The Reckoning (41 page)

‘Lily Poole heard her cry out. It seems Alma fell off the jetty as she was getting into the boat. She had been wounded. They
found bloodstains. Grace must have winged her, Billy said. He rang me last night.'

The papers that morning, filled as they were with accounts of Blount's murder and the chase that followed, had also carried a brief statement by Detective Chief Superintendent Chubb to the effect that, with the presumed death by drowning of Alma Ballard, the police were no longer searching for anyone in connection with the shootings.

‘Charlie knows he'll have to say more about her,' Billy had told Madden. ‘But he's using the excuse that it wouldn't be proper until the body's been recovered and an inquest held. That won't stop the papers digging, though.'

Madden watched now as the chief inspector deftly decapitated a branch.

‘Piecing it all together, they think she must have rowed upriver when the tide was flowing and left her boat moored to the jetty. That area of the docks is deserted these days, so it's unlikely anyone would have seen her. And the fog was on her side, of course. She could have forced the lock on the warehouse door earlier. She had plenty of time to plan the operation.'

‘Indeed she did.' Sinclair stood back to admire his work. ‘In fact it must have seemed quite like old times to her.'

‘Old times? You're referring to her career as an agent?' Madden scowled.

‘When she was in her element . . . yes. When she was most truly herself.'

The chief inspector glanced over his shoulder to see how his remark had been taken. Having more than an inkling of what his old friend must be feeling, he sought for the right words to ease Madden's mind.

‘I know this has been painful for you, John,' he went on. ‘But don't grieve too long or too hard for her. She wouldn't have wanted it.'

‘Perhaps not.' Madden's face was a mask. He seemed unwilling to pursue the subject.

‘How well do you remember the classics?'

‘The classics?'

‘Do you recall the Furies . . . the Erinyes? They were avenging spirits, the Greeks believed; and female, if I'm not mistaken. There was no escaping them. It might help if you thought of Miss Ballard in that light. She must always have known it would end this way.'

Not sure if he had struck the right note, Sinclair waited. Madden was regarding him with a quizzical look.

‘That's a colourful way of putting it, Angus.' His smile came as a relief to the chief inspector. ‘But I don't quarrel with it. Colin Finch had much the same idea. He thought she was a throwback to another age. What surprises me, though, is that she tried so hard to escape. Could she really have imagined that she had a future? Did she still think life had something to offer? She knew the police had caught up with her. I wonder she didn't shoot it out with them. Finch thought she would. He said as much.'

‘Then perhaps it wasn't over for her yet.' Sinclair had pondered the question before replying. ‘Perhaps there was something more she had to do.'

‘Something more?' Madden frowned. ‘That's possible, I suppose. But I can't imagine what.'

‘I'll see you all on Monday.' Madden turned to wave.

Standing beneath the stableyard arch, as though posed for a photograph, George Burrows and his wife May raised their hands in response, while their daughter Belle, who stood beside them, cradled the newest member of the clan in her arms. Fred by name and all of ten days old, he had been born during Madden's absence in London.

‘Lucy will be over here in no time,' he had assured Belle when the infant had been produced for his inspection earlier in the day. Plump and dark-haired, Belle had been a childhood friend of his daughter's and he still treasured the memory of them playing together in the stables while the work of the farm went on around them. ‘She'll be back next week.'

With the outbreak of war the girls' paths had separated. Belle had enlisted in the ATS and had been stationed at Southampton. Lucy had joined the Wrens and, by means that had never been made clear to her parents, had contrived to get herself posted to the Admiralty where her career, though having little to do with the Royal Navy and much to do with London's nightlife, had threatened to give both of them grey hairs. Incapable of playing the stern father with his lovely daughter, Madden had nevertheless been rewarded by the discovery that, in spite of the more elevated social circles in which she now moved, Lucy had stayed loyal to old friendships and, having eagerly accepted her playmate's invitation to be a bridesmaid at her wedding to a Dorking carpenter two years previously, had continued to keep in touch with her. Indeed, her letters of late from Paris had been full of anxious enquiries as to Belle's condition.

