by K. J. Frost
“Well, most of it was complete balderdash, some of it was utterly nauseating, but yes, it was interesting.”
“He’s got no alibi for either occasion,” I say, recapping what we’ve been told. “He’s been in the area long enough to know about what went on with Ellis, and seems to have had a close enough relationship with his daughter that he’d bear a grudge against the officers he perceives to have let her down.”
“Yes, and he might have renewed that relationship too,” he adds.
“And his temperament seems to suit the crime, don’t you think?” I suggest.
“Which one?” he asks.
“Both of them, I suppose. I can see him pulling the trigger just as easily as putting a brick through a window, with scant regard for who might be on the other side.”
“Hmm.” He nods. “We should also bear in mind that, although he may not have been as obvious in his dislike of you as Cole was, it was there nonetheless. Mind you, Cole did slip up back there, didn’t he?” Thompson pulls up behind my car.
“Yes. And he didn’t even cover it very well.” I pause before getting out, contemplating our interviews and how they affect our investigations. “So, we’ve got Cole, who has a gun and a motive, and Franklin, who has a motive and no gun.”
“But I think he’d know where to get one, don’t you?” Thompson suggests.
“In the blink of an eye.” He stares across at me. “So maybe Mr Cole isn’t our only suspect?” I propose, getting out and leaning back into the car, looking it him.
“Maybe not.”
Chapter Eleven
I can’t settle at home. I haven’t been able to relax since Inspector Stone left the factory at lunchtime and now I’m just sitting here in the dark, worrying about whether a look or a word out of place might have given me away; whether I might have appeared too tense, or too laid back, and which is worse. Eventually, I decide to go out. I buy myself some fish and chips and eat them out of the paper, walking along the road. Trying to eat in the pitch darkness is quite difficult and makes for interesting surprises – not knowing whether I’ll get a mouthful of thickly battered dry fish, or an overcooked, slightly soggy chip. Still, it fills me up and by the time I’ve finished them, I find I’m standing outside the Queen’s Head.
I know I was reluctant to come back again, but I need a drink… and what are the chances of that girl being here a second time?
I throw the oily paper into a waste bin, and go inside, where the smokey atmosphere hits me and I cough a couple of times, glancing around the bar, just to make sure the girl isn’t here. Okay, so maybe I’m more worried about seeing her than I thought I was, and I let out a slow breath when I realise she’s nowhere to be seen, before I approach the bar.
“What can I get you, dear?” The barmaid gives me a smile, but she’s a little old for my tastes and not my type, and I just order a half pint of mild, passing the money across the counter, and going over to a table near the window. I’m not really in the mood for company tonight anyway.
I take a long sip of beer, just as the door opens and a woman steps in. She’s alone and, for a moment, I wonder if it might be the girl who lives across the street. My fears are dispelled the moment she turns around and I see she’s completely different. The other girl was pretty; this one is beautiful… stunningly beautiful, her long, lustrous blonde hair framing a perfect face, with generous pouting lips that set my imagination running into overdrive. She glances across at me, our eyes meeting for a moment, and she smiles before looking away again.
I know my last two attempts haven’t gone that well, but for her, I think I’d be prepared to try harder. Much harder. She hesitates, then goes up to the bar, undoing her coat and removing her gloves, placing them in her pockets. She orders a port and lemon and, while she’s waiting, she turns around and catches my eye again. There has to be something deliberate in that, doesn’t there? She smiles once more and I smile back. There’s definitely a connection between us. I can feel it.
Right at that moment, the door opens again, breaking the spell, as it distracts her and she looks away, her face lighting up.
“There you are,” says the tall handsome man who’s just come in through the door. “I thought we were meeting outside.”
She walks over to him. “We were, but I got cold.”
He puts his arm around her, moving it downwards to settle in the small of her back, and steers her to the bar again. “Well, at least I’ve found you now,” he says, placing his finger beneath her chin and raising her face to his. He leans down and plants a kiss on her lips.
As the barmaid puts down the woman’s drink, the man orders a pint of bitter, and the woman turns back to face me, giving me a rather provocative wink at the same time. I wonder what that means; whether she’d still like to play sometime, or whether she’s just letting me know what I’ve missed out on.
I finish my half pint and get to my feet, leaving the pub, without giving her another glance.
I don’t like to be teased.
*****
We still haven’t had the report back on the bullet and the guns which Thompson sent off yesterday – I know I’m being impatient, but I want to know the answers. I don’t feel like any of us can relax until we find out who’s responsible for Harper’s murder, and the culprit is behind bars. I’m no further forward in my enquiries as to who put the brick through Aunt Dotty’s window, either, although I’m still leaning towards Cole for that, despite our interview with Franklin, mainly because of Cole’s awkward slip-up.
Thompson has spent the afternoon typing up the notes from all of our recent interviews, so tomorrow we’re planning on going over everything to see if there’s a detail we’ve missed, because I can’t see where else to look at the moment.
