The Reckoning Read Free

way to Brighton with Elsie and the kids for a day by the seaside. But this was the first time he had paused long enough to take in the rolling green countryside.
    â€˜And, just to fill you in, Gibson was sixty-two: he was deputy manager of a bank in Lewes until he retired. He and his wife – late wife – both came from London originally, but they decided to settle here when he quit his job. She died a year ago, but he stayed on. And before you ask, he was a model citizen: no form, no questionable associates, no enemies. In fact, from all we’ve been able to learn, he seems to have spent his whole life trying not to offend people. But if that’s the case, it doesn’t seem to have worked.’
    He shrugged.
    â€˜As for his movements, we know that before he was shot he went away for a few days to stay with an old colleague of his from the bank, who retired to Hastings. The fellow rang us up when he heard about the shooting. The day after Gibson gotback – that would be the Tuesday of this week – he went out fishing. It’s how he spent most of his time. He left his cottage around two o’clock. That’s confirmed by his daily; she says it was his usual routine. He always fished from the same place, and we know he was killed just after five because the shot was heard by a couple of fishermen who were a little way downstream from him.’
    Vic paused. He seemed to be considering his next words.
    â€˜What’s hard to stomach about this, Billy – what really gets my goat – is that the killer was seen. We’ve got a description of him. What’s more, he knew he’d been spotted. You must have read that in my report. But somehow he still managed to vanish.’
    â€˜So I noticed. It’s something I want to talk to you about.’
    â€˜Good.’ Vic spoke over his shoulder. ‘Because I’ve got plenty to tell you. But let’s wait till we get there. It’ll be easier to explain.’
    He continued his steady plod, Billy following in his wake, and after a few minutes they came to an open, grassy area sloping down to the stream, free of bushes and overhung by a giant oak tree. The space had been cordoned off with tape tied to metal posts and hung with a pair of police signs, warning the public to keep off.
    â€˜This is the place.’
    As he spoke a uniformed constable stepped out of the shadow cast by the oak tree, touching his helmet as he did so.
    â€˜Morning, Boon.’ Vic acknowledged his salute with a nod. ‘This is Inspector Styles, from London.’ To Billy he said, ‘Boon was the first officer at the scene. I thought you might have some questions for him.’
    Billy nodded a greeting to the young man. ‘You can tell me where the body was, for a start,’ he said.
    â€˜It was over here, sir.’
    Boon moved down the slope closer to the water and pointed to the ground.
    â€˜He was lying face-down, with his rod and an old basket that he used as a creel on the grass next to him.’
    â€˜What made you think he was on his knees when he was shot?’ Billy put the question to Chivers.
    â€˜Because our witness saw him kneeling. And that was just before he was killed.’
    â€˜What about this witness? I read he was a shepherd?’
    â€˜That’s right: name of Hammond.’ Vic turned round. ‘He was up there by that copse, watching over his flock of sheep.’ He pointed to the slope behind them and Billy saw the clump of trees he was indicating near the top of the ridge. ‘He said he’d noticed Gibson fishing – he knew him by sight – and, shortly before he was killed, he saw a man walking up the path towards him.’
    He pointed again, this time downstream from where they were standing.
    â€˜Hammond had plenty of time to take in his appearance. He said it was hard to judge how tall the man was from where he was standing up on the hill, but he seemed to be of average