by K. J. Frost
“Yes,” he replies.
“I want to make sure we do this properly. If he’s lying to us and he’s got a gun hidden there, I want to be certain it’s admissible as evidence.”
“I’ll go and see Tooley now. There was something else I needed to talk to him about anyway.”
And before I can ask him what that might be, he’s moved off down the corridor at a fair pace.
Our last job of the day before Thompson drops me back home is to call on Eve Williamson.
Number Three Park Road is a small terraced house, with a bay window and an arched porch, within which there’s a dark painted front door. There are bushes growing up the sides of the path and a neatly trimmed patch of lawn. I knock twice and we wait until the door is opened by an attractive woman, probably in her late twenties. Even in the darkness I can see she’s got light brown hair, a pleasant, welcoming smile, and a trim figure. If she really is having an affair with Charles Cole, he must have hidden depths, because on the surface, she seems to be far too good for him.
“Mrs Williamson?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies, looking a little uncertain.
I hold up my warrant card, which I retrieved from my jacket before we got out of the car. “I’m Detective Inspector Stone, and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Thompson. Would it be possible for us to come inside?”
She squints at my identification in the darkness and then moves back, allowing us to enter.
“Thank you,” I say as she shuts the door.
“How can I help?” She pulls a black curtain across the door and flicks on the lights. Now I can see her better, I notice she’s more than attractive, she’s very pretty.
“This is a slightly delicate matter,” I reply. “I need to ask if you…”
My question is interrupted by the appearance at the second door on the right, of a small child, a little girl aged roughly five, I would say, whose colouring matches that of her mother.
“What is it, Rose?” Mrs Williamson says, looking over at her daughter.
“Who are these men?” the little girl asks.
“They’ve just come to talk to Mummy. You go and finish your tea. There’s a good girl.”
The little girls gives Thompson and I a very sweet smile and then disappears again.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs Williamson. I didn’t realise you had a child.”
“Does it make a difference?” she asks.
I take a breath. “Well, it’s just that I need to ask whether you spent time in the company of a man called Charles Cole last Tuesday evening.”
“Charlie?” she says, smiling. “Yes, I did.”
She seems completely unashamed.
“Do you remember what time he arrived?”
“The same time as he does every Tuesday,” she replies. “Six on the dot, right after he’s had his dinner at home.” My God, she’s so brazen about it. “He likes to see Rose before she goes to bed,” she adds, as though that somehow justifies his actions.
I raise my eyebrows, but continue with my questions. “And what time did he leave?”
“Half past eight. The same as usual.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Once Rose has gone to bed, we have a cup of tea and a chat, and…”
“It’s fine, Mrs Williamson, I don’t need the details.”
She lets her arms drop to her sides again and steps closer to me, her eyes darkening. “Excuse me, but what exactly do you think I am?”
“I don’t think anything,” I reply, holding up my hand against her sudden outburst of temper.
“Well,” she continues, as though I haven’t spoken, “you seem to be implying that there’s something improper going on between Charlie and me. And I’m here to tell you that there isn’t. Charlie’s good to us…” Her voice falters, but she swallows down her emotions and continues, “My Jimmy was killed in a car accident almost two years ago, and since then, times have been hard.” She blinks a few times and sniffs, but manages not to cry. “I’ve been able to get work in the bakers, and my mum helps out when she can and looks after Rose for me sometimes. But Jimmy worked with Charlie you see, at the factory, and after the funeral, Charlie started coming round to see us. It became a regular thing and, before long, we began looking forward to it – both of us. It gives me someone to talk to, and gets him out of the house. I know he’s not happy at home, but I don’t ask questions. It’s none of my business… and there’s never been anything more between us than friendship. Never.”
“I apologise, Mrs Williamson, if I said or implied anything that offended you.”
She nods her head in acceptance. “He’s been really good to us,” she repeats, more quietly, “and since his daughter was killed, I know he’s enjoyed spending more time with Rose. I think it’s brought back memories for him, of happier times, you know?”
“I see,” I reply. “So, you can definitely confirm that he was here last Tuesday evening?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Well, thank you. That’s all we need to know.”
