The chief inspector hadn’t meant his words to sound harsh, but Meadows flushed on hearing them and his misery seemed to increase. Unaware of it, Sinclair caught Madden’s eye and gestured towards the front door, inviting him to step outside into the garden.
‘We had him in our hands, John. And now, by God, we’ve lost him.’ Waiting only for the door to be shut behind them, Sinclair gave vent to his frustration.
‘Don’t assume that, Angus.’ Seeing the distress on his friend’s face, Madden sought to assuage it. ‘They may still get him at one of the ports.’
‘I very much doubt it. He won’t try to leave now. He knows we’re looking for him.’
‘Are you certain of that?’
Sinclair shrugged. ‘You heard what Meadows said. He wouldn’t wait for a moment. He was getting out.’
Eyes cast down, the chief inspector studied the small patch of garden before them. In the dying light of afternoon, grey as lead, the sodden lawn, bordered by shrubs and flower beds, had a dank, unwelcoming look. He’d been fumbling for some minutes with his tobacco pouch, trying to fill his pipe, but as though defeated by this simple task, he abandoned the effort and thrust both back into his pocket.
Madden grunted. ‘So you think he learned about the search going on in Midhurst?’
‘It’s the obvious explanation, isn’t it?’ Sinclair grimaced. ‘The word would have spread fast enough. Perhaps he was there himself, in town. He’s got the luck of the devil, this man.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘He’s been carrying a bottle of chloroform around with him in his pocket since yesterday. Does that mean he had a victim in mind? Or was it just a precaution? Either way, all I can hope is that we’ve scared him off. But I can’t see him walking into any trap now. Not Gaston Lang. He’ll find another place to lie low and wait for the fuss to die down. It’ll be up to someone else to catch him. If they ever do.’
Lifting his gaze he stared out over the hedge towards the distant Downs.
‘I’ve no taste myself for the hangman’s rope. The practice is barbaric. But there’s never been a man I wanted to lay hands on more. Aye, and hoped to see swing. But I doubt we’ll set eyes on him now. We’ve missed our chance, and we won’t get another. He’s gone for good.’
31
Sam turned at the gate and whistled.
‘Come along, Sally. Get a move on, old girl.’
The dog hesitated in the lighted doorway, unwilling to leave the warmth of the kitchen. Behind her he could see Bess’s anxious figure. The cook’s pink face, even more flushed than usual from the tears she’d shed, radiated distress like an alarm beacon.
‘You’ll let us know what they say, won’t you, Sam?’ she called out to him.
‘Of course I will, love. What’s more I’ll get them moving. You can tell Mrs Ramsay that, too.’ Sam slapped his thigh. ‘Now that’s enough of that, Sal. Come on!’
It would be dark in less than an hour and he wanted to get over to the barn again while there was still some light to see by.
‘Sally!’
At last she moved, crossing the yard reluctantly, with that shuffling gait which showed her arthritis must be hurting, poor old thing, following him out. With a last wave to Bess he shut the gate behind them and strode off.
Still fuming.
His attempt to ring the Midhurst police to see if they had any news of Eddie had ended in fiasco, his call having been answered by a green young copper – at least, that was what he’d sounded like – one who didn’t seem to know what day of the week it was. And when Sam had demanded to speak to someone more senior he’d been told there was no one available just then.
‘They’re all out,’ the bloke had said, reducing Sam to near apoplexy.
‘I’m trying to report a missing person,’ he’d roared down the phone. ‘Someone who might have been hurt in an accident. Don’t you have lists?’
If they did, no one had told the young copper about them, it seemed.
‘I’ll have to ask someone about this,’ he’d said, sounding unsure. ‘If you could just leave your number, sir…’
‘Never mind. I’ll come in myself.’
Sam had slammed down the phone, then wished he hadn’t. No doubt the young copper was doing his best, but it was a fine thing when police stations were left in the hands of babes and sucklings.
And he still had no news of Eddie.
Sam’s anger had been fuelled partly by fear. In the midst of making the call to the police he’d remembered something from his visit to the barn. It had sent a chill up his spine.
Eddie’s work clothes… where were they?
He’d found his boots all right, both of them, lying on the barn floor, as though they’d been chucked there. As if Eddie had been in haste to depart somewhere. He recalled that the lace of one had been broken.
But where were his dirty clothes?
He wouldn’t have shed his boots alone, surely. He wouldn’t have set out for Hove, or anywhere else, wearing the same soiled garments he put on every day for work. Sam had seen clean clothes in the wardrobe. But he remembered clearly now that there’d been no sign of the others.
Which didn’t mean they weren’t there somewhere. (At once Sam had sought for reassurance.) Tucked away in a corner, perhaps, or in the small cupboard under the washstand. But it was something he had to find out – for his own peace of mind, if nothing else. Because if the clothes were really missing, then Eddie couldn’t have gone anywhere, which meant something really had happened to him, some accident, and it might have occurred closer at hand than anyone had imagined. In the barn itself, perhaps, or nearby.
Given that the light was fading fast now, he had to get moving, and having ended his phone call abruptly, Sam had hastened back to the kitchen where he’d found that Bess, too, was concerned about the gathering dusk, though for a different reason.
‘It’s time Nell was back.’
She’d been standing by the window, gazing out in the direction of the path that led across the fields from Wood Way.
‘The bus must be late. The days are so short now…’
Sam had told her he was leaving, but not why. This was one fear he couldn’t share with her.
‘Did you talk to the police?’ she had asked. When she turned to him he saw she’d been crying. ‘Did they tell you anything?’
He’d shaken his head. ‘Something’s going on at the station – they’ re at sixes and sevens. I’ll have to go there in person. I’ll do it on the way home.’
He could see she was hoping he would stay longer. But he already had his coat on.
‘Don’t worry about Nell,’ he told her as he opened the back door and called to Sally. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for her. I’m going that way.’
He hurried now along the path, glancing up at the grey-shrouded sky and wondering how much longer the daylight would last. He could light one of the oil lamps, if necessary, if he had to make a search, he thought, drawing his coat closer about him. A bit of a wind had got up in the last hour. In time it would blow away the mist and fog, but for the present it only sharpened the biting cold, and Sam was grateful he’d been able to stop at home on his way back from Tillington earlier and collect the coat. It was the same one he’d had all through the war, but better now since Ada had got her hands on it. She’d sewn a good thick lining of padding on the inside and once it was buttoned up, as it was now, it was proof against even the coldest weather.
Sam paused to look back and saw that Sal had already fallen behind.
‘Come on, old girl!’
She was having a bad day – it was the cold, stiffening her joints even more than usual – and she was dealing with it the only way she knew how, by not hurrying.
He walked on, quickening his own pace. He could see the top of Wood Way now, where it came through the trees on the ridge, but there was no sign of Nell yet. He was close to the point where the two paths met, and where a small coppice blocked his view for a few moments. Coming out of it he looked up the path and saw her now, descending from the ridge, her white school hat bobbing up and down, walking fast, half breaking into a run as she approached the spot where the gap in the hedge led to Coyne’s Farm.