River of Darkness (32 page)

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The Stonehill village hall echoed to the voices of a score of policemen. Folding chairs had been handed out from a stack at the rear of the building and most of the men had taken the opportunity to rest. They were sitting in groups with cups of tea in their hands and plates of sandwiches balanced on their knees. The food and drink had been provided by the women of the village at the request of Constable Proudfoot, who was now occupied in keeping at bay the crowd that had been gathering all evening on the green outside. The stocky constable stood on the steps of the hall swaying on his feet. Billy didn't know how he kept going. He was feeling the effects of exhaustion himself and was sitting with Fairweather and another constable from Tunbridge Wells, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. Billy had taken off his shoes and was massaging his toes. The other two watched enviously. Regulations forbade them to remove any items of uniform without good reason and they doubted that a pair of aching feet would be held to meet the requirement. The wounded sergeant - Billy had discovered his name was Baines -- and the constable with the broken wrist were both on their way to Crowborough in an ambulance, which Proudfoot had summoned when he returned to the village. He had sent the other two men back with flares and torches, which the main party had needed to light their way. The Stonehill hall, like the church hall at Highfield, boasted a raised dais, and it was there that their prisoner was being held under guard. His wrists were still handcuffed - but in front of him now - and he'd been fed and allowed one of the folding chairs to sit on. He had not yet given up his name, but a letter had been found in his pocket addressed to a Mr Frank O'Leary, care of a hotel in Liverpool. Both name and address had been passed on to Special Branch by Sinclair, who had settled by the telephone in Proudfoot's cottage as soon as they got back. Three officers from Special Branch were already on their way from Tunbridge Wells, and more would follow from London first thing in the morning. In the meantime, two of the armed contingent from the Sussex police had been left on the wooded knoll overlooking the thicket, keeping watch, while a third officer was standing by to bring back any message from them. Inspector Drummond had volunteered to spend the night at Stonehill until Special Branch arrived to take over. The chief inspector had rung Bennett at his home and given him a brief report on the unexpected outcome of the operation. The London detachment would be returning home shortly. All this information had come to Billy courtesy of Sergeant Hollingsworth, who had joined them, pulling up a chair and lighting a cigarette. 'The guv'nor's in a proper bate. There's no use telling him he'll get a pat on the back from Special Branch. He thought he had Pike in his sights. But now?' Hollingsworth shrugged. He glanced at Billy with a grin. "I heard you were playing ducks and drakes over on the pond this afternoon, young Master Styles.' 'What?' Billy reddened. 'That's what the lads posted up on the hillock told us. That Inspector Drummond said you must be barmy.' Billy set his jaw. If the sergeant thought he was going to try to explain1. Then he remembered what the woman had said -- that she was going to lay a complaint against him -- and he realized he might have to explain, whether he liked it or not. On the other side of the room Sinclair put down his cup on the table beside the tea urn. He'd been talking to Drummond. Madden sat near them, bowed over his thoughts. The chief inspector walked towards the doorway at the rear of the hall with Drummond at his heels. Hollingsworth rose and went after them, and Billy followed, trying to tie his shoelaces at the same time. As he came through the doorway on to the steps he saw that Sinclair was speaking to Proudfoot.

"I want you to go home now, Constable, and go to bed. Everything's taken care of. There's nothing more for you to do at present.' Proudfoot, red-eyed and unshaven, seemed disposed to object. He was shaking his head. 'I'd just like to say that in my estimation you've not put a foot wrong.' The chief inspector regarded him steadily. 'And that's from the time you spotted that man in the brush yesterday and decided to ring Crowborough. I shall include all of that in my report, and more. You may be sure a copy of it will be sent to the chief constable.' 'Thank you, sir, but. . .' Proudfoot struggled to find the words he wanted to say. 'Go on now, man.' Drummond clapped him on the shoulder. 'You've done more than your share. I'll be here all night and if any crisis develops, well, I'll know where to find you, won't I?' Billy looked over their heads and saw that the crowd of villagers on the green was thinning. Across the road and on the far side of the turf lights burned in cottage windows. When he glanced at Proudfoot again he saw that the constable's gaze was turned away and was pointing in the other direction, up the street. Billy looked that way and made out the figure of a man on a bicycle pedalling through the darkness towards them. The light on his bike wobbled as he lifted his hand and waved. 'Who's that?' Sinclair asked, in a tense voice. 'Hobday, sir. He's our local mechanic. Owns a garage.' The figure was closer now and they heard his voice. He was shouting something. Billy was suddenly aware of Madden standing at his shoulder. "... the manor . . . the manor . . .' it sounded like to Billy. The man was pedalling as hard as he could, drawing closer. A frown creased the chief inspector's brow. 'What's he saying?' 'Something about Croft Manor, I think Proudfoot stumbled down the steps. The others hurried after him. As the bicycle careered down the road he stepped out into the street and held up his hand like a traffic policeman. The rider braked and slid to a halt with his front wheel protruding between the constable's spread legs. He was gasping for breath, half choking. '. . . murdered. . . bodies . . . all dead This time Billy heard every word clear. As he did the chief inspector's response, softly spoken though it was. 'Dear God!' Sinclair murmured, his voice breaking. 'Dear God!'

