The Reckoning (6 page)

The firm of solicitors where Edward Gibson was a partner was situated in Gray's Inn Road and to get there they drove through streets scarred by wartime bombing, a wilderness of broken walls and shattered foundations, where little had been done as yet to mend the damage.

‘They keep saying they're going to make a start on all this.' Billy gestured with his hand. ‘But then something new comes up, some financial crisis or other, and they call a halt. It's the same with these new towns they're supposed to be building. The plans have been drawn up, but that's as far as they've got.'

The building that housed Gibson's office, when they reached it, proved to be untouched, though the house beside it had taken what looked like a direct hit. With neither a roof nor an upper floor, it had been reduced to a walled shell, above which a single staircase could be glimpsed climbing into empty air.

‘A buzz-bomb did that,' Edward Gibson told them when they were shown into his office a few minutes later. ‘It was one of the last to hit London – in late '44. I was in the basement digging out some records when it landed, and I thought the whole building – ours, I mean – was going to come down on my head. But the damage turned out to be minor. The fortunes of war, I suppose.'

Without a jacket, and wearing his shirtsleeves rolled up at
the cuffs, he had risen from behind his desk to greet them and, on hearing Madden's name, had eyed his visitor's tall figure with open curiosity.

‘I must say I've been wondering who it was poor Ozzie wanted to get in touch with. Do you recall meeting him, by any chance?'

‘I'm afraid not.' Madden shook his head. ‘Not by name, at any rate. But I'm hoping I'll have more luck with a photograph.'

In response, Gibson opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a pair of glossy prints. He passed one of them across to Madden, who was seated beside Billy in a chair.

‘That was taken just before the war began, when he was made deputy manager of the bank in Lewes.' Gibson's smile was wistful. ‘Poor Ozzie. He didn't have many triumphs to celebrate, but this was one of them. At least he thought so. He used to have the photograph hanging in his office.'

Madden studied it in silence. Clearly a studio portrait, it showed the head and shoulders of a man whose thinning hair had been carefully combed to cover a growing bald spot. Dressed in a business suit, he stared back at the camera with a solemn expression.

‘I don't recognize him.'

Wordlessly Gibson took the photograph back and handed the other across his desk.

‘This was taken a few years earlier. That's his wife with him. They came with us on a family outing to Henley.'

Less formal than the first picture, the snapshot showed the same man, noticeably younger – his hair hadn't started to thin yet – looking up from the cushioned deck of a punt with a hesitant smile. He was dressed in white flannels and an open-necked shirt. Beside him, but looking away across the river in what seemed a deliberate attempt to distance herself from the scene, was a middle-aged woman whose heavy-featured face was scored by lines of discontent.

‘As you might guess from that, they didn't get on, Ozzie and Mildred. In the end it wore them out. But I was surprised Mildred went first. I always thought she'd live to bury him.'

Edward Gibson's gaze remained fixed on Madden's face as he waited to hear his reaction.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Gibson.' Billy heard the regret in his old chief's voice. ‘I wish there was something I could say. I've simply no recollection of your brother.'

He handed the photograph back.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘When you were with the police, perhaps?' Gibson's tone had a pleading note.

‘I don't think so. Inspector Styles and I have gone over that. It's really not likely.'

‘Even though Oswald refers to it in his letter?'

‘Even so.'

‘But from what Ozzie wrote, it sounds as though at the very least there was some kind of encounter between you.'

‘Not necessarily.' Madden spoke gently. ‘All he said was that he knew that I had worked as a detective at Scotland Yard. He didn't say we were acquainted.'

‘Yes, but . . .' Gibson bowed his head. For a moment he seemed lost for words. ‘I was at the inquest on Friday.' Looking up, he directed his gaze at Billy, who had been sitting silent beside Madden. ‘I don't wish to sound critical, but it didn't seem to me that the police down there had got very far with their case. There was no mention made of that murder in Scotland, I noticed. And that was after the coroner had asked if there were any leads in the investigation.'

