by Rennie Airth
‘What interests me is why he chose to remain here. Why not go?’
It appeared Vane had been pondering the same riddle. At all events he’d replied without hesitation. ‘If you want my opinion - and it’s no more than that - it’s because he’d already made up his mind not to return to Europe under any circumstances. That’s where he could expect to be found if any large-scale search for him was launched. His stamping ground, if you like. It was safer for him to remain in England, at least in the short term.’
‘The short term?’
‘Yes, he wouldn’t stay here for long - at least, that’s my guess. It’s not a country he’d feel at home in. Given his situation as he sees it, he’d be bound to look further afield for a place of refuge. Somewhere his face isn’t known. On another continent, perhaps. And he’s had ample time to make whatever preparations he might have thought necessary.’ With a sigh, Vane shook his head. ‘I can only repeat what I said earlier. I fear we’re too late.’
The chief inspector had grunted at his words. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to agree with you,’ he said. ‘But that’s not an assumption I can make at this stage.’
Now he gestured with the snapshot he was holding.
‘I’ll take this with me, if I may. I want to circulate it, along with a description of Lang.’
‘Please do. And I promise to comb through this file for any information that might be of use to you.’ Vane tapped his folder again. He watched as the chief inspector tucked the photograph in among his papers. Bennett had already risen to his feet.
‘I shall have to inform my colleagues of this meeting.’ Vane rose himself. ‘I’d better warn you now, they won’t take kindly to what I have to tell them. The thought that Lang might be brought to trial in open court will start all sorts of alarm bells ringing. Some may even reach your ears. I do urge you again to tread carefully in this matter.’
He had addressed his last remark to Sinclair, who had not yet got to his feet. Too late he saw his mistake. The chief inspector’s face had hardened.
‘I’ll be frank with you, Mr Vane. I’ve no sympathy whatever for your colleagues, or their anxieties. It does occur to me, though, that they might feel differently if they were given some idea of what this investigation will involve. I take it Lang’s supporters are among them?’ He looked up.
Vane nodded.
‘Including those who protected him originally? The ones who shielded him from the Swiss police years ago?’ Sinclair’s glance had grown cold.
‘Some of them - yes.’
‘Good. Then you might start by telling them that sexual criminals of Lang’s type are every policeman’s nightmare. They kill at random, you see, individually their victims mean nothing to them, and this absence of any link makes them among the hardest to track down. All they seek is opportunity.’
The chief inspector closed his file.
‘It’s a fact men like him appear to act from compulsion - a psychologist would certainly tell you so - they can’t stop themselves, which may account for those irrational aspects of Lang’s behaviour you mentioned. As time goes by, whatever inhibitions they feel, even those prompted by caution, seem to grow weaker, with the result that intervals between attacks tend to shorten.’
Sinclair rose to his feet. He began to button his coat.
‘I’m sure your colleagues will feel concern when you point out to them that more than two months have passed since that child was murdered at Brookham, a long time as these things go, and that wherever Lang is now, here or abroad, the chances are he’ll be looking for a fresh victim.’
The chief inspector paused. His listener had turned pale.
‘Unfortunately, you’ll also have to tell them there’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do about that. Except pray he hasn’t found her already.’
20
THE WEATHER had cleared at last - it it had been raining for several days - and after a bite of lunch in Midhurst Sam Watkin drove out to Hobday’s Farm, near Rogate, to see how the roof he’d fixed was holding up. He’d done the work himself in the end, resetting the chimney and replacing the smashed tiles. He’d also patched up the floor below with a couple of new bricks and was pleased to find the inside bone dry.
‘Do you see that, Sal? I reckon I could hire myself out. Repairs and decorations.’
They had paused only long enough to admire his handiwork. Once he was sure all was well, Sam had climbed back into his van. He had another errand to run, one that had nothing to do with his job, but was every bit as important. At least that was Ada’s opinion.
‘Now be sure and pass by Coyne’s Farm, Sam. I want Eddie to have this extra blanket. The nights are getting colder. I’ve wrapped up a pork pie for him, too, and a bit of cheese and a bar of soap, if he needs one. You see he gets them.’