It WAS NOT until later that Billy heard a full account of how the village mechanic had come to be at Croft Manor. Hollingsworth had taken his statement while Sinclair was ringing the Yard and he had told Billy about it while they were sitting on the front steps of the house after midnight, taking a quick smoke break, while the blue uniforms milled about in the darkness of the driveway. Hobday had returned that evening from Crow borough, where he was visiting a sick relative, to be told by his young son that Mr Merrick was having trouble with the Lagonda again. He'd rung the manor but failed to reach anyone. According to Mrs Gladly, who ran the village exchange, the phone was giving out an engaged signal. The receiver was off the hook, she told Hobday, but there was no one on the line. He'd eaten a bite of supper and then tried ringing the house again, with the same result, and had been inclined to leave it at that, except soon afterwards one of the maids who lived in the village, Rose Allen, had passed by his home and urged him to go out to the manor. She didn't know whether or not the family had got away that afternoon, but if the car was still not working then Mr Merrick would need help with it that night so as to be able to leave first thing in the morning. Rose didn't know about any trouble with the telephone. Hobday's own car was locked away in his garage. He decided to cycle out to the manor. Lights were burning in the house when he arrived, but he got no response by ringing the doorbell and so had walked around the house to the kitchen door which he knew would be unlocked, and gone inside. Pausing only to call out, 'Anyone at home? Anyone there?' he had passed through the kitchen to the main passageway that led to the drawing-room. The door was open. Hobday looked in. The first thing he saw was the double doors to the garden smashed in with the glass of both panes lying strewn on the carpet. The second was the body of Agnes Bertram, the upstairs maid, sprawled on the hearth rug. He spied another body on the sofa by the fireplace, that of the elder Mrs Merrick. At the far end of the drawing-room the door to the hall stood open and somehow Hobday's shaking legs carried him across to it. He got no further. One glance through the door was enough. One look at the carnage there in the hall and he fled.

The mechanic's incoherent words had been cut short by the chief inspector, who ordered Madden to Croft Manor at once, taking Proudfoot and Styles with him. While their car was being whistled up from across the green Billy heard Sinclair issue an order to Drummond. The Sussex inspector was to ring his headquarters at Tunbridge Wells with an urgent request on the part of Scotland Yard to have all motorcyclists stopped and questioned throughout the night. The order should cover the entire county of Sussex and once that was done it should be extended, by request to other police authorities, to the adjoining counties. 'You must absolutely stress to them the need to act with caution.' Sinclair's consonants took on an added edge. 'The very greatest degree of caution. This man is extremely dangerous. But he must be stopped.' And then, as though speaking to himself, the chief inspector had added, 'God only knows when it happened. I fear we're already too late.' To Madden, as the inspector was boarding the car, he said, 'I must get hold of the police surgeon. Then the Yard and the chief constable. I'll be with you as soon as I can.' Inside the car Proudfoot was muttering about 'the children', mumbling to himself, so tired - and now suffering from shock in addition - that he seemed unable to fix his mind on any one thing. 'Whose children?' Madden was with the constable in the back. Billy sat up front with the driver, but twisted around in his seat so that he could listen. 'Mr and Mrs Merrick's . . . but they're supposed to be off on holiday . . . meant to leave today . . . Hobday didn't say . . . all dead he said ... all dead 'The Merricks are the family who live at Croft Manor?' Madden's voice was patient, coaxing. 'That's right . . . always been Merricks at the manor . . . There's old Mrs Merrick and her son, that's Mr William, and his wife and their girl and boy . . . and there's Annie . . . Annie McConnell . . . and the maids and the nanny . . . No, wait!" The constable's brow knotted in pain as he strove to concentrate. T heard all the staff had been given the time off. . .' He fell silent, nodding. Then he spoke again: 'All dead he said ... all dead . . .' They were driving down a dark tunnelled lane beneath over-hanging branches. The driver slowed as a pair of iron gates appeared in his headlights. Proudfoot jerked forward in his seat. 'There it is,' he said. 'That's the manor.' Billy sprang out of the front. One of the gates was standing half open and he drew them both wide, then followed the car down a short driveway, which ended by turning back on itself around a circular flower-bed. Madden was already at the front door as he joined them. 'Locked.' Proudfoot led them at a trot around to the side of the house where light fell through an open door on to a bricked yard and on to the wall of a kitchen garden beyond it. Madden halted them at the door. 