‘That's because we still didn't know if the cases were connected or not, sir. And, as we agreed before, we don't want to get the press going without good reason.'

Billy hesitated. Madden saw he was in two minds whether to go on.

‘I said I'd keep you up to date with the investigation, and I mean to, provided you agree to treat everything I tell you as confidential.'

‘That's understood, Inspector.' Gibson's voice had grown tense.

‘We now know that the bullets that killed your brother and that doctor in Scotland were fired from the same weapon . . .'

Gibson turned pale at his words. He stared at Billy.

‘. . . which means we're looking for a single killer, and that changes the whole aspect of the investigation. However, as far as we can tell, there was no connection between the two victims, so what we need to find out is why were they singled out?
If
they were singled out, that is. We've not ruled out the possibility that the killings were random. I know you've been going through your brother's stuff, his papers, looking for any clue to what happened, but you might bear this new development in mind while you're doing that. In case you don't know, the name of the doctor murdered in Scotland was Drummond.'

‘Thank you, Inspector.' Gibson had recovered from his shock. ‘I don't know the name myself, and I can tell you now that I've seen no mention of it in my brother's papers.'

He nodded towards a stack of files that rested on a table behind his desk. Beside them was a pile of leather-bound notebooks and he pointed to them.

‘Those are Ozzie's diaries. He kept one from the time he was a boy. I'm going to go through them, and I'll keep an eye peeled for any mention of a Drummond, or any reference to Scotland.'

‘Thank you, sir. That could be useful.'

Billy caught Madden's eye and they rose to leave.

‘I glanced at them when I was down at Lewes.' Gibson picked up one of the books and riffled through the pages. ‘The
early ones are full of Ozzie's thoughts about life and his plans for the future. It made me sad to read them. Once upon a time he had dreams, poor fellow, but those died when he was still quite young, and after that it became just a record of his daily doings – quite cryptic at times, as though he'd lost all interest in life. Still, who could have imagined it would end this way?'

‘Billy, I'm sorry. I've wasted your time.' Madden's chagrin was plain to see.

‘Not a bit of it, sir. We had to find out if you recognized the bloke, and this was the quickest way of doing it. But it's more of a puzzle than ever now. How on earth did Ozzie get hold of your name?'

They were back in the police car, heading towards the Embankment. Billy, in front beside the driver, was sitting halfturned in his seat so that he could speak to Madden.

‘I can't explain it. But there must be an answer.' Madden stared out of the window. ‘Did you say you were driving to Lewes now?' he asked.

Billy nodded. ‘I need to talk this over with Vic Chivers. They've run into a brick wall down there. There's still no trace of the man they're looking for, and they've got no other leads. But I can easily drop you off at Waterloo. It's no problem.'

‘I thought I might come with you.'

‘To Lewes?' Billy was startled. ‘There's no need for that, sir. I'll keep you informed about any developments.'

‘I know you will. But this is something I can only do myself.' Madden continued to gaze out of the window. ‘I've been thinking . . . How long had Gibson been living at Lewes? Do you know?'

‘Since well before the war, I was told. He was a teller in the bank at first and in time he became chief teller; then deputy
manager. That was as far as he got.' Billy eyed his old mentor. ‘Why do you ask, sir?'

‘Because Helen and I used to go there regularly. It was before the war. They started putting on operas at a house called Glyndebourne, near Lewes, and we went with friends of ours from London, often for the weekend. I wondered if it was then that I ran into Gibson.'

‘At the opera, do you mean?' Billy thought about it. ‘It's possible. He liked music, Ozzie did. Vic told me he sang with the local choral society.' He frowned. ‘But you say you don't remember him.'

‘And I don't.'

‘Still, that doesn't mean you weren't introduced, during the interval at the opera, say, or in a restaurant. You might have shaken hands, nothing more.'

‘But would he have remembered my name?' Madden didn't think so. ‘And how could he have known that I'd once worked at the Yard?'