Though it was a Wednesday, and not one of the days he usually went to Coyne’s Farm - those were Tuesdays and Thursdays - Sam didn’t mind going out of his way. His plans for making Eddie’s life a little brighter had succeeded beyond his best hopes. There was something about his old wartime pal - dignity, perhaps, the way he held himself in spite of hardship - that appealed to women; to their motherly side. (Or so Sam reckoned.) It had certainly worked with Ada. And she wasn’t the only one.
The day after their encounter he’d picked up Eddie at the roadworks and brought him home to supper, as he’d promised. On the way over he’d given him the good news about the empty barn at Coyne’s Farm and how Mr Cuthbertson had agreed to let him sleep there if he liked.
‘Could I really, Sam?’ Eddie’s face had lit up like a boy’s and Sam had realized then how much he must have hated having to bunk down in that cramped shed with the other men.
Next day he’d collected him again after work and taken him up the path that led over the ridge to the farm. He’d shown him the gap in the hedge that gave onto the orchard and the walled kitchen garden. Beyond lay the farmyard where the barn stood. Sam had unlocked the double doors.
‘Here—you keep this.’ He’d tossed Eddie the key to the padlock. ‘It’s a spare. Be sure and lock the doors each morning when you go to work. I told Mr Cuthbertson you’d keep an eye on the place.’
On his way from Rogate now he paused at the roadworks long enough to tell Eddie about his mission and to say he’d leave the stuff Ada had sent for him at the barn.
‘It’s kind of her, Sam, but she shouldn’t. I’ve got all I need now. And more, thanks to you. Can’t you tell her?’ Though he was dirty and sweating - he’d been working with a pick at the side of the road, lifting stones - Eddie’s face was split by a wide grin. He looked a different bloke.
‘You tell her, Eddie. I wouldn’t dare.’ With a wink, Sam drove on.
He hadn’t far to go. The crew was advancing along the road and now was much closer to the point where it was crossed by Wood Way, and where a gravelled space for parking had been cleared. In summer, at the weekends, it was sometimes packed, since many ramblers left their cars there to walk out onto the Downs. That day there was only one other vehicle in the lot, a car that was parked at the back, half-hidden by the branches of an overhanging oak tree.
Sam left his van at the edge of the area, near the road, and then walked up Wood Way, over the ridge, with Sal at his heels, carrying Ada’s bundle tucked under his arm. Though the rain had stopped during the night, the air was still damp and a low grey cloud hung over the valley.
Inside the barn he found a number of spots where the roof had leaked, but none of them over the corner at the back which Eddie was occupying. The first day he had brought him over the two of them had quickly set the place to rights. It was something soldiering taught you - how to make yourself comfortable - and he and Eddie had caught each other’s eye and grinned as the same thought had struck them both.
‘It takes you back, doesn’t it?’ Eddie’s gaze was already brighter as he inspected his new billet.
They hadn’t walked over unburdened, either. Remembering the lamps he’d found,
Sam had brought a tin of oil with him, and a small brazier, as well, while Eddie had lugged the bag of coke he would need to build himself a fire together with his own belongings.
‘Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll empty it each morning before I leave. I won’t burn the place down, I promise.’
He’d been as good as his word, Sam saw now. (He’d spotted the empty brazier at once.) In fact, Eddie had left few traces of his presence. The mound of hay he used as a mattress was pushed neatly into the corner, but his bedding and the rest of his stuff were nowhere to be seen and must have been stowed away, perhaps in one of the cupboards.
When they’d done all they needed to at the barn, Sam had suggested that they walk over to Oak Green so that he could show Eddie the place, not knowing what a lucky encounter was awaiting them there.
As they reached the small cluster of houses, the door of the village shop had opened and Nell Ramsay had stepped out into the narrow street. Catching sight of Sally, who was ambling along at their side, the girl had let out a whoop of delight and come running up to greet them.
