River of Darkness (2 page)

here. There's no point in keeping it a secret. Then ask them to go home. We'll be questioning them later. But they're no help to us standing out there blocking the road.' 'Of course. I'll see to that now.' He set off up the drive. Watching, Billy could only marvel. How did Madden do it? He wasn't a nob himself, that much was certain. There was a rough, unpolished air about the inspector that set him apart from the likes of his lordship. But when he talked, they listened! Even Sir William Whatsit, who could only stand there glowering. 'Chief Inspector,' still ignoring Raikes, Madden turned to Norris, 'could we have a word?' He moved away, and after a moment's hesitation Norris joined him. The Guildford chief was red in the face and sweating heavily in his thick serge suit. 'I'll need some details, sir.'

'Speak to Boyce.' Norris blinked rapidly. 'Good God, man! You can't treat a lord lieutenant that way.' Madden regarded him without expression. Norris opened his mouth to speak again, then changed his mind. He spun on his heel and rejoined Raikes, who stood with his back ostentatiously turned to them, glaring up the drive at the retreating figure of Lord Stratton. Madden nodded to Boyce and led the way out of the forecourt around to the side of the house. When they came into a pool of shade he paused and took out a packet of cigarettes. Billy, encouraged by the sight, lit up himself. 'I was told four in the house.' The inspector was speaking to Boyce. 'That's right.' The Surrey inspector took out a handkerchief. 'Colonel and Mrs Fletcher. One of the maids, Sally Pepper, and the children's nanny, Alice Crookes.' 'Who found the bodies?' 'The other maid, Ellen Brown. We haven't talked to her yet. She's in hospital in Guildford. Under sedation.' He wiped his face. 'Brown returned this morning. Mrs Fletcher had given her the weekend off -- Saturday and Sunday -- but she was due back last night, and the other maid, Pepper, was to have had today off. Brown missed her train - she's got a young man in Birmingham -- and only arrived this morning. She was seen passing through the village, running from the station, looking to be in trouble with her mistress, I dare say. Half an hour later she was back again, not making much sense by all accounts.' 'Half an hour?' Madden drew on his cigarette. Boyce shrugged. 'I don't know what she did when she found them. Fainted, I would guess. But she had enough sense to get herself to the local bobby. He lives at this end of the village. Constable Stackpole. He didn't know what to think - whether to believe her, even. He said she was raving. So he got on his bicycle and pedalled like blazes. He rang Guildford from the Lodge. I was the duty officer and I informed Chief Inspector Norris and he rang the chief constable who decided to call in the Yard right away.' 'When did you get here?' 'Just before midday. Mr Norris and I.' 'You went through the house?' Boyce nodded. 'We didn't touch anything. Then Sir William arrived with Lord Stratton.' 'Did they go inside?' 'I'm afraid so.' 'Both of them?' Boyce looked shamefaced. 'Mr Norris tried to stop them, but . . . Anyway, they didn't stay long. It was getting to be ripe inside. The heat, you know 'Anyone else?' 'Only the doctor.' 'The police surgeon?' 'No, Stackpole couldn't raise him - he lives in Godalming - so he rang the village doctor.' 'What time did he get here?' 'She.' Boyce glanced up from his notebook. 'Her name's Dr Blackwell. Dr Helen Blackwell.' Madden was frowning. 'Yes, I know.' Boyce shrugged. 'But it couldn't be helped. There was no one else.' 'Was she able to cope?' 'As far as I can tell. Stackpole said she did what was necessary, confirmed they were all dead. It was she who found the little girl.' He consulted his notebook. 'Sophy Fletcher, aged five. Apparently she's a patient of the doctor's.' 'The child was in the house?' 'Hiding under her bed, Stackpole said. She must have been there all night. . .' Boyce looked away, biting his lip. Madden waited for a moment. 'You said "children".' 'There's a son. James, aged ten. He's been spending a few weeks with his uncle in Scotland. Lucky, I suppose, if you can call it that.' 'Do we know if the girl witnessed the murders?' Boyce shook his head. 'She hasn't said a word since Dr Blackwell found her. The shock, I imagine.' 'Where is she now?' 'At the doctor's house. It's not far. I sent an officer over there.' 'We must get her into hospital in Guildford.' Madden killed his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and put the stub in his pocket. Billy, watching, followed suit. 'Any idea of time of death?' 'Dr Blackwell says between eight and ten last night - based on rigor. Couldn't have been before seven. That's when the cook left. Ann Dunn. She lives in the village. I've had a word with her, but she couldn't tell us much. She fixed them a cold meal, then took herself off. Didn't notice anything unusual. Didn't see anyone hanging about.' Boyce glanced back towards the drive. 'The gates were open. They could have driven in.' 'They?' 'Has to be more than one man.' Boyce looked at him. 'Wait till you see inside. Most likely a gang. There's stuff been taken. Silver. Jewellery. But why they had to--' He broke off, shaking his head. 'How did they get into the house?' 'They broke in from the garden side. Come on, I'll show you.' Boyce led the way to the front of the house, out of the shade on to the sun-washed terrace. It was late afternoon, past four o'clock, but the cloudless summer sky held hours of daylight yet. Shallow steps led from the terrace to a lawn bordered by flower-beds with a fishpond in the middle. Further on another set of steps led to a lower level bordered by a shrubbery. Where the garden ended the woods of Upton Hanger began, rising like a green wave, filling the horizon. 'See! They smashed in the French windows.' Boyce pointed. 