Billy wasn’t exaggerating. When the chief inspector had discovered Madden’s disappearance from the stableyard, he’d hit the roof, and it had been Billy’s bad luck to be the one in the firing line.
‘Do you mean to say you let him walk out of there? In the condition he was in?’ Sinclair had been white with anger.
What Billy had wanted to say was that he hadn’t let anyone go anywhere. That what with the chaos in the yard caused by the swarm of police and firemen, not to mention the casual onlookers who’d been drawn to the spot and who’d had to be shepherded away, it had been impossible to keep an eye on everything. That he didn’t have a crystal ball and there was no way he could have guessed that his former chief would suddenly take it into his head to walk off without a by your leave.
But if a dozen years on the force had taught Billy anything, it was that there were times when all you could do was bite your tongue, and he’d stayed silent.
‘Just pray nothing’s happened to him on the way, Sergeant.’ The chief inspector had been incandescent. ‘Just hope he hasn’t had an accident, or run off the road.’
He’d ordered Billy to get himself to Highfield without delay, saying that he, Angus Sinclair, wanted to hear before the night was out that Madden had returned home safe and sound, and that in the event of there being any other sort of news to report, the sergeant might well consider embarking on a new career.
‘And you might just remind him that leaving the scene of a crime without police permission is an offence punishable by law, and that he ought to know better.’
Which had given Billy something to grin about, at least, as he’d set off.
Not dealt with by the chief inspector had been the question of how he was supposed to get himself back to Midhurst, never mind Highfield, but luck had been on his side and he’d encountered Inspector Braddock in the parking area by the road. Hearing what was afoot, the Midhurst commander had hurried back from the station, and having no immediate need for his car and driver had told the latter he could take Billy as far as the town.
‘After that, you’re on your own, I’m afraid.’
Whatever doubts Billy might have had regarding his former mentor’s surreptitious departure had been removed when he’d spoken to the uniformed sergeant in charge at the parking lot. He’d had a word with Madden when he’d left in his car some time earlier.
‘He asked me to make his excuses to the chief inspector if I saw him. To tell him he felt he had to get home.’
None of which had come as any surprise to Billy when he considered the events of the last few hours. He himself was still shaken by what he’d been through, and could recall the apprehension he’d felt on hearing from the man left behind by the foreman at the roadworks that Madden had set off in pursuit of Lang alone. Leaving the party of police that was assembling behind him, Billy had sped up the path on his own and on reaching the crest of the wooded ridge had instantly seen the huge fire blazing down in the valley, away to his right. Thwarted at first by a hedge that ran alongside the path, he’d eventually found a way through to a farmyard where a sight met his eyes that had turned his blood to ice.
Silhouetted against a blazing barn were two men standing on either side of a smoking shape that lay on the cobbles between them. Even before he’d reached them Billy had known instinctively that what he was looking at were the remains of a human being.
‘Who is it?’ he’d shouted to them, unable to contain his anxiety. And then, ‘Police…’ when they’d turned inquiring faces his way.
‘Some bastard who tried to kill a lass,’ one of them had answered him bluntly, a tough looking customer with several days’ growth of beard on his cheeks, but a bloke Billy would happily have flung his arms around and kissed.
A few moments later, having been directed by the two towards a lighted stall at the side of the yard, his relief had been complete. There he’d found Madden, his face swollen at the temple and blackened by the fire’s ash, and with a burn mark showing on the back of his hand, sitting on the straw-covered floor with a young girl cradled in his arms. Close by them, lying on the cobbles, was another figure, that of a man dressed in an army greatcoat, whose eyes were shut and whose hand rested on the head of an old Labrador curled up beside him.
A group of roughly dressed men stood about them and Billy had had to push his way through to reach his old chief, whose face had lit up at the sight of him.
‘Ah, Billy… there you are.’
Pale beneath the caked ash, Madden’s features bore the stamp of exhaustion. He was in his shirtsleeves and Billy saw that his tweed jacket was wrapped around the girl, whose head rested on his shoulder.
‘She’s asleep, poor child.’
Billy had offered to take the girl from him, but Madden had seemed reluctant to let her out of his arms.
‘Better not to wake her.’ His eyes were bright and staring and it was plain from his dilated pupils that he was suffering from shock.
It was at that point that one of the men standing around had drawn Billy aside. A heavy-browed Mick by the name of Harrigan, he’d identified himself as the foreman of the road crew.
‘I sent a man down to Oak Green to ring for an ambulance. That was after we found Sam Watkin over there.’ He’d nodded towards the figure in the greatcoat. ‘Sam was crawling through the kitchen garden, trying to get to the yard. He’d been stabbed. Aye, and knocked on the head. I reckon he tried to save the lass. He’ll be all right, though. That coat of his is padded. The knife didn’t go in too deep.’
He’d told Billy he and the others in his gang had rushed up from the road on Madden’s heels and had got half way to the village before they’d spotted the fire behind them… and come pelting back.
‘You’ll have to ask your fella what happened.’ He gestured towards Madden. ‘We’ve not bothered him with questions. You can see he’s done in. One thing I can tell you, though – the lass isn’t… hurt.’ Harrigan’s cheeks had flushed and he’d looked away in embarrassment. ‘You take my drift. She woke up for a moment and told us she was feeling sick, but that was all. Your bloke said it was from the chloroform he gave her. That bastard out there.’ The foreman jerked his thumb towards the doorway. ‘Well, he won’t be doing it to another, will he?’
While they were talking the clatter of boots on the cobbles outside had signalled the arrival of the main police party. The sight of blue uniforms crowding into the cramped stall had seemed to reassure Madden and Billy had coaxed him at last to hand over his burden into the care of a burly sergeant, who had wrapped the child in his coat and settled down with her in a corner.
Madden had struggled then to rise to his feet.
‘I don’t know what’s come over me. Give me a hand, would you, Billy.’
Helped up, he’d appeared unsteady on his legs and Billy had led him out of the packed stall into the yard where the cold air had revived him. Finding an upturned bucket to hand, he’d persuaded Madden to sit down.
‘I had to break his wrist, Billy. He wouldn’t have it otherwise.’
Slumped over his knees, staring at the ground between his feet, Madden had given a brief, fragmented account of what had occurred to an audience which by now included several of the Midhurst contingent. Not once had his glance strayed to the shapeless, black form, guarded by a pair of constables, that lay still smouldering on the cobbles not far from where he sat.
‘It was Lang who set fire to the barn. He must have known he wouldn’t survive it. But he wanted to kill us, come what may.’
He hadn’t yet made sense of the experience, come to terms with it. Billy had seen that. But there’d been no time to talk. Just then the chief inspector had appeared, entering the yard by the kitchen garden, and Billy had signalled to him. Out of breath after his brisk walk up from the road, but already informed by runner of the part Madden had played in the rescue of the girl, Sinclair had stood before them, wordless.