Pearce came to see me earlier, to let me know that the search had been carried out at the address in West Molesey where they’d picked up Booth and Mason. He was pleased as punch that they’d found several hundred pounds hidden beneath the floorboards in one of the bedrooms, some of which was still in the envelopes used by the factory from which it had been stolen. In the same hiding place, they also found three balaclavas and a skeleton key. We have Chambers’ confession, but to me, that felt like more than enough evidence to charge all three of our friends and I congratulated Pearce and the others on a job well done.
There’s not much point in me hanging on at the station, and I want to know how Aunt Dotty is, so at five-thirty, I get into my car and set off on my way home. I come out of the station and the road is completely clear, so I turn left and accelerate along London Road. At the end, I know I’ll need to stop, because there’s a busy t-junction, and I change down, but as I press my foot on the brake, nothing happens. I try again, with the same result. Ahead of me, even in the blackout, I can see two cars, a bus and a lorry, along with a couple of cyclists, crossing my path, with just the odd, intermittent break between them, as well as several pedestrians crossing over on their way home from work. In the matter of seconds that I have to make a decision, I weigh up the choices: I can take my chances that I won’t hit a passing person or vehicle, knowing that, if I do, I could seriously injure someone – maybe even kill them – or, I can take evasive action. I choose the latter and, quickly checking the pavement, I mount the kerb and aim my car at the lamppost on the corner.
I’m aware of what seems like an almighty crashing sound, a shattering jolt to my system, the crunch of metal, and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes, conscious of something soft beneath my head, but as I try to turn, an electrifying pain tears through my skull and I still again, wincing.
“You’re back then?” Thompson’s familiar voice sounds from my right, but reluctant to try turning my head again, I don’t look.
“It seems like it,” I manage to say in a hoarse whisper. “Where am I?”
“Kingston Hospital.” His face appears above me, coming into my line of sight as he leans over me.
“Don’t do that.”<
br />
He grins. “Not much wrong with you,” he chuckles.
“I think I’d rather hear that from a doctor.” I manage to find my voice a little better now.
He disappears from my vision again. “I’ll let them know you’re awake,” he says.
I hear footsteps walking away, and then a few minutes later, they return.
“Inspector Stone?” It’s not Thompson this time, and I try to turn my head in the direction of the stranger’s voice, but wince in pain again. A face leans over from the other side. It’s young – probably around thirty – with rounded spectacles and blond hair. “I’m Doctor Armstrong. Don’t worry about moving yet.”
“I’m not sure I can,” I reply.
“You’ve had a nasty bang on your head,” he says. That would explain the herd of elephants rampaging around my skull then. “And you’ve broken your arm. It’s a fairly simple break of your radius… nothing complicated.”
I try to move my left arm and realise it’s restrained in a sling. I wonder if I’m supposed to feel grateful that my injuries aren’t ‘complicated’. I suppose I should, really. I know it could have been a lot worse.
“We’ll keep you in,” the doctor adds. “We’ll need to put your arm in plaster, probably tomorrow, if the swelling has gone down. And we’ll just have to make sure there are no lasting repercussions from the concussion.”
“And then I can go home?”
He nods his head. “Certainly. Once we’re happy. In the meantime, get some rest.”
He disappears again and I hear his footsteps fading away. For a moment, I wonder where Thompson is, but then his face comes into my field of vision again.
“I wish you’d stop doing that,” I tell him.
He smiles. “I’ve just spoken to the Chief Constable,” he says.
“Why?” I wish I could move, or at least sit up a little.
“Because you crashed your car, Rufus. He was worried about you. He’s on his way over, but he’s just got to telephone your aunt first.”
Aunt Dotty. God, she’ll be worried sick.
“My brakes didn’t work…” My words come out slowly.
“Not at all?”
“No.” I look up at him, feeling confused, and trying to piece everything together. “How did you know about the accident?”
“Because I heard it happen,” he replies. “I’d just left the station to go home, when I heard the crash. Obviously I didn’t know it was you, not until I saw your car crunched into the lamppost.”
“Well, it was that, or drive into someone else.” He nods his head. “Is Dotty alright?” I ask.
“Yes. A couple of PCs arrived on the scene at about the same time as I did, and I sent one of them back to tell Sergeant Tooley,” he explains. “He informed the Chief Constable, and he telephoned your aunt. She’s worried – obviously – which is why he wanted to let her know that you’re alright before coming over here.”
He glances off to one side and then stands, disappearing from my line of sight, his face replaced by that of a nurse, her auburn hair tucked underneath a white cap, her nose decked with freckles and her green eyes looking down into mine as she slips a thermometer beneath my tongue.
“Best way to shut him up,” Thompson says from my right.
I hear the nurse chuckle, although I’m sure she’s heard it all before. A minute or so later, she removes the thermometer again, then leans over.
“Is there any chance I could sit up a little?” I ask her. “Only my sergeant is taking advantage of me being prostrate.”
She giggles properly this time. “Well, if your sergeant is willing to help, then I don’t see why not,” she says, with a broad Scottish accent.
“Honestly… the things I do for you,” Thompson moans, although we both know he doesn’t mean it.