'They're not cracksmen. Not professionals.' One of a pair of tall glassed doors at the front of the house had been knocked off its hinges. The empty frame lay across the doorway. Broken glass glittered in the sunlight. Madden crouched down to examine it. In the silence Billy heard the sound of flies buzzing. It came from inside the house. He wrinkled his nose at the rotten-sweet smell. 'We can't leave 'em there much longer,' Boyce observed. He watched Madden with narrowed eyes. 'Not in this heat. There's a mortuary wagon standing by in the village. Should I bring it up to the house?' 'Better wait till Mr Sinclair gets here.' Madden stood up. 'You can begin fingerprinting, though. Start with the people who've been in the house.' A grin replaced the anxious frown on Boyce's face. 'Does that include the Lord Lieutenant and Lord Stratton?' 'Certainly.' 'Sir William told Mr Norris they hadn't touched anything.' 'I'm sure he did. Print them both.' Madden glanced at Billy. 'Constable?' 'Sir?' Billy straightened automatically. 'We'll go inside now.' As Billy stepped over the broken door frame into the house, the smell of decaying flesh triggered a rush of nausea and he had to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands to stop himself retching. Eyes watering, he tried to block out the stench and concentrate on what was before him. They had entered the drawing-room, that much he could see. Madden was bending over the body of a young woman sprawled on the floor in the middle of the room. She lay on her side with her legs splayed like a runner in mid-stride, hands clutching at emptiness. Billy noted the black dress and frilled cuffs. This must be the maid, Sally Pepper, he told himself. His glance took in the tray and coffee things silver pot and two small cups and saucers -- strewn across a cream-coloured carpet edged with vine leaves. The spilled coffee had spread into the shape of a flower. Black petals for a funeral wreath. He knew the woman had been stabbed, Madden had told him earlier, but he couldn't see where. Then he noticed the inspector examining a small tear in the maid's uniform over her chest. It looked as if the black cloth had masked the flow of blood. Billy was struck by how little had been disturbed. Take away the smashed door and the pitiable figure on the carpet and the room was relatively untouched. Chairs and tables stood in their places. Nothing was disarranged. A cabinet where china was displayed remained shut, with the glass unbroken. Above the carved stone fireplace a pair of shepherdesses graced the mantelpiece beneath a painted portrait of a woman sitting on a sofa with two young children, a boy and a girl, on either side of her. All three were fair-haired. Billy was starting to sweat. If anything, the smell was getting worse. He saw Madden's eyes were on him. 'If you're going to throw up, Constable, do it outside.' 'I won't, sir. Truly.' Madden's glance implied disbelief. Billy gritted his teeth. He watched as the inspector started to move away from the body, then changed his mind and returned to it, this time to look at the back. He bent and peered at the area between the shoulder-blades. Billy wondered why. There was nothing to see there. He took a deep breath, then checked himself hurriedly as the surge of nausea returned. He couldn't understand it. In three years on the force he'd seen his share of corpses, not all of them pretty. Week-old cadavers found in abandoned tenements. Floaters hauled from the Thames. Earlier that year he had worked on his first murder case since moving from the uniform branch to the CID. An old pawnbroker battered to death in his shop in the Mile End Road. His skull had been reduced to a red pulp, yet Detective Constable Styles hadn't turned a hair. Why now? Searching for an explanation, Billy was left with the feeling that it had something to do with the enormity of what had happened in this house. He had seen it in the faces of the villagers and of the men who waited outside. Even Madden's grim features had registered a sense of disbelief as he recounted the bald details on their taxi ride to Waterloo. It was something that shouldn't have happened - that was the closest Billy could come to explaining it -- not in the peaceful Surrey countryside, barely an hour's train ride from London. Not in England! Madden rose. Skirting the body, he went to an inner door that stood open and paused on the threshold. Billy joined him. In front of them was a hallway with a passage branching off it, running the length of the house. To their left, a trousered leg protruded from a doorway. Madden went towards it, walking in the middle of the carpeted passage, his eyes on the floor in front of him. Billy stayed on his heels. They came to the body of a middle-aged man lying on his stomach with his arms outstretched in the shape of a cross. His head was twisted to one side, the lips drawn back in a rictus of agony. A stab wound in the middle of his back had left a dark stain in the checked hacking jacket he wore. Some deep internal injury was signalled by the gush of blood from his mouth on to the surrounding floorboards. At the very edge of the pool of dried blood, a curved indentation was visible. 'Do you see that?' Madden pointed. 'Someone's walked there.' 'One of the killers, sir?' Billy peered over his shoulder. 'I doubt it. The blood was already dry. Make a note for Mr Sinclair.' Madden stepped carefully over the body. Billy followed, fumbling for his notepad. They were in an oak panelled study, furnished with a desk and two stuffed-leather armchairs. The walls were hung with photographs, mostly of men in military uniform. Some showed them sitting on chairs, stiffly posed. Others were less formal. There were pictures of polo matches and clay-pigeon shooting. Madden seemed more interested in a pair of shotguns mounted on a wall rack.