As he set off down the road to the bottom of his land he found his thoughts straying to the past. Although his life had not been without its sorrows, he had come to think of himself as luckier than most. Married before he met Helen, he had lost both his first wife and the child they had to one of the great flu epidemics that had swept the world earlier in the century. Providence, though, had seen fit to grant him a second chance, preserving him from the slaughter of the trenches and bringing him not only a love that had grown stronger with the passing years, but a daughter to replace the one he had lost, whom he had watched grow into radiant womanhood.

No such blessing had been granted to James Ballard. And if indeed it was a curse from on high that had sent him to an early
grave, it had lived on to bring his only child to an even sadder end. In the course of the day Madden had had time to reflect on the chief inspector's words and it seemed to him that the young woman whose loss he couldn't help but mourn – in spite of the bloody trail she had left behind her – was at one with the figures of ancient tragedy. Accepting her fate as she saw it, she had followed her doomed course to its bitter end. He would not forget her.

Still lost in his thoughts he came to the stream at the edge of his land and, before crossing it, looked back to assure himself that Hamish was following. In bad odour once again with his mistress – he had dug another hole in the garden the day before, this time in the lawn – the basset had blotted his copybook once too often.

‘You must take him to the farm with you, John,' Helen had decided that morning. ‘Wear him out. I want him too tired to even think of digging. Exhaust him.'

‘Poor chap!' Madden had felt obliged to take the animal's side. ‘He can't help it. Those paws were made for digging.'

‘For digging up badgers perhaps.' Helen had been merciless. ‘But not my flower beds. And he can use them for walking, from now on; or at least until further notice.'

Reflecting that his wife would be gratified by the sight of the weary-looking figure plodding some way behind him, he whistled.

‘Come along, Hamish. It can't be as bad as that.'

He had intended to walk back through the woods, taking the higher path, but seeing the basset so woebegone, Madden decided to stick to the stream and follow the path that ran alongside it. It would be easier on the animal's tired legs, and in any case he was returning home later than he had planned. It was after four o'clock and the sun was fast declining. With the days growing shorter now, dusk fell quickly. Striding briskly along the leaf-strewn path, he soon reached Sinclair's cottage,
where the only sign of life was a light burning in the sitting room. Not wishing to delay, he went past without stopping and soon afterwards felt a nudge on his ankle as Hamish – realizing that they were approaching home, and no doubt thinking of the dinner that awaited him – found a new spring in his step. Madden followed the stubby body with its waving tail until they had reached the gate at the bottom of the garden, where they both paused so that he could unlatch it.

Starting up the long lawn, he wasn't surprised to see the house in darkness. Helen would be late back. She had gone to Guildford to look in on some patients she had in the hospital there, and since their maid, Mary Morris, had the weekend off, she would be preparing their supper herself later on. In the meantime he could attend to some chores, and the first would be to feed Hamish, who was now making rapid progress up the side of the lawn towards the kitchen, where he knew his supper was kept. Before following him, however, Madden paused to scan the darkening sky and was rewarded by the sight of Venus low on the horizon glowing like a pearl in the gathering dusk.

Mary had left the dog's dinner – a tasty concoction of butcher's scraps – under a cloth in the pantry and, having retrieved it and placed it on the floor beside Hamish's water bowl, Madden went through to the corridor and on down to the entrance hall, switching on lights as he went.

Collecting his post from the silver salver lying on the hall table, he was about to take it into the drawing room when the phone rang in the study, so he continued down the passage to answer it.

‘Hello, sir. I was hoping you might be home by now.'

There was no mistaking Billy's cheerful voice.

‘I only got in this minute,' Madden said. ‘What news?'

‘We've found Alma's place . . . what did Finch call it?'

‘Her
cachette
?'