Sam hadn’t noticed she was with anyone until he heard a grown-up’s voice behind him. ‘I can see we’re not going to be introduced, Mr Watkin.’ A woman had come up and joined them. She was smiling. ‘I’m Nell’s mother. I’ve been hearing for months about you and Sally. I’m so glad we’ve met at last.’
Dark-haired like her daughter, Mrs Ramsay had offered them her hand, and Sam had seen at once where Nell got her looks from. Those, and the easy way she had with people.
Learning that they had walked over from Coyne’s Farm, Mrs Ramsay had insisted that they come back and have tea with her and Nell before returning. Sam had accepted without pausing to consider, and then wondered whether she was aware, as he ought to have been, of how uncomfortable the prospect had made Eddie. (He was still in his work clothes, grimy and unshaven.) But his worry for his friend had been needless.
As soon as they’d reached the house, a handsome, double-storied dwelling a few minutes walk from the village, with a garden that stretched down to the stream, she had shown Eddie to a bathroom, saying, ‘You must be longing for a chance to clean up, Mr Noyes. Please don’t hurry. We’re going to have tea in the kitchen. It’s nice and warm there, and Sally can join us.’
She’d guessed that Eddie would feel ill at ease in her drawing room, dressed the way he was, and had dealt with the situation gracefully. Just like you’d expect a lady to. (A proper lady, that was. Not like some Sam could name. The ones who gave themselves airs.)
During the few minutes they’d had to themselves he had explained to her about Eddie. Why he was staying at Coyne’s Farm. The reason he looked so down and out.
‘He lost his job for no reason, the way people do these days. Bravest bloke I ever knew. They gave him the Military Medal in the war. Now he has to pick up work wherever he can. It doesn’t seem right.’
Sam had spoken with feeling. But he’d been surprised by the warmth of Mrs Ramsay’s response.
‘I do so agree with you, Mr Watkin.’
When Eddie returned - a lot cleaner, but still shy and unsure of himself - she had made a point at once of getting him to talk, asking him where he came from and what his background was. It had amazed Sam to see how quickly she was able to break the ice. Soon Eddie had been chatting away, telling her about his home near Hove and his mother and sister, the one suffering from angina, the other still mourning the husband she’d lost.
Listening to him, Sam had gained a new insight into his old comrade-in-arms, one he might never have been granted if it hadn’t been for Mrs Ramsay’s gentle probing. What Eddie had gone and done was take on the job of looking after these two women and lost any chance of a life of his own in the process. Sam reckoned Mrs Ramsay had seen that. At any rate, her glance, when it rested on his face, had been full of understanding.
Nor would she listen for a moment when he told her he planned to come over to Oak Green from time to time to buy provisions for himself. ‘You can’t possibly spend all day working and not have a proper meal at night. Even if I’m not here, Bess will have something hot for you.’
‘Course I will, Mr Noyes.’ The Ramsay’s cook had smiled encouragingly. A plump, red-faced woman, she had listened to their conversation with avid interest. ‘Just put your head in the kitchen door. I’ll be here.’
Dear old Eddie - he hadn’t known which way to look, what with the two of them fussing over him like mother hens. Neither willing to take no for an answer.
It had been almost dark by the time they left to return to Coyne’s Farm. Nell had slipped outside earlier - to show Sally the garden, she said - and they had walked with Mrs Ramsay around the house to the front and watched as the girl raced about in the gathering shadows, with Sal labouring gamely in pursuit.
It was the first time Sam had seen her out of her school uniform. Dressed in a plaid skirt and a Fair Isle sweater she looked more grown up. But the high-pitched cries that rang out over the wide lawn had been those of a child still.
It seemed her mother shared his thoughts. Earlier, Sam had told her about Rosie and Josh, his and Ada’s two, and now she glanced at him with a wistful expression.
‘They grow up so quickly,’ she had said with a sigh.
Smiling in reminiscence, Sam looked at his watch. It was getting on for four. Nell would be back from school soon. They might meet her on the path.
He and Sally had walked up to the ridge behind the farm after locking the barn. Sam had left Ada’s bundle on the broken washstand, where Eddie would see it.
