The Reckoning (11 page)

‘She came to the mortuary last night to identify the body,' Morgan had told Billy on the way over. ‘She used to be a nurse, so it wasn't the first corpse she'd seen. But you could tell it hit her hard. From what we've learned, they were a close couple.'

The two detectives had driven up from Port Meadow to the Banbury Road, a wide thoroughfare lined with handsome villas, and then turned off it into a narrower street, which had led, after several turns, to the small semi-detached house where the dead man and his wife lived. Before knocking on the door they had sat in the car for a few minutes deciding on their strategy.

‘I'm here to collect information,' Billy had told his colleague. ‘Yard case or not, this is still your inquiry and, considering the way these shootings are spread around the country, I can't see us being able to do more than coordinate the investigations. But I do have a couple of questions to put to Mrs Singleton when you're done.'

‘No problem there.' Morgan had flashed his foxy grin.

‘And it might be as well if you tread carefully when you speak to the press. They'll have guessed by now that the Yard is involved and that this murder is connected to the Lewes one. But they haven't made the link with Scotland yet, and if they ask you about that you'd better play dumb. Or, better still, point them in our direction. It's not for me to say, but I reckon we'll be issuing a statement soon.'

Now, as they sat in the Singletons' sitting room and he waited to put his own questions to the murdered man's widow, Billy let his gaze wander over to a table in the corner where a collection of family photographs rested. He recognized Singleton from the mortuary pictures as the young man in a black scholar's gown with a mortar board on his head. Beside it was another photograph, dating from the First World War, in which – dressed in an officer's uniform – he had been snapped emerging
from what looked like a dugout into a muddy trench, with a broad smile on his face. There were also pictures of their children (three daughters, Morgan had told Billy). One of them was there when they arrived. A young woman with her mother's fine features and soft blue eyes, she had come over that morning from Reading, where she lived with her husband, to be with her mother. The two had sat side-by-side on a sofa with the detectives facing them across the small room.

Morgan caught Billy's eye. It was his cue to speak.

‘As Mr Morgan told you, I've been sent down from London, and the reason is we think there may be a link between what happened here yesterday and a shooting that occurred near Lewes, in Sussex, a few weeks ago.'

‘I read about that.' It was the daughter who responded. She glanced at her mother.

‘What I'd like to ask you, Mrs Singleton, is whether you've had any surprise visitors in the past week or two – callers, I should say; people you weren't expecting; possibly someone who might have upset your husband?'

‘Upset him . . . callers?' Consternation showed on her face. ‘Oh no, I'm sure he didn't . . . we didn't. Since Tom retired he's been at home, so if anyone came to see him it would have been here and I would have known, or he would have told me. We kept nothing from each other.'

Tears came to her eyes as she spoke these last words, and her daughter reached for her hand. She shot Billy an imploring glance and he realized that the older woman had been struggling throughout the interview to keep her grief in check. Seeing her stricken face, he was reminded of the war years, of the Blitz, when death falling from the skies had had the power to shatter whole worlds; and of how so many dawns had left the survivors wandering the streets of the capital, white-faced as ghosts. Here it had taken only one bullet.

‘Just one more question. Have you noticed anyone keeping
an eye on the house?' Billy hesitated. He didn't want to say too much. ‘We're interested in talking to a young, slightly built man. It's not much of a description, I know, and I'm not suggesting he was the one who shot your husband. We'd just like to know if you've seen anyone like that in the neighbourhood.'

She shook her head mutely.

‘Thank you, Mrs Singleton.'

Billy nodded to Morgan. He was done.

‘And just what was that all about, boyo?' Morgan had had to wait until they were outside to fire his question at Billy. ‘You gave us a description of the fellow; you didn't say he might have been hanging around here and calling at the house.'

‘I'm sorry. I should have done.' Billy was quick to apologize. ‘It's just that if Singleton was deliberately targeted, rather than a victim chosen at random, the shooter had to have learned about his habits somehow – that he took the dog to Port Meadow most afternoons – and it's hard to see how else he could have found out about that, except by keeping an eye on the place. The other stuff comes from the Lewes case, and I didn't put it in the advisory we sent out because it just wasn't strong enough. Look, I'll explain.'

