‘Forgive me. I’m digressing. To return to the earlier point, the pattern of behaviour I’ve described continued throughout the boy’s childhood, which was marked, in particular, by a growing hostility towards his stepsister. There seemed no reason for this, other than the fact that they were thrown together, and not surprisingly, the girl came in time to return the sentiment, and as she grew older made common cause with the other village children, who seem to have been united in their dislike of the boy. He himself, while still quite young, began to pursue a solitary pattern of life, and having developed an interest in birds took to wandering in the countryside, spending long hours away from home.’
The chief inspector sighed. He eyed his two listeners.
‘One can only pity the parents in their attempts to deal with this catastrophe that had befallen them. No doubt things would have been different these days. They might have been able to seek help from competent medical authorities. But they lived a simple rural existence and Pastor Lang was apparently of a disposition to treat whatever trials came his way as an expression of God’s will; a test of his faith. It seems he was determined to do right by the child. However, a point was reached where the situation became untenable. The boy was twelve and increasingly difficult to control. Perhaps he sensed weakness in his foster parent; a lack of resolution. At all events the Langs decided he would have to go and the pastor arranged for him to be taken in by a church-run institution, an orphanage of sorts, in Geneva. He informed the boy accordingly.
‘“He looked at me with his pale eyes and said nothing.” ’
The change in the chief inspector’s tone caught his listeners off guard.
‘It’s a line from the report the Swiss police sent us. I find it sticks in the memory.’ Sinclair glanced at them both. ‘His departure was set for two weeks hence. He was assured he would return home for holidays at regular intervals. Still he had shown no reaction. A few days before he was due to go his stepsister went missing. A search was organized and her body was found in a gully not far away. It seemed she’d had a fall and broken her neck. There was some damage to her face: her nose had been broken and her features disfigured.’
‘Good God!’ Holly was dumbstruck. ‘And the boy did it? Is that what you’re saying? But why, man, why?’
‘For spite? For pleasure?’ Sinclair shrugged. ‘No one can answer that question, Arthur. No one but Lang. And he took his secrets with him.’
Bennett stared at the blotter on his desk. ‘Was the boy questioned about it?’ he asked. ‘Was he a suspect?’
‘Apparently not. He’d wandered off as he often did earlier and returned to be told the news. Or so he made out. Although the police were called in they concluded it was an accident. The girl appeared to have fallen from a height and to have rolled down the gully. There was no evidence of an assault, sexual or otherwise, and no reports of any strangers being seen in the vicinity.’
‘But his stepfather, this pastor, thought the boy was responsible?’
‘He indicated as much to the police when they tracked him down. Though whether he thought so at the time, I can’t say. Perhaps the realization came to him later. In any case there was no proof. Suffice to say, neither he nor his wife ever saw their stepson again. She died a year later and he left the church soon afterwards. He told the detectives who interviewed him that he’d lost his faith and explained why. He said the boy had been born beyond the reach of God’s mercy and that since such a thing could not be, or not in the world he’d believed in, he could no longer continue with his ministry. He had ceased to pray, except for death.’
Bennett rose and went to the window. The day was showery and he examined the cloud-covered sky outside.
‘What happened to Lang? To the boy, I mean?’
‘He was sent to the orphanage, as planned. Interestingly enough, his record there was unexceptional. He gave no trouble and was marked down as intelligent, but unresponsive. Again, he made no friends, and shortly before his sixteenth birthday he absconded. He walked out of the place and was never seen again. We’ve no way of knowing how he spent the next few years, though it’s likely he lived by his wits. Equally, there’s no clue as to what kind of sexual life he might have had during these years. Perhaps none. Until the murder for which he was sought, which occurred when he was in his twenties, there was no record – in Switzerland, at least – of any similar unresolved crimes. Mind you, he’d been working for Hoffmann for some time, often as a courier, so it’s not to say he didn’t take advantage of his trips abroad. For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to think that in these earlier years, at least, he was able to hold himself in check. The kind of life he’d fallen into was already dangerous enough. He can’t have wanted to add to it. The killing for which the Swiss police sought him may well have been his first. But as I’ve told you, the information we’ve received from the various police forces around Europe is sketchy at best. All we can say for sure is that there are a number of unsolved sexual crimes in the countries we know he’s visited, some of them not dissimilar to the attacks he specialized in.’
The chief inspector broke off to place his cup of tea, untasted, on the desk before him. Bennett remained by the window. But he had turned to listen.
‘It’s tempting to believe that his fixation with facial assaults harks back to the murder of his stepsister, and I’ve no doubt a psychologist would make much of it. The increasing ferocity of these episodes over the course of time suggests they were gaining a hold on him. Certainly he took more risks. If he hadn’t stopped to attack that child near Midhurst last November, he might have escaped. My God! Just imagine him wandering about America! The sheer size of it. Would we ever have caught him, I wonder?’
Holly growled his agreement. A frown had settled on the chief super’s face as he’d listened.
Bennett returned to his desk. ‘You said you’d received a letter, Chief Inspector. I gather it has some bearing on the German attitude to this investigation?’
‘Yes, I have it with me.’ Sinclair took an envelope from his pocket and removed several handwritten pages from it. He spread them on his knee. ‘It’s from Inspector Probst – I’m sure you remember him. He wants all the facts about this case to be made known. That’s why he’s written to me. It’s a letter I’d rather not place in the file. There’s no telling what kind of relations we’ll end up having with the new order in Berlin once the dust’s settled over there – though for my part, I hope they’re minimal – but I wouldn’t like to think it might fall into the wrong hands one day.’
‘I see…’ Bennett’s eyes had narrowed. ‘But isn’t he taking a risk writing to you behind his superior’s backs?’
‘A risk, I’m sure. But he’s not with the police any longer, so it isn’t a question of him disobeying orders. He resigned as soon as the Nazis took over at the end of January. “As a policeman one cannot serve criminals: it is a contradiction in terms.”’ Chuckling, Sinclair read from one of the pages. ‘He doesn’t pull his punches, does he? Of course, he wouldn’t have lasted in the job. One of the first things the Nazis did when they took over was purge the police. He’s amusing on that score, too. Well, perhaps “amusing” is not quite the right word…’
The chief inspector squinted at the sheet of paper he was holding.
‘“Goering came in person to the Alexanderplatz and shook many hands.”’ He quoted from the page. ‘“They say he’s good company; jovial; the war hero with the common touch. I looked into his eyes and saw a natural-born killer. How well I know the type.”’
Sinclair laid the sheet of paper back on his knee.
‘But with regard to the Lang investigation, Probst said they’d continued with it up to the time the government changed hands. Inquiring into his background, that is. Whether or not they guessed that he was an agent he doesn’t say. But he describes his past as “murky” and says he was not what he seemed to be: in other words the representative of an Austrian textile firm. In tracing his movements between Berlin and Munich they also discovered his Nazi connections, and it was at this point, or very soon afterwards, that the inquiry was brought to a halt. Whether Nebe acted on his own initiative, or was spoken to, isn’t clear. But he seems to have known which way the wind was blowing. Probst says the investigation is no longer being actively pursued; nor will it be.’