The Reckoning: A John Madden Mystery - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rennie Airth is the author of six novels, including the John Madden series. The first, River of Darkness, was nominated for Edgar, Anthony, and Macavity awards, and won the Grand Prix de Littérature Policière.

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***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***

Copyright © 2014 by Rennie Airth

PROLOGUE

Lewes, Sussex, 1947

As he was fitting a new fly to his hook, Oswald Gibson looked up and saw two figures on the ridge above, both of them carrying what looked like fishing gear over their shoulders, long, cylindrical cases of the kind that you could fit two sections of a rod in.

Damn!

They were coming over a saddle in the low green hills and, having spotted the grassy bank where Oswald was standing with his rod, were probably heading for that very spot. Upstream from a small pool where the trout paused, as though waiting for any tempting flies that might come their way, it was the best fishing site on the stream and one that Oswald had come to think of as his own.

And he knew what was going to happen next, almost as though it were fated. The men would turn up, they d exchange polite greetings and then, after looking around and seeing that this was the place to be, they d say, Mind if we join you? and take out their rods, probably not even waiting for a reply.

And Oswald would say nothing. He d make no complaint, not say that he did mind and would they kindly shove off and find somewhere else to do their angling. No, he d stand there dumb and resentful, accepting as he always had his failure to stand up to others, unable to escape the vision he had of himself as one of life s doormats.

For heaven s sake, Oswald! For once in your life assert yourself. The words were inscribed in his memory as though on marble, which wasn t surprising, given the number of times he had heard them. Why do you let people walk all over you? He could hardly have replied that it was because he was a doormat (though he d been tempted to, and more than once). Still, the whirligig of time brought in its revenges. (The saying was one of Oswald s favourites.) Fresh in his mind still was the memory of the morning a year ago when he had come upstairs with Mildred s breakfast tray and found her lying in bed, with her eyes staring and her mouth agape: stone-dead.

Stiff as a rod, he had murmured to himself in wonder as he d touched his wife s hand for the last time.

Meanwhile the men had crossed the saddle in the ridge and were coming down the hillside, close to where a flock of sheep were grazing, watched over by a dog. They were on a path that would join the one that ran along the valley floor, which in turn would bring them to his doorstep. Oswald braced himself for the encounter he was sure was about to take place. He could at least be cool with them, he thought: he would let them see they were not welcome. Perhaps they would take the hint and depart. As he stood there, already uncertain in his resolve, knowing in his heart that he was simply unable to deal with confrontation, he heard a piercing whistle and saw the sheepdog, a border collie, rise from the grass and begin to circle the flock it was guarding, coaxing them into movement. He scanned the hillside for their shepherd, a man he knew by sight, but it was some moments before he spotted him standing at the edge of a small copse near the crest of the ridge, his familiar figure blending with the shadow cast by the trees. For some minutes the sheep continued to move across the hillside, urged on by the dog, until a final whistle, different in pitch, brought it to a halt and the flock settled down again.

Distracted by the spectacle, Oswald had half-forgotten the approaching threat, but when he turned his gaze on the fishermen again it was to discover that he d had a reprieve. During the minute or so that he had spent watching the shepherd, the pair had reached the intersection of the two paths