‘That's it. It was below Tower Bridge on the Surrey side, in
Bermondsey. The area's mostly a bomb site now – it took a pasting in the war – but the coppers down there were told that a woman had been seen moving about in it, so they had a good look round and came on a door in an abandoned house with a new padlock on it. They broke in and found it was a kind of storeroom full of women's clothes, tinned food, a first-aid kit, things you might need if you were going to hole up. We also found the warrant card she used to get in to see Blount, with Poole's name filled in on it. She could have done that after seeing Lily's picture in the newspaper and realizing she could pose as her and use the black eye as camouflage. We don't know who supplied her with the card. But I reckon it was in the letter she was waiting for at the Regal Hotel. She had arranged to have it sent to her there, because she knew Blount would be back in a day or two and she had to move fast. And that's not all.' Billy paused to lend drama to his next words. ‘The court-martial record was there as well. It was in a suitcase along with some family stuff: snapshots . . . letters from her mother . . . that sort of thing.'

Madden was silent.

‘She'd underlined all the names. Drummond, Gibson, Singleton, Canning, Blount. And yours, too.'

‘Mine?'

‘Plus the prosecutor's – some captain or other – and two chaps who gave evidence against Ballard: other soldiers, a sergeant and a private. Well, at least they don't have to worry now.'

Billy whistled.

‘But the record was something to read. It was in his handwriting – Blount's – and it didn't leave much room for doubt. Ballard had deserted in the face of the enemy on such-and-such a date. He had left the line for the rear. The evidence was clear. The accused had offered no explanation for his actions. What Blount didn't say of course was that he'd gone mute, lost the power of speech. Just that he'd been examined by a doctor and
found fit to stand trial. There was no word about any witnesses for the defence, either, or your statement in mitigation. Offhand, I'd say it was a fit-up.'

‘I'm not surprised. My company commander said as much after he'd read it.'

‘I told you they found her boat, didn't I?'

Madden grunted.

‘There are some damaged wharves nearby. She probably kept it tied up there. The room itself was a ruin. Half the ceiling was gone. But she had some blankets along with the other stuff; she could have spent a night or two there at a pinch.' He sighed. ‘And that about does it, I reckon. That covers everything. There's just her body to recover now, and my guess is it'll turn up tomorrow or the day after, at the latest.'

Billy was silent. He waited for Madden to speak.

‘I always wondered how Oswald Gibson managed to remember my name when I couldn't remember his. It's obvious he got it from Alma.'

‘When she called on him, do you mean? Before she shot him?'

‘She must have gone through all the names in the record. Gibson remembered me saying I'd once been a detective, when I tried to tell Blount how trials should be run. That's why he considered writing to the commissioner. He thought I might be able to explain why such an ugly business was being resurrected after all these years. Still, as you say, it's over now.'

Madden sighed in turn.

‘Oh, by the way, I know Helen wants to invite you and the family down for a weekend soon. She'll ring Elsie to fix it, but I hope you can come. Lucy will be here and she'd love to see you all.'

‘We'll come. You can count on it. Especially when I tell the kids they'll be seeing Lucy. She always gets them going.' Billy chuckled. ‘The same as she does with me.'

While he was speaking Madden had heard a muffled bark from Hamish out in the passage.

‘I'd better go, Billy. It sounds like Helen's back. I'll tell her we talked.'

But when he went out into the hall there was no sign of his wife and he carried on along the corridor to the drawing room. With Mary off for the weekend, the house had been empty all afternoon and he needed to get a fire going. As he approached the room, however, he saw the back of Hamish. The dog was standing in the doorway. Only half of his long body was visible and, as Madden drew nearer, he heard him growl.

‘What is it, boy?'

Madden bent to pat his head. He saw that the hairs on the basset's back had risen.

It was dark in the drawing room and he paused at the door to switch on one of the standard lamps. The dog growled again. Madden scanned the shadowy interior. The room was empty; or seemed to be. He wondered if a fox had got in. They could be surprisingly daring when the mood took them. More than one had been observed strolling the streets of Highfield late at night. He moved to the long table at the back of the sofa in front of the fireplace, where there were two lamps. But as he reached to switch on one of them, his eye was caught by something lying on the polished wooden surface. He couldn't make it out at first, but after he had turned on the lamp he saw it was a photograph of a young man in a private's uniform dating from the First World War. As he picked it up to hold it to the light, he heard a woman's voice.