He fished out his cigarettes and offered them to Morgan. The Oxford inspector took one with a grin, as if to show he didn't harbour grudges. They lit up and Billy went on.

‘The chap who was shot near Lewes – Gibson – had a visitor a few days before he was killed, someone who bothered him enough that he sat down and started writing a letter to the commissioner.'

‘Go on!' Morgan's jaw had dropped.

‘He said he wanted to get in touch with a man who had worked at Scotland Yard years before, an inspector called Madden, who quit the force in the twenties. He didn't say why and
he never finished the letter. Just put it away in his desk and got on with his life – what was left of it.'

Billy drew on his fag.

‘But what we don't know is whether whoever called on Gibson had anything to do with the shooting, or if it was coincidental, which is why I didn't include it in that notice.'

‘How about the bloke in Scotland? Drummond? Did he have a visitor?'

‘Not that we know of. And now it seems that Singleton didn't, either. So maybe that's a dead end.'

Billy took a last puff on his cigarette and tossed it into the gutter.

‘But we're still not sure. I'm going to call Mr Madden when I get back to London and try Singleton's name on him; see if it means anything to him. He's been helping us with this. As it happens, I worked under him when I was getting started in CID – it was that Melling Lodge case years ago – and we've never lost touch.'

‘Melling Lodge, eh?' Morgan was impressed. ‘I remember that. Nasty business.' He eyed his colleague. ‘So you rate this Madden highly?'

‘Oh, yes.' Billy chuckled. ‘You could say that. But he's as much in the dark about this as we are.'

He trod on the burning stub.

‘And now I've got to go back to London and report to my chief super. He's been in hospital having his appendix out – he only got back this morning – and I can tell you now, this isn't going to make him feel any better.'

10

‘C
RIKEY
, S
TYLES . . . IS THAT
all you've got to show me?'

Detective Chief Superintendent Chubb was aggrieved.

‘Three murders, and hardly a lead to speak of. It's unnatural. What's going on here?'

His scowl suggested he was expecting an immediate answer; but having got back from Oxford less than an hour earlier and hurried to compile his report, Billy was in no condition to supply it and, seeing this, Chubb sank back into his chair with a sigh, wincing as he did so and feeling his side.

‘Ever had your appendix out?' he asked.

‘When I was a lad.'

‘Did it hurt?'

Billy shrugged. ‘I don't remember, really.'

‘You don't remember . . .'

Chubb glared at him. Billy grinned back. He had a soft spot for the chief super, as did most of his colleagues, their affection deriving in part from his appearance, which had made him the butt of endless jokes. Sagging cheeks and a pendulous jowl – physical characteristics that, in memory at least, seemed to have developed when he was still a young man – had inevitably led to comparisons with a bloodhound, as well as to the nickname of Cheerful Charlie, still in use, but now only heard behind his
back. Billy himself had worked under Chubb on a number of cases stretching back years and knew that he was a first-class detective, diligent and meticulous, qualities that he was quite ready to admit he had acquired under the stern regime of his immediate predecessor, Angus Sinclair.

‘And what's this I see?' Chubb jabbed his finger at the file lying on the blotter in front of him, which contained not only Billy's report from that day, but a summary of all the information he had been able to collect on the shootings. ‘Are you telling me His Nibs has been sticking his nose into this?'

Billy coughed. ‘Do you mean Mr Sinclair, sir?'

‘Who do you think I mean?' Charlie glowered.

‘Well, he happened to be up in Aberdeen, and Mr Madden thought it might help if he asked a few questions.'

‘Happened to be . . .' The chief super's laugh was mirthless.

‘That's where he comes from. I know it for a fact. He was born there.'

His remark brought a snort of disbelief from Chubb. It was followed by a fruity chuckle.

‘And there I was, thinking we'd seen the last of the old so-and-so.'

