by K. J. Frost
At about four-thirty, Pearce comes knocking on my doorframe.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Yes, Constable?”
Thompson turns in his seat and looks at the PC, who enters the room and comes up to the desk.
“I just wanted to let you know what’s happening,” he says quietly.
“Right?”
“We went to the address as you said.” He pauses. “It turned out that both the men we were looking for were there, so we picked them up.” I’m relieved I sent four officers now. “They’re not being entirely talkative about the robberies,” he continues, “but we have managed to establish that they’d run away from the scene before Joe… I mean PC Harper… did anything.”
I look up at him. “If they admit to being at the scene, how are they denying any involvement with the robberies?”
He shakes his head. “They’re claiming that they just met Chambers in the street – in passing, like.”
“In which case, why did they run?” I ask.
“I asked them that,” he replies, “and the one called Booth told me that he didn’t know what was happening and he just copied the other man… Mason.”
“And what did Mason say?” Thompson asks.
“He shrugged his shoulders and didn’t reply.”
I shake my head.
“Okay. I think we can forget about Harper’s treatment of Chambers having any bearing on his death, but you may as well continue with the investigation into the robberies, being as you were part of the original arrest.” Pearce nods his head. “Keep working with Wells,” I add, “and go and see Sergeant Tooley. Tell him I sent you, and ask if he can organise a search warrant for the address where you collected Booth and Mason.”
“Right away, sir.”
“And once you’ve got that, go and search that house. Chambers may have confessed, but because you and Harper arrested him before this particular robbery took place, we’ve got nothing linking the other two men to the crimes. So, you’re looking for anything that connects Mason and Booth with the two previous thefts, or with Chambers… Right?”
He nods his head and almost runs from my office.
“You’ve got to love the enthusiasm of youth,” Thompson says, grinning.
I try to smile back, but my early morning and sleepless night are starting to catch up on me and I let out a huge yawn instead, rubbing my eyes and leaning back in my chair.
“Why don’t you get off home, Rufus?” Thompson sounds sympathetic to my plight.
I glance at the clock on the wall. “Because it’s only five o’clock, and we’ve still got to go and see Mr Gibson, if memory serves.”
“You’ve been here for eleven hours or so,” he points out, standing up. “And I can go and see Mr Gibson.”
Now I’ve thought about it, I really am tired. Sick and tired. “Would you mind?”
He smiles. “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.”
I get to my feet, which is an effort in itself, and go over to the door, with Thompson following. “Thanks for this,” I say quietly. “And you know where I am if you need me.”
He nods as I take my coat and hat from the hook behind the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replies, following me from the room and closing the door behind him.
My drive home is uneventful, which is just as well, considering how exhausted I am, and I pull up outside Aunt Dotty’s house at just after five-thirty. I sit in the car for a short while, just staring at the Templeton property, wondering if Amelie’s back from work yet, or whether she might cycle past at any minute. Then I wonder, if she did come past, what would I do? Would I stop her? Would I try and talk to her? And if I did, what would I say? I shake my head. What does it matter anymore?
I get out and go into the house, just in case Amelie does cycle past and I have to face the ignominy of being ignored while I sit in my car staring at her, and wishing for things that can never be.
“You’re early,” Aunt Dotty calls out as I close the door behind me, taking off my coat and placing it over the end of the stairs, together with my hat.
“Yes,” I reply, but I don’t elucidate, making a show of straightening the blackout instead, before turning on the light.
“I’m not surprised,” she says, coming out of the living room to greet me. “You went in very early this morning.”
“Well, there wasn’t much more I could do tonight.” She nods her head and, before she can speak again, I add, “I think I’ll go and change, if that’s alright? I might have a quick bath too.”
“Dinner won’t be for at least another hour,” she says, then hesitates, but before I can make my escape, she takes a step closer. “Is everything alright?” she asks.
I can’t lie to her. Contrary to what Amelie might think, I can’t lie to anyone. “No.”
“Is it to do with the case?”
“No.”
“So it’s to do with Amelie?”
I make an attempt at a smile, and almost get there. “I thought I was the detective,” I reply.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, ignoring my effort at humour.
“She told me last night that she doesn’t want to see me anymore.” It doesn’t get any easier to say, no matter how many times I repeat it.
Aunt Dotty looks hard at me, then sighs. “Did she have a reason?”
“Yes.”
“Is it something you can tell me?”
“She found out about Gordon Templeton’s mistress,” I reply, grateful that at least I don’t have to explain the situation to her, being as Dotty’s acquaintance with Templeton goes back to his youth, and she’s been aware of Templeton’s adultery for even longer than I have. “And more importantly,” I add, “she found out that I knew about it, and that I hadn’t told her.”
“But you couldn’t have told her,” she says quietly. “Surely she must see that.”
“Unfortunately not. She felt I was lying to her and that I’d betrayed her trust in me…” I let my voice fade, recalling her words and the look in her eyes when she said them.
