The Reckoning by Rennie Airth Read Free Book Online Page B

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    â€˜A buzz-bomb did that,’ Edward Gibson told them when they were shown into his office a few minutes later. ‘It was one of the last to hit London – in late ’44. I was in the basement digging out some records when it landed, and I thought the whole building – ours, I mean – was going to come down on my head. But the damage turned out to be minor. The fortunes of war, I suppose.’
    Without a jacket, and wearing his shirtsleeves rolled up atthe cuffs, he had risen from behind his desk to greet them and, on hearing Madden’s name, had eyed his visitor’s tall figure with open curiosity.
    â€˜I must say I’ve been wondering who it was poor Ozzie wanted to get in touch with. Do you recall meeting him, by any chance?’
    â€˜I’m afraid not.’ Madden shook his head. ‘Not by name, at any rate. But I’m hoping I’ll have more luck with a photograph.’
    In response, Gibson opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a pair of glossy prints. He passed one of them across to Madden, who was seated beside Billy in a chair.
    â€˜That was taken just before the war began, when he was made deputy manager of the bank in Lewes.’ Gibson’s smile was wistful. ‘Poor Ozzie. He didn’t have many triumphs to celebrate, but this was one of them. At least he thought so. He used to have the photograph hanging in his office.’
    Madden studied it in silence. Clearly a studio portrait, it showed the head and shoulders of a man whose thinning hair had been carefully combed to cover a growing bald spot. Dressed in a business suit, he stared back at the camera with a solemn expression.
    â€˜I don’t recognize him.’
    Wordlessly Gibson took the photograph back and handed the other across his desk.
    â€˜This was taken a few years earlier. That’s his wife with him. They came with us on a family outing to Henley.’
    Less formal than the first picture, the snapshot showed the same man, noticeably younger – his hair hadn’t started to thin yet – looking up from the cushioned deck of a punt with a hesitant smile. He was dressed in white flannels and an open-necked shirt. Beside him, but looking away across the river in what seemed a deliberate attempt to distance herself from the scene, was a middle-aged woman whose heavy-featured face was scored by lines of discontent.
    â€˜As you might guess from that, they didn’t get on, Ozzie and Mildred. In the end it wore them out. But I was surprised Mildred went first. I always thought she’d live to bury him.’
    Edward Gibson’s gaze remained fixed on Madden’s face as he waited to hear his reaction.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Mr Gibson.’ Billy heard the regret in his old chief’s voice. ‘I wish there was something I could say. I’ve simply no recollection of your brother.’
    He handed the photograph back.
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    â€˜Quite sure.’
    â€˜When you were with the police, perhaps?’ Gibson’s tone had a pleading note.
    â€˜I don’t think so. Inspector Styles and I have gone over that. It’s really not likely.’
    â€˜Even though Oswald refers to it in his letter?’
    â€˜Even so.’
    â€˜But from what Ozzie wrote, it sounds as though at the very least there was some kind of encounter between you.’
    â€˜Not necessarily.’ Madden spoke gently. ‘All he said was that he knew that I had worked as a detective at Scotland Yard. He didn’t say we were acquainted.’
    â€˜Yes, but . . .’ Gibson bowed his head. For a moment he seemed lost for words. ‘I was at the inquest on Friday.’ Looking up, he directed his gaze at Billy, who had been sitting silent beside Madden. ‘I don’t wish to sound critical, but it didn’t seem to me that the police down there had got very far with their case. There was no mention made of that murder in Scotland, I