Arthur Addens arrived at the office at a quarter to ten. He was dressed in his No. 5 Battle Dress serge, with his trousers tucked into heavy black boots polished to a shine. Arthur Addens’ son was a tall man. And although there was no requirement for him to take off his cap, he removed it as he entered the office and tucked it into his blouse epaulette. He ran a finger between his collar and neck, revealing a red welt where the fabric had rubbed his skin. Maisie offered him a seat. She explained that both her assistants would remain in the room, and that anything he chose to reveal would be kept in utmost confidence.
“My mum and sister—Dorothy—told me that you’d been to the house to talk to them, and that you were investigating my father’s death, on a sort of private basis, not working with the police. I thought I’d come and ask you about it. I want to make sure they’re all right. And what with me being gone, and them two women on their own, I thought I should know what’s going on.”
“Thank you very much for coming,” said Maisie. She went on to explain her role, and that she had been contacted by a representative of the Belgian government in London to have another look at the case, given that Arthur Addens’ father was a Belgian citizen, though a resident of many years standing in London.
“So they reckon the police aren’t doing their job, is that it?”
“Not exactly.” Maisie was aware that Billy had raised his eyebrows in response to her comment, then looked away. “With the tensions of war mounting in recent months, and following the prime minister’s speech the Sunday before last, they are very . . . busy, let’s say. Not that there’s more crime, as such, but there is much to do with an influx of new refugees and a great movement of people—soldiers, children, and of course the many arrangements that have to be made to ensure the security of the citizenry.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here in this scratchy, uncomfortable uniform—security and all that.” He looked at his hands, then at Maisie. “And you still don’t know who killed my dad.” It was a statement made with no indication of blame.
Maisie chose her words with care. “We are coming closer. It’s hard to describe how we work, Mr. Addens, but it’s a bit like making our way into a funnel. At first there are a broad range of possibilities, so we go back and forth, testing our assumptions and questioning each other, making sure we don’t eliminate a suspect or motive before time. Then the options narrow, and we find ourselves focusing on one or two possibilities, which is when we have to be absolutely sure we have an understanding of history—of what events might have led to the taking of life.” Maisie could see that Addens was about to interrupt, and gave him no opportunity to do so. “You were probably about to ask why we don’t just alert the police to make an arrest of two or three suspects and whittle it down while they are behind bars, so we don’t take the chance that they will strike again. I can only say that it is a very calculated risk—but we must have absolutely no doubt when we make our move.”
“How long will it be before you’ve got rid of all that doubt?”
“Another five days at most, I would say.” Maisie could see the young man’s anger rising. He rubbed his hands up and down along the rough serge of his trouser legs.
“Well, you’d better tell me first, so I can have the bast—”
“Steady, son,” said Billy. “There are ladies present. You’re not in a barracks now. And Miss Dobbs knows what she’s doing. When she brings in your dad’s killer, no one will have a shred of doubt—there’ll be no chance of the beak letting him off on what they call a technicality. Now then, pull your neck in.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Dobbs. I know we’re lucky to have someone else and not just the police looking into who shot my dad.” Arthur Addens’ eyes filled with tears, and at once he seemed less the soldier ready for battle than a boy in a man’s uniform. “I believe you will find him, now I’ve heard what you have to say. But I just want to know my mum and Dottie are safe, that’s all.”
“Either Mr. Beale or I would be more than happy to go round regularly to check on your mother while Dottie is out at work, if you like.”
“I’ll go too,” said Sandra.
Addens looked at Maisie, then at Billy and Sandra. “Would you do that? I mean, I know Smitty goes along sometimes after afternoon closing time, but—would you do that?”
“Of course, son—and I’ll have a word with Smitty as well,” added Billy. “I’ve met him, so he knows who I am.”