“Oh, Rufus,” Dotty says and comes over, putting her arms around me.
“Don’t be nice to me, for heaven’s sake.” I’m tired and I’m already struggling with my emotions, the last thing I need is sympathy.
“What would you rather I did?” She leans back and looks up at me.
“I don’t know… make me a very strong, very large gin and tonic?”
She smiles. “You think that will help?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t see how it can hurt.”
“Very well,” she replies. “You go and have a bath and change, and I’ll have something lethal waiting for you when you get back down.”
“Sounds marvellous.”
She lets me go and I turn around, going over to the stairs. I’ve only put my foot on the first tread when there’s a knocking on the door.
“I’ll get it.” I turn back around and go over to the door, while Aunt Dotty disappears into the living room.
Waiting for her to close the door behind her, I flick off the light, pull back the blackout, then open the front door, and my breath catches in my throat as I look down at Amelie, tears clearly visible on her soft cheeks and a handkerchief clutched in her hands. She’s wearing her work suit, but no coat, and she must be freezing.
“What’s happened?” I can’t help being concerned. I love her.
“Rufus,” she says simply, and I allow myself to hope that she’s come to make things up with me. I reach out to her, but she pulls back and my hopes are dashed.
“What is it, Amelie?” I ask.
“How could you not tell me?” She stares up at me, accusingly.
“What about?” We can’t still be talking about her uncle’s affair, can we?
“The letter,” she murmurs and lets out a sob.
I reach out again, taking her hand and, although she’s resistant, I pull her into the house and close the door, drawing the blackout curtain and switching
on the light again, so I can see her properly. Her eyes are puffy and red, her cheeks stained with tears, her lips slightly swollen and her hair a little dishevelled. And my arms are actually aching to hold her.
“The letter,” I repeat slowly.
“Yes,” she says, “and don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I hold up my hands. “I assume your uncle decided to tell you about it?” Although why he did that, I’ve got no idea.
She nods. “Yes. He sat me down when I got in from work just now and told me that he thought I’d been unreasonable to you yesterday, and that he had something else to tell me. Then he showed me the letter, and explained that you knew about it too.” She stares up at me. “He said he felt guilty for putting you in that position and he hoped that if he told me, it would clear the air between us.”
“I take it his idea didn’t work?”
“How can it?” she says, raising her voice a little. “You kept it from me.”
“Yes. Because it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
“But can’t you see? This was about my father, Rufus, not just Uncle Gordon. That gives me even more of a right to know.”
“That’s true,” I reply, “but what you’re forgetting is that, just like my discovery regarding your uncle’s mistress, I found out about the letter and its contents in confidence, as part of a case I was investigating. It makes no difference who or what the letter was about, I can’t betray the confidence.” I take a step closer. “And besides, I didn’t want to upset you by telling you the truth about your uncle, not when you were already struggling over Beth’s murder.”
She glares at me, her eyes sparkling with anger. “You’ve got to stop treating me like a child.”
“I don’t. I’m well aware of the fact that you’re not a child, Amelie. I couldn’t be more aware of it.”
“Then stop making my decisions for me,” she counters.
“I’m not doing that either,” I reason. “I’m just trying to do what’s best. If I’m getting it wrong, then I’m sorry, but I’ve never been in love before…”
She opens her mouth, closes it again and I see fresh tears welling in her eyes. “But you were engaged,” she whispers. “You must have been in love.”
“I thought so too. Until I met you.” She wipes her eyes, then stares up at me. “Look, if you really want to know,” I continue, “I was going to tell you about the letter. I didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from you, so if we’d been going to stay together, I’d have given you a little longer to get over Beth, and then I’d have gone to see your uncle and talked it through with him, and I’d have told you – because I really wasn’t at all comfortable having that information, and not being able to talk to you about it.” I don’t mention the fact that I’d been intending to propose. It feels wrong to bring that up at this point.
She sniffles and wipes her nose. “That’s easy to say now, Rufus,” she murmurs.
“I know, but it’s true. Obviously it doesn’t matter, being as we’re not together anymore, but it’s still true.”
Her eyes fix on mine, glistening, and she opens her mouth, just as I hear the sound of glass breaking, followed by a piercing scream.
Amelie jumps and shrieks in shock and I reach out for her, holding her shoulders while I get my bearings. The glass sounded like it broke at the front of the house, which means… Dotty.
“Come with me.” I grab Amelie’s hand and pull her with me, running into the living room, going through the door first and keeping her body behind mine, just in case.
Inside, there’s a cold breeze coming from the window, and Aunt Dotty is sitting on the sofa, clutching the side of her head. Even from here I can see blood seeping through her fingers.
I turn to Amelie, whose face has paled to a deathly white, and thrust my handkerchief into her hand. “Go to Dotty,” I say urgently. “Hold that firmly over the wound, apply pressure to it, and don’t leave this room until I get back. Do you understand?” She nods her head once, taking my handkerchief from me, and I run back out, closing the door behind me.