The nurse issues instructions to Thompson and he places his arms under one of mine, while the nurse takes the other side – the injured side – and between them, they lift me, raising me slightly. The nurse adjusts my pillows behind me and I’m finally able to see where I am, which is in a small room by myself. I’d thought I must be in a ward, but I’m in a side room, it seems. There’s a window off to my right, although a black blind has been pulled down, so I can’t see whether it’s still night time, or morning.
“Comfortable?” the nurse asks.
“Yes, thanks.”
My head feels slightly better for being more upright and, as the nurse goes back out through the door again, I glance over at Thompson.
“A room to myself?” I say, feeling a little mystified.
“It seems it pays to be pals with the Chief Constable,” he replies, winking. “Still, look on the bright side, they’re not so strict about visiting hours.”
“What is the time?” I ask him.
He checks his watch. “Just before eight-thirty.”
“At night?” He nods. “Shouldn’t you be getting off home?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve telephoned Julia. She knows where I am.”
“I will be alright.” I am in hospital, after all.
“I know.” He grins.
I glance down, taking in the fact that I’m not wearing anything on my top half, presumably because it makes it easier for them to access my arm. With my good hand, I lift the sheet and discover that I’ve got on white pyjama bottoms. How they got those on me, I don’t know, but I feel quite relieved that they did, and that I’m not lying here completely naked.
At that moment, the door opens and Uncle Frank walks in, still wearing his uniform, a slight smile forming on his lips when he sees me. He goes to speak, just as the door opens again and the Scottish nurse pokes her head around it.
“Sorry to intrude,” she says, looking worried. “Sergeant Thompson?”
“Yes.” Harry moves forward.
“There’s a telephone call for you.”
“Oh.”
“You can take it in Matron’s office,” the nurse says as they go out together, leaving the Chief Constable and me alone.
“How are you, dear boy?” Uncle Frank asks.
“I’ve been better.”
He sits down on the chair beside my bed. I assume Thompson must have been sitting there earlier, while I was still unconscious.
“What happened?” he says, leaning back and studying me like a prize specimen.
I explain my short, curtailed journey, and my decision to drive my car into a lamppost, rather than face the alternative.
He nods his head. “I’ve had your car taken back to the station for now, but it looks like your brakes were tampered with.” He speaks in a soft whisper and, although I’ve got no reason to be surprised, a frisson of alarm sweeps down my spine.
“It must have been done at the station,” I reply after a few moments’ thought. “I drove it to work earlier, and it was fine.”
He nods his head. “Well, the access is open,” he replies, in a reasoned tone, “so I suppose it’s not difficult to get into. And you do have a distinctive car.”
“I did have.”
“Yes. I don’t think you’ll be going far in it anytime soon.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sergeant Thompson told me about the threats that Mr Cole made towards you,” he says.
“Yes. Although we can’t eliminate David Franklin.”
“Would he have been aware of your car though?” I think back, despite the continuous pain in my head.
“No, I don’t think he would. Thompson and I drove to the factory in a Wolseley, and Thompson then took me home for me to collect the MG.”
“But Cole would have seen it, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes. We used it when we went to his house to question him.”
He sighs deeply. “This is a bad business, Rufus.”
“It’s clearly all connected to the Ellis case,” I reply.
He nods. “Yes. The question is, did Cole kill Harper as well?”
“He had access to a weapon,” I muse aloud. “And he clear
ly had motive.”
“And an alibi?” he says.
“His wife. But she’d say anything he told her to.”
He stares at me. “I’ve got half a mind to station an officer outside your door,” he murmurs.
“I won’t be here long enough to warrant that.”
His brow furrows. “Who says?”
“Me, and the doctor. I’ve already asked, and once they’ve put my arm in plaster, which they’re hoping to do tomorrow, I can go home.” I don’t add the part about them being satisfied over my concussion.
“Humph,” he growls. “We’ll see about that.”
“You’re not going to keep me cooped up in here any longer than is strictly necessary.” I raise my voice, just slightly. “I need to get home to Dotty, and I need to get back to work, so I can put this bastard behind bars.”
He leans back again, folding his arms. “Calm down, Rufus,” he says. “Believe it or not, we can manage to make an arrest without you.”
“I know, but after what happened to Dotty, and now this, it’s personal.”
“I’m sure it is.” He softens slightly. “I heard about Dorothy.”
“Who told you?”
“Your sergeant,” he explains. “There was obviously a connection between that and what’s happened tonight. He felt I should know.”
I wonder if he’s trying to tell me that I should have informed him of the incident at Aunt Dotty’s myself, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“Speaking of my sergeant,” I reply, changing the subject, “where is he?”
“Maybe he had a better offer?” he suggests, smiling.
“That wouldn’t be difficult, would it?”
He chuckles. “Good man that.”
“I know.”
“He came here with you in the ambulance and hasn’t left your side, other than to talk to me,” he adds.
“I didn’t realise…” I feel my eyes closing. “I’m sorry, sir,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry, Rufus. You get some rest.” His voice fades as sleep claims me.
“Come in.” I’m aware of Thompson’s voice and open my eyes again. I’ve got no idea how long I’ve been sleeping. It could be minutes; it could be hours.