Billy pondered the riddle. His face brightened.

‘Could it have been those friends of yours who told him?'

‘I've thought of that.' Madden sighed. ‘They were a couple called Forrest. But, sadly, they can't help us. They were both killed in the Blitz. Their house was hit by a bomb.'

He shook his head.

‘No, the only thing I can do – the only thing that might help – is if I go down there myself and wander around a bit. I can do that while you and Chivers are having your chat. It might just jog my memory.'

5

M
ADDEN PEERED ABOUT HIM
. The view from where he stood, atop the battlements of Lewes Castle, was a striking one and, despite the lingering autumn mist that tended to blur the outlines of distant objects, he could see a large swathe of the Downs spread out below him, part of the meandering course of the River Ouse and a glimpse of red roofs, away to his right, which his companion assured him were those of Kingston, the village where Oswald Gibson had resided.

‘It's less than fifteen minutes' walk away.' Constable Boon eased the strap on his helmet and patted his pink, down-covered cheeks with a handkerchief. The ascent to the castle keep had been steep. ‘And then another fifteen or so further on, to the spot where the gentleman was shot.'

Assigned to accompany Madden on his walk around Lewes, the young officer had been assiduous in showing him the sights of the town and filling him in on its history, unaware that his charge was listening with only half an ear to his spirited account of the Battle of Lewes (1264) and the burning of Protestant martyrs some centuries later; that he was more intent on trying to place the man whose face he had been shown that morning and who, given his long association with the town, must have strolled these same narrow streets day after day. Before climbing the
stone steps they had walked the length of the high street, and Madden had seen the hotel where he and Helen had stayed on two occasions, and the pubs and restaurants where they had eaten and drunk with their friends, but to none had he been able to attach the elusive image of Oswald Gibson.

Earlier he had received a warm welcome from Vic Chivers when he and Billy had arrived at the Lewes police station.

‘It's been a long time, sir, but I must say you're looking well.'

Madden remembered the burly detective from the years after the end of the First World War, when he had returned from the trenches to find the Yard full of new faces – Billy's among them.

Told the reason for his visit, Chivers had offered the services of one of his men to show Madden around.

‘Billy and I will be caught up here for the next hour at least. There's a chief inspector coming up from Brighton to talk about this. He'll want his hand held. But Boon's a bright young copper. As it happens, he was first man at the murder scene and, if you like, he could take you out there later so that you can see the place.'

Thanking him, Madden had made a further request. ‘I should have mentioned it to Edward Gibson, but from the way Oswald phrased that letter, it seems that if we met at all, it was some time ago. The two photographs his brother showed me were both quite recent: Oswald was already middle-aged. I'd like to see some of him when he was younger, if that's possible, and I wondered if there were any at his cottage.'

‘I can't say for sure.' Chivers was dubious. ‘His brother took some stuff back to London with him. He left me a key, though, and when Billy and I are done we could meet in Kingston. You'll already have had a chance to see where Gibson was killed, and I'd be interested to hear any views you might have on the subject: any ideas at all.'

Grimacing, he had pointed to a stack of interview forms lying on his desk.

‘We've spoken to everyone we can think of: to townspeople and villagers, and to every hiker or rambler who was out on the Downs that day, but so far we've drawn a blank. No one seems to have spotted the man Hammond saw. But there is one line of enquiry we can pursue, and I'm hoping you can help us there, sir.'

He had paused to eye Madden meaningfully.

‘We still don't know what prompted Ozzie to sit down and start writing that letter to the commissioner with your name in it. But now that it's clear he and that fellow in Scotland were killed by the same man, we have to look hard at that visitor he had a few days before he was shot – the one who upset him. It's only a guess, but if these murders aren't random, he could be the man we're looking for. If we can only establish a link between these various things – between Ozzie's visitor and the letter he almost wrote and him wanting to get in touch with you – we might begin to understand what this is all about.