Flicking off the lights in the hall, I dash out onto the street, looking left and right. There’s no-one in sight and I stand for a moment, listening. I can hear footsteps running in the distance, but they’re too far away for me to tell their direction and, letting out a long, frustrated sigh, I go back inside again.
In the living room, I find Amelie kneeling on the floor beside Dotty, who’s now lying down, her face pale, with Amelie holding my handkerchief against her head.
“Are you alright?” I ask, looking at Dotty, as I go to the window and quickly pull the curtain and blackout back across. Whoever did this aimed very well, somehow managing to throw their projectile directly at the gap in the the centre of the curtains, with enough force to carry it through.
“Yes,” she replies. “What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
I walk back to Dotty and take the handkerchief from Amelie, pulling it away from the wound, which is quite deep, and bleeding fairly heavily.
“How are you?” I ask, gazing at Amelie now and noticing that her hand is shaking.
“I’m fine,” she replies. “Just a bit shocked, that’s all.”
“You’re quite safe now,” I tell her. “Can you ring the bell for Ethel?” It seems wise to give her things to do, to keep her occupied. She nods her head and gets up, going over to the mantelpiece and ringing the bell.
In the meantime, I examine Dotty’s head wound more thoroughly, crouching down beside her. The bleeding has slowed, but all that means is that I can see it more clearly, and it really is quite bad. “I think I should take you to the hospital,” I say, soothingly.
“Poppycock,” she replies. “It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s a little more than a scratch.”
“I’m not going to the hospital,” she says defiantly, taking the handkerchief from me in a petulant display of independence and holding it over the wound herself, as though to prove me wrong.
I know better than to argue with her and get to my feet again, just as Ethel comes in. She looks at her mistress, lying prone on the sofa, with a bloodied handkerchief to her head and her mouth drops open.
“Ethel,” I say, going over to her. “I want you to bring a bowl of warm water, a small towel and some bandages, and then I’d like you to make a pot of tea… and bring in two cups and saucers. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, meekly.
“Good girl.”
She curtseys and leaves the room.
“I’d better be going,” Amelie says, taking a step towards the door.
“I think you should stay and have a cup of tea.” I look over at her, while I walk around the back of the sofa that Aunt Dotty’s lying on.
“But I thought…” she mumbles.
“You thought I’d asked for the tea for Dotty and myself?” I suggest, examining the floor.
“Well…” I glance up and notice she’s blushing.
“It’s for you and Dotty. You’ve both had a shock. You need a cup of hot sweet tea.”
“I could get one of those at home,” she says, and raises her chin a little obstinately.
“Yes, you could,” I reply, getting down on my hands and knees, “but I think you should stay here for a while, just so that I can keep an eye on you.” I find what I’m looking for underneath the side table and pick it up, standing once more and holding it in my hand. “And before you accuse me of treating you like a child again, I—”
“I wasn’t going to,” she interrupts. We stare at each other for a moment and I wonder if my need for her is ever going to diminish.
“What’s that you’ve got?” Aunt Dotty’s voice breaks into the moment, and Amelie visibly startles.
“It’s a brick. Well, a half-brick,” I tell her.
“But what’s wrapped around it?” Amelie asks, coming over to me.
“A piece of paper.�
�
I pull off the string that’s tying the paper to the brick and straighten it out, trying not to show any reaction to the words printed on it, even though they’ve made my heart stop.
‘YOU’RE TO BLAME. YOU’RE GOING TO PAY.’
Just at that moment, Ethel comes in, bearing a tray, on which there’s a large bowl, a couple of towels and several bandages.
“I didn’t know what sizes to bring, sir,” she says as she puts the tray down on the coffee table.
“Don’t worry about it,” I reply, shoving the piece of paper into my pocket.
“I’ll go and fetch the tea,” Ethel adds, and she leaves the room once more, as I settle down beside Aunt Dotty, helping her to sit up a little as I start to tend to her wound.
“Why don’t you sit down,” I say to Amelie, who’s hovering at the end of the sofa.
“Do you need me to do anything?” she asks.
“No. I can manage.” I dab the wound with the dampened towel, making sure it’s clean, then dry it off, before working out which bandage to use.
Ethel comes back in with a tea tray and Amelie moves the bowl and towels to one side to make room. “Shall I pour?” she suggests.
“Thank you,” I mutter, focusing on dressing Aunt Dotty’s head wound. She’s gone rather quiet and I’m a little concerned. “Are you alright, Aunty?”
“No. I’m absolutely livid,” she replies with feeling. “Who on earth would do such a thing?”
I have a few ideas, but I’ve got no intention of telling either Dotty or Amelie about them.
Amelie brings over a cup of tea, holding the cup on the saucer, because she’s still shaking. As she passes it to Dotty, I notice that my aunt’s hands are completely steady. She may be angry, but other than that, she’s perfectly calm and anyone would have thought that having a brick thrown through her living room window was a daily occurrence.
