, didn't you: cover names? I imagine you were the circuit leader and she was – what? – your courier . . . your radio operator?'

Finch's gaze was stony.

‘I'm talking about when you were in France together, Mr Finch: not the Middle East . . . not Cairo . . . When you were agents for SOE – the Secret Operations Executive. Because that's what you were. Am I right?'

Again he paused. Again there was no response.

‘But what I don't understand is why you're so unwilling to talk about her. We've said nothing as yet to suggest we think she's implicated in this case. But the longer you stay silent, the more our suspicions will grow. Is there something in her past we should know about? What is it that you're hiding?'

Billy glanced at the still figure by the window. Hands on hips, Finch stood gazing out . . . at nothing, as far as Billy could see, except the fog that hung like a curtain on the other side of the glass, blocking all vision.

He looked at Madden; his raised eyebrows asked a question.

Madden shook his head.
Leave him.

Close on five minutes had passed since their last exchange, and Finch's only reaction so far had been to rise from his seat and walk to the window. Even this he had done unhurriedly and without any sign of the pressure he might have been under. Watching him, Billy could only wonder how often his nerve had been tested in the past; how often, indeed, his very life might have depended on his coolness.

The architect had said nothing so far in response to Madden's assertion. He had simply left them to wonder what was going through his mind.

Now, without warning, he turned on his heel.

‘Very well.' He returned to his chair and sat down. ‘Let's put our cards on the table. Before I say anything I want to know exactly what crime you are investigating and where it was committed. You've been very sparing with details up to now and unless you tell me everything, this conversation is over. In spite of what Mr Madden seems to think, I'm not obliged to speak to you. SOE operations are still classified, and while it's true I was employed by that organization during the war – as was Miss Ballard – I certainly won't discuss her past and what I may, or may not, know about her until I'm told what it is that you're after. For a start, I want to know on whose behalf you are carrying out this investigation, and what Mr Madden meant when he said it went back years?'

‘On whose
behalf
?' Billy was momentarily lost for words. ‘What do you mean, Mr Finch? This is an ordinary police inquiry. I'm responsible to my superiors – ultimately to the commissioner.'

‘And no one else?'

Billy shook his head. ‘If you think there's some other body behind this, I can assure you you're mistaken.'

‘You've had no contact with the French authorities? You'll give me your word on that?' His eyes had hardened.

‘The
French
authorities?'

Billy looked to Madden for enlightenment, but the older man could only shrug.

‘Would you explain what you mean by that, sir?'

Finch jerked his head in emphatic refusal.

‘Not at the moment; perhaps not at all. It depends. I told you: I want answers first. This murder you're investigating – when and where was it committed?'

Billy hesitated. He had a decision to make.

‘I never said it was one murder, Mr Finch. In fact I'm investigating a series of killings. I imagine you have read about them in the newspapers. Four men have been shot dead in the past few weeks, and in different parts of the country, which answers your second question.'

He stopped. Finch was staring at him in astonishment.

‘
Four
murders?
Those
four murders? Yes, of course I know about them. But what on earth have they got to do with Alma? Or me, come to that?'

‘Sir, would you . . . ?' Billy caught Madden's eye.

He gave a nod of assent.

‘When I said I used to be a police detective, that was true, but only part of the answer as to why I'm here. A more important reason is that I was present at James Ballard's court martial thirty years ago. He was in my company. Two of the men who've been shot sat on that court-martial board; a third was the medical officer who pronounced Ballard fit to stand trial; and the fourth was our corps commander, who approved the death-sentence.'

‘God Almighty!' His stony exterior shattered, Finch stared at Madden in horror. ‘That can't be true!'

‘I'm afraid it is. Originally the police were searching for a man believed to be the killer of all four. Recently, however, information has reached them indicating that a woman yet to be
identified is also involved, in what amounts to a plot to take the lives of those apparently held responsible for Ballard's death. In the circumstances, I'm sure you can understand how Alma's name came to their attention.'

‘This is appalling.' Finch sprang to his feet. ‘I can't believe it. I
won't.
No matter what you think, I can tell you from personal knowledge that Alma Ballard is a woman of extraordinary qualities and exceptional bravery. You have no idea how often she put her life at risk; of the dangers she confronted. I'm not exaggerating when I say I've never known anyone like her, and I doubt I ever will.'

Overcome by emotion, he turned away from them and stood with his head bowed. He was breathing heavily.

Madden put a hand to his brow. He, too, had been struck dumb; or so it seemed to Billy, as he watched his old chief struggle to find the words he sought.

‘I have absolutely no doubt that what you say is true.'

On hearing Madden speak, Finch turned to look at him in wonder.

‘In fact, when Miss Dauncey described her to us recently, I formed a picture of an extraordinary young person, unique in her way; but also quite unpredictable.'

Madden hesitated.

‘Thirty years ago I witnessed a mockery of justice that I was helpless to prevent. It has haunted me ever since. I saw a sick man sent to his death for no other reason than it suited the demands of the military at the time. I would rather anything in the world than that James Ballard's daughter should have taken it on herself to right that wrong. But four men have already been killed and a fifth is in grave danger, and although as yet there's no evidence directly linking her to the murders, I believe she's the woman the police are seeking. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say and make up your own mind. Either way, the question has to be answered.'

Seconds passed. The architect continued to stare at him. Finally, and without a word, he resumed his seat.

‘Continue.' He spoke in a dead voice.

‘Once the link between these murders was discovered, it was natural that the police would want to interview both Alma and her mother. However, they quickly learned that Mrs Ballard had died earlier this year and that shortly afterwards Alma emigrated to Canada.'

‘It's the first I've heard of it.' Finch's gaze had narrowed. ‘She never mentioned it to me. But if she's gone abroad, how can she be mixed up in this?'

‘That's the question we've been asking ourselves. It was only after we had spoken to Miss Dauncey, and been given an account of your meeting with Alma, that Inspector Styles and I realized what an . . . unusual young woman she was. And I began to wonder if perhaps we'd been deceived by her – led by the nose. What if she'd returned from Canada secretly and set about taking her revenge on the men she held responsible for her father's execution? The question had to be asked.'

He stopped when he saw the architect was about to speak.

‘I can already see a flaw in your theory.' Finch's voice had hardened. ‘It's true Alma was distraught on learning the truth about her father. The pain of it was near unbearable to her. But what she couldn't know was whether or not the verdict was just.'

‘Not when she spoke to you,' Madden agreed. ‘But some time after she went to Canada the record of those proceedings was stolen from the Public Record Office in Chancery Lane and was never recovered. I was present at the court martial and can tell you it was a travesty of justice and the verdict a disgrace – facts that could well have been apparent from the record. The first murder took place towards the end of September, a month after the theft. The time-lag can be explained by the need to identify the prospective victims: to make sure that the right men were being killed. Let's suppose for a moment that Alma
was party to the plot; even that it originated with her. What would she have needed to do? First lay a false trail. She had already announced her decision to emigrate before her mother fell ill, so that could have fitted in well with her plans. She booked her passage and sailed from Liverpool at the end of July. There's no doubt she went to Canada. But from that moment on, the only evidence we have that she remained there has come from Alma herself.'