'Follow me. Don't touch anything. Watch where you step.' He led them through the lighted kitchen to a door which gave on to a passageway. Billy tried to stay on his heels, but by the time he had stepped out of the kitchen the inspector was already turning into a doorway several paces down the passage. When Billy got there himself he stopped on the threshold. Madden was bending over a woman's body in front of a fireplace, and Billy was overwhelmed by his earlier memory of the drawing-room at Melling Lodge. The body of the maid on the floor - the smashed French windows. Here it was again, like a scene of horror replayed in all its ghastly details. 'Check the body on the couch. See if she's alive.' The inspector's peremptory tone jerked Billy back to the present. A sofa stood with its back to him. It wasn't until he went around it that he saw the grey-haired woman who was stretched out there. He fumbled for her wrist. Blue eyes stared at him unblinking. She wore a silk blouse stained in the centre with a circle of blood the size of a saucer. On the carpet at his feet Billy noticed several potatoes. Potatoes? He could find no pulse in her wrist. Madden was already moving. He had left the body on the hearth rug and was skirting the area of broken glass, heading for a door at the opposite end of the drawing-room. Billy followed him, but the inspector stopped in the doorway, blocking his view of what lay beyond. He stood there for several seconds, then turned around. 'Constable!' He spoke past Billy's shoulder. 'Sir?' Billy glanced back and saw Proudfoot standing by the body of the grey-haired woman. "I want you to check all the rooms downstairs.' Madden's voice carried a note of command. 'Never mind what's in the hall. Do you mark me?' Proudfoot stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded. 'Yes, sir.' 'Come along,' Madden said to Billy. He turned and went through the doorway and Billy saw they were entering a spacious hall with a double staircase to the left coming down from the upper floor. As Madden headed that way Billy glanced to his right and saw a wall splattered with blood. Blood lay in pools on the polished stone floor, too, and the carpet had been dragged aside and swept into an untidy heap. There was a body there. 'Hurry up, Constable!' Madden spoke sharply. He was already half-way up the staircase. Billy ran up the steps behind him. When they reached the upper floor the inspector turned to him. 'Check the servants' rooms upstairs. Meet me down here.' Billy hastened along the passage to a narrow stairway. He went up to the floor above where he found two maids' rooms and a bathroom, all empty. At the end of the corridor was a nursery decorated with flowered wallpaper containing two beds. A rocking horse stood by the window. Billy gave the room only a glance and then hurried back downstairs. 'Sir, there's no one up there!' His shout echoed down the empty passageway. 'In here, Constable.' Madden's voice came from near the end of the corridor. Billy found him in a large room furnished with a double bed. Two paintings hung above the headboard, portraits of young children, a girl and a boy. The inspector stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze fixed on them. 'Sir, they got away!' Billy couldn't hide his elation. 'So they did.' The smile on Madden's lips lingered for only a moment, but the young constable savoured it. 'Come on! We must get back.' They found Proudfoot in the hall below. He was standing some way from the body, his gaze fastened to it. 'There's no one else down here, sir.' He didn't look up as they hurried down the staircase. 'I take it the lady on the couch is old Mrs Merrick?' Madden's voice was loud in the flagstoned hall. Proudfoot seemed to start at the sound. He looked up then. 'Yes, sir. It is.' 'And who is that?' The inspector pointed. The constable moistened his lips. 'That would be Annie McConnell,' he replied. His voice shook. 'She was once Mrs Merrick's maid, I believe, but now ... I don't know . . . they were more like friends Madden regarded him from the bottom of the staircase. "I have a question for you, Constable. How would you describe young Mrs Merrick?' 'Describe . . .?' Proudfoot tilted on his feet. His glance had begun to glaze over. 'Her appearance?' The inspector walked over to where he was standing. 'Would you call her good looking?' The constable swallowed. 'Yes, sir. I would call her good-looking.' Madden said no more. Billy, moving closer, got his first clear sight of the body on the floor and couldn't suppress a gasp of dismay. Although the long black skirt and ripped blouse indicated the remains were those of a woman, there was no way of telling from her face, which had been torn to pieces as though by a wild animal. The flap of one cheek hung loose and red. There was an eyeball lodged in it. Her nose had been smashed almost flat and beneath the bloody mess her teeth showed through shredded lips. Despite the wave of nausea that gripped his stomach the young man forced himself to absorb every detail. He saw a telephone with the receiver off the hook lying on the floor not far from the body. A table and chair had been upturned. Madden, meanwhile, stood with head bowed studying the scene. When he turned away finally, Billy expected to see that distanced look in his eyes, that 'other world' gaze by which the inspector appeared to separate himself from all around him. But Madden's glance held only pain and sadness. He put his hand on Billy's shoulder. 'Come away, son,' he said.