'Was he trying to reach one of those, I wonder?' He spoke the thought aloud. 'Or the telephone, sir?' Billy seized on the chance to participate. He indicated the instrument standing on the desk. Madden grunted. He was still looking at the gun rack, frowning. 'Something's missing from the mantelpiece, sir.' Billy tried again. He was feeling better. The smell was less strong in here. 'That mark on the wallpaper 'A clock, most likely.' Madden spoke without turning. 'There might have been other stuff up there. Silver cups. The maid will know.' He led the way out and walked back along the passage, checking each room as he came to it. He paused at only one, the dining-room, where plates and cutlery from the previous night's meal lay on the uncleared table. At the far end of the corridor was a swing door. The inspector pushed it open and went through. Billy, following on his heels, retched involuntarily and almost threw up as a pungent reek assailed his nostrils. They were in the kitchen. The afternoon sun poured through unshaded windows on to a table where the remains of a roast chicken rested on a platter beside a glistening ham. As Madden approached, a cloud of flies rose into the air and then settled on the food again. Beyond the table a chair had been knocked over on its back and directly behind it a woman's body lay on the flagstoned floor, half propped against the wall. Grey-haired, plump-featured, she was dressed in a bloodstained white blouse and an ankle-length skirt of dark blue material. Her face wore a surprised expression. 'The nanny,' Madden murmured. He glanced at Billy, who had chosen that moment to shut his eyes while he tried to control his heaving stomach. 'Give me your handkerchief, Constable.' 'Sir?' Billy's eyes shot open. 'You've got one, haven't you?' 'Sir!' He gave it to Madden, who wet the cloth at the sink and handed it back to Billy. 'Put that over your nose, son.' 'Please, sir, I don't need--' 'Do as I say.' Without waiting to see if his order was carried out, the inspector crossed the room to where the body lay. Brushing aside the flies he bent down and unfastened the blouse, drawing it apart. From where he was standing Billy could see the wound, neat as a buttonhole, between the tops of the veined breasts. Madden stayed staring at it for a long time. When he rose his eyes had that unseeing 'other world' look, and Billy was relieved. The damp mask across his nose made the stench in the kitchen bearable, but the handkerchief felt like a badge of shame. As soon as they were back in the passage he tugged it off. They returned to the hallway and he followed Madden up the stairs to the floor above. When they came to a landing the inspector paused. 'Do you see?' he asked, pointing. Billy peered into the shadows. Embedded in the pile of the wine-coloured stair carpet were tiny pinpricks of reflected light. 'What are they, sir?' he asked. 'Seed pearls. From a bracelet, I should think. They've been trodden in. Watch your step." At the top of the stairs there was another passage, like the one below, running the length of the house. 'Wait here,' Madden told Billy. He walked down the corridor to his right, checking the rooms, and then returned to the stairway. At the first doorway on the other side he paused. 'Over here, Constable.' The inspector's voice carried a note that gave Billy time to prepare himself. He walked the few steps to the door and followed Madden into the room. At first he could make nothing of the twilight gloom. The curtains, which must have been drawn the previous evening, still blocked out most of the daylight. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the half-darkness, he saw the body. Mrs Fletcher, Billy thought. The colonel's lady. (The painting in the drawing-room was fresh in his mind.) She was lying on her back on the bed, flung across it, it seemed, with her legs parted and her arms spread out, the fingers clenched. A silk dressing-gown of Oriental design, embroidered with red flowers and tied at the waist with a sash, was spread out on the bed on either side of her like a half opened fan. Her legs and the bottom of her stomach were bare. The sight of her pubic hair made Billy blush and turn away. He couldn't see her face - her head was hanging over the other side - but when he followed Madden around the foot of the bed he saw the fair hair cascading down. 'Keep clear,' Madden warned him sharply. 'There'll be blood on the floor.' Billy was just wondering how the inspector knew that -- could he see in the dark? - when the answer became clear. Staring down at the livid gash in the white column of flesh, he felt a sense of violation stronger than anything he had experienced that day. 'Why'd they do that?' Billy couldn't stop himself. 'Why'd they have to cut her throat?'