Free Among the Mad by Jacqueline Winspear Page B

the
meantime, you are on your own, but you are on our clock.”
    Maisie held out her hand to MacFarlane. “I’ll be in
touch, Detective Chief Superintendent.”
     
     
    STRATTON ESCORTED MAISIE home in the Invicta. When the
vehicle pulled up yards from the main entrance to the block of flats in
Pimlico, Maisie turned to Stratton.
    “I can walk from here, Inspector.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “The main door is just along this path, so if you
wish, you can sit here to ensure I go in without being accosted.”
    “I’ll do that.” Stratton opened the door and stepped
from the vehicle, then held out his hand to assist Maisie. “And let’s not
forget your luggage,” he added, reaching back into the motor car.
    “Thank you, Inspector.” Maisie took the brown leather
suitcase. “May I suggest I telephone your office at Scotland Yard
tomorrow—certainly it will not be before six o’clock in the evening.”
    “And at what time should I send out the cavalry, if I
do not have word from you?”
    “You’ll hear by eight, Inspector—how does that sound?”
    “Perfectly acceptable. May I ask what your next move
will be?”
    Maisie began to turn toward the modern building with
glass doors leading to the flats within. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’m
not sure yet. But I know it will involve as much speculation as detection.”
    “I’ll be out with my men knocking on doors between
Lewisham and Camberwell tomorrow—and I’ll be in touch if there’s news.”
    Maisie bid good-bye, waving from inside the small
foyer before entering her flat. The radiators had been left on low, yet she
could still see her breath condense in the air before her. She was tired and
wanted nothing more than to go to bed, so without removing her coat, she took
her suitcase into the bedroom and then went into the kitchen to put on the
kettle for a hot water bottle.
    Once settled under the covers, sleep did not come as
she had hoped, and instead Maisie lay awake listening to the sounds of the
night. Foghorns up and down the river, a motor car in the distance. It was a
quiet night, a Boxing Day night. Soon the year would be done, soon it would be
1932. And as she edged her way into sleep, Maisie wondered if there would be
any developments in the case, come morning. Another letter, perhaps? Or would
the threat be revealed as a hoax, with no more said and her involvement with
MacFarlane and Special Branch at an end? But as she shivered, despite the
soothing hot water bottle held close, she had a distinct feeling that there
would be more news on the morrow, and it would not be good.
     
     
     
    December 27th, 1931
     
     
    Billy was at his desk when Maisie arrived at the
office the following morning. She was surprised to see him, and could not help
but notice that he seemed even more drained than he had the day before.
    “Billy, what are you doing here on a Sunday? You don’t
have to give up your Sunday just because I’m working on an urgent case.”
    “Well, I thought you might need a hand, and what with
one thing and another . . .” He placed some papers in a folder, and shrugged.
    Maisie thought it best not to press the point, and
suspected that the situation at home might have deteriorated even more. She
began talking about the case while removing her coat, hat and gloves.
    “Billy, do you remember the coster who came to my aid
in Charlotte Street on Christmas Eve?”
    “I could recognize him in a crowd, if that’s what you
mean. Don’t know the man’s name—I was too worried about you, Miss, to tell you
the truth. Mind you, I reckon I could find him, if that’s what you want.”
    “Yes, that’s exactly what I want. He may have seen the
dead man before, know who he is, or at least have some nugget of information
for us.”
    “Come to think of it, when I went back to find your
document case, I don’t recall seeing him again. Mind you, the police were
moving people on, and he did say something about getting his horse out