‘Pity about that pork pie, Sal,’ he’d observed regretfully. ‘We could have done with that, you and I. I doubt Eddie’ll have room for more than a mouthful.’
Not when he was going over to Oak Green most evenings for his supper. Initially reluctant to push himself forward, he’d plucked up the courage to put his head inside Bess’s kitchen, like he’d been told to, and now he was a regular visitor there. Sam had teased him about it.
‘I reckon she’s got her eye on you.’
Eddie had just laughed. ‘I like going over there,’ he’d admitted. ‘They make you feel welcome.’ Although Eddie’s thinning hair and lined face still made him seem older than he was, he’d lost that careworn look. ‘I met Mister Ramsay the other afternoon. Did you know he was in the line, north of us, up near the coast? Wounded twice, he was. Lucky to get home. And that Nell’s a sweet lass. She comes and sits with me in the kitchen when I’m there, asks me all kinds of questions. They’re a grand family.’
Sam was happy for his old pal, but he couldn’t help wondering if his evenings at Oak Green hadn’t made Eddie think about his own life, and the chances he’d let slip by.
‘Now, don’t get settled, Sal. We’re moving on.’
He’d noticed her circling a patch of damp earth, getting ready to lie down. His own gaze had been fixed on the valley: he’d been running his eye along the length of the stream, checking for any signs of life there. At that moment the silence about them was broken by a chorus of raucous cries. Glancing up, Sam was in time to see a pair of rooks go sailing off from the edge of the wood.
When he looked down again he got a surprise: the figure of a man had appeared in the farmyard below; he was standing in the middle of the expanse of cobbles, gazing about him. Dressed in tweeds, he had a pair of binoculars in a leather case slung from one shoulder, and the sight of them rang a bell in Sam’s memory.
Wasn’t this the same bloke he’d seen on the ridge opposite, across the the valley, a couple of weeks back? The one he’d taken for a birdwatcher?
His first assumption was that the fellow must have walked up Wood Way, noticed the gap in the hedge and decided to see where it led. It was something that happened with ramblers often enough. They used the footpath to get to and from the Downs and occasionally strayed onto the farm.
But soon it became clear that the man hadn’t got there by accident. Not judging by the interest he was taking in the yard. The first thing
he did was go over to a tap that stood against the wall by the back door and turn it on, apparently to check that it was working. Next, he crossed the cobbles to inspect the stalls, walking quickly, disappearing from sight for several minutes as he went inside them.
Watching from above, it occurred to Sam that the bloke must have heard the farm was for sale and had come to look it over. In fact, he was just wondering whether he ought to wander down there and offer his assistance - give him Mr Cuthbertson’s name, say - when something happened that drove any notion of a friendly gesture out of his mind.
Moments before, the man had turned his attention to the barn. Finding the doors bolted, he’d begun to fiddle with the padlock, weighing it in the palm of his hand and peering at it closely. Now, under Sam’s disbelieving gaze, he took what looked like a penknife from his jacket pocket and began to pick at it.
‘Oi!’ Not sure even if he was within earshot, Sam gave vent to his outrage. ‘That’s enough of that! Come on, old girl—’
Without waiting for Sal to join him, he marched off down the slope, intending to have a word with the intruder. Ask him what he thought he was up to. Yes, and tell him to keep his paws off other people’s property. But once he’d descended from the ridge he lost sight of the tweed-suited figure, and by the time he reached the yard - it had taken him only a few minutes - the bird had flown. The cobbled space stood empty.
‘Blast!’ Sam looked about him in frustration. He noticed that the gate to the walled kitchen garden was open. Apparently the man had left the same way he’d come.
Pausing only to check that the padlock was secure, he went after him, hastening through the garden and the orchard beyond, then slipping out through the hedge onto Wood Way.
Disappointment awaited him there. He’d hoped to find his quarry close by. Instead he saw that the fellow had already put some distance between them. He was up near the top of the path, approaching the crest of the ridge, walking with long, swinging strides, going like the clappers.