Billy grinned. ‘It could turn out to be useful,' he said. ‘Mr Sinclair got hold of the names of some patients who consulted that doctor before he was killed. Not ones on his regular panel. Tourists. Strangers. Four of them were men, and as well as passing on their names to Vic Chivers in Lewes, I'm going to have them checked out, just to be on the safe side.'

The chief super's grunt was non-committal. A frown settled on his brow. ‘Right, how do we stand now? Is there any way forward, or do we just have to wait until he tops someone else?'

‘Well, on the face of it we still haven't much, apart from the description we got at Lewes.' Billy had been wrestling with the same question. ‘The Oxford police are still looking for any more witnesses who might have been on the towpath that
evening. Then there's the slug they recovered. I sent it up to ballistics. We should have a result by tomorrow and, once we know for certain it's the same bloke, I'll update the advisory we sent out.'

‘What about this other bullet? The one painted black?'

‘That's with the lab boys too. Morgan reckons it's a dud, and I've asked them to check that. But they've already told me they don't know what the colour means: whether there's any significance to it.'

Billy hesitated.

‘And something else you ought to know – there were reporters at the scene. They'll have made the link with the Lewes shooting. My guess is the papers will be full of it tomorrow. If we're going to issue a statement, maybe we should include something about the Scottish case.'

‘Otherwise the clever clogs will think they've discovered it themselves and try to make us look stupid.' The chief super bared his teeth. ‘Good point. We'll be issuing a statement later. I'll say we're looking for a man, and I'll give them the description we got from that shepherd. This is a Yard case now, by the way. It's official. I got Cradock to agree to that. He's talked to both chief constables involved, and the Sussex and Oxfordshire police are being instructed accordingly. I'll give Aberdeen a ring later and clear it with them. Anything else?'

Billy pursed his lips.

‘I'm hoping Mr Madden might be able to help with the investigation. We still don't know yet if his name being in that letter of Gibson's means anything, but it might. I rang him after I got back from Oxford. He'd heard about the shooting: it was on the lunchtime news. I was hoping the name Singleton might mean something to him, but it didn't.'

Billy paused. ‘I told him Singleton had been in the war – the first war, that is – same as Oswald Gibson was, though
he
wouldn't have seen much action, if any. It was just a thought. If we're looking for a connection, then Mr Madden served in it too.'

Chubb grunted. ‘Good bloke, John Madden. Good copper too, in his day.'

‘He told me he was coming up to London again this week. I was wondering . . . I could ask him to drop in, if you like?'

The chief super's face brightened.

‘That's a good idea,' he said. ‘We were pals in the old days, John and I. Tell him I'd like to see him, if he can spare the time. Say I'd appreciate the chance for a chat.'

He paused to smile – at some memory, perhaps. Then he collected himself.

‘That'll do for now. I'll leave this in your hands, but don't let me down. If there's another shooting, I want you on the spot as soon as possible. It's too early to think of setting up a team – we'll have to wait and see how this develops – but you'll need some help. I can spare you a detective. Who do you want?'

It was a question Billy had thought would probably be raised and he had already considered his response.

‘Poole,' he said after a moment and, as expected, he saw the startled look on Chubb's face. The chief super was regarding him narrowly. Although his eyes, with their heavy bags underneath, sometimes had a sorrowful aspect, at this moment they were fixed on Billy in a penetrating gaze.

‘Why?'

‘I want someone who's prepared to do more than just go through the ropes.' Billy had his reply ready. ‘Someone with imagination and a sharp eye. Someone with a bit of passion for the job.'

‘Passion, eh?' Chubb was surprised. ‘And you reckon Poole can offer that?'

‘I do, sir.'

A long pause followed. Then Chubb shrugged.

‘All right. Poole it is. But get cracking, the pair of you.'

Relieved to have got that over with, Billy climbed the stairs to the office he shared with a fellow inspector but had to himself just then, his colleague being away on leave. He'd taken a chance with the chief super, but he felt all the better for it now. A call on the internal line was enough to set the wheels in motion. Soon he heard quick footsteps in the uncarpeted corridor outside. There was a tap on the door.