“He’s not in any trouble, is he?” she asks, turning towards the door.
“Yes, I’m afraid he is,” I reply. “He’s been arrested.”
She turns back sharply, her hand clutching her throat. “Whatever for?”
“Attempted murder,” I reply.
“And who on earth is he supposed to have tried to murder?” Her tone is disbelieving, almost mocking.
“Me.”
Her hand falls back down to her side and she stares at me. “You?”
“Yes.”
She glances at my arm. “Did he do that to you?” she whispers.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. “I let him into my house. I let him read stories to Rose.”
“Mrs Williamson.” I take a step closer to her. “Mr Cole has his failings – God knows – but whatever else might be wrong in his life, I believe that, as far as you and your daughter are concerned, he meant well.” She stares at me. “He asked me to tell you he’s sorry.”
“What for?”
I shrug my shoulders. “He didn’t say, but if what you’re telling me is true, then I imagine he’s sorry for letting you down, and for the fact that he won’t be here in the future.”
“He won’t?”
“No, Mrs Williamson. He’ll probably be going to prison for quite some time.”
She nods her head slowly as she switches off the light and opens the door. “He was a good friend,” she whispers, showing us out.
We walk down the garden path and, as we settle back into the car, I turn to Thompson. “The next time I let prejudice or misconceptions cloud my judgement, just say ‘Charlie Cole’ to me, will you?”
He nods his head and starts the engine, murmuring, “It just goes to show,” under his breath.
Over a dinner of game pie with roast potatoes and carrots, I spend the whole of the time explaining to Aunt Dotty and Mother about what’s happened with Cole.
“You must be so relieved,” Mother says, cutting up my second helping of potatoes, then passing my plate back to me.
“Yes, I suppose I am, although I haven’t really had time to think about it yet.”
“He sounds like a thoroughly horrible man,” she adds, going back to her own dinner. I go to speak, but she holds up her hand. “And I know you’re going to say he was kind to that woman and her child, and maybe he was, but that doesn’t take away the fact that he tried to kill you, Rufus.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to disagree with you.”
“Well, that makes a change,” she replies, smiling.
“I think I’ll go and see Amelie after dinner,” I announce. They both look up at me. “I just want to let her know what’s happened, so she’s not worried.”
“Well, I suppose in the circumstances…” My mother rocks her head from side to side as though she’s trying to make a decision.
“
I’m going, Mother,” I tell her firmly.
Once we’ve finished, I put my coat around my shoulders and place my hat on my head, kiss Mother and Aunt Dotty and thank them for dinner, being as it’s Ethel’s night off and they cooked it themselves. Then I set off across the road to Amelie’s house.
The door is answered by Sarah, who lets me in with a smile.
“Miss Amelie is in the drawing room,” she says, taking my coat and hat and walking ahead of me to open the door.
Amelie’s face lights up when she sees me and I notice that she’s changed out of her work clothes and is wearing her grey trousers and a thin jumper. There’s a roaring fire in the grate and I feel the heat the moment I enter the room.
“Hello,” she says, getting up and coming over to me. “Are we being allowed to meet without a chaperone?”
“Yes, we are.”
She smiles up at me. “Is that wise?”
“Probably not, no.”
“Except that you’re injured, so I think I’m safe,” she teases.
I look down at my arm. “You really think this would stop me?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, gazing into my eyes. “Would it?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. Which means it’s a good thing for you that I’m an honourable policeman.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Because you’re a terrible tease.”
“And yet you love me.”
“It seems I do, yes.”
She takes my good hand and leads me back over to the sofa she’s just vacated, and we sit together, our legs touching, our hands entwined on my lap.
“How was your bus ride to work?” I ask, looking down at her.
“Wet,” she replies. “I mean, it was dryer than going on my bicycle, but I still got soaked.”
I sigh deeply. “I wish I still had my car – well, and the ability to drive it – then I could give you a lift.”
“I’m fine,” she says, reassuringly. “And I’m not sure your car is much dryer than walking, or cycling, is it?”
“That rather depends on which way the wind is blowing,” I reply and she chuckles.
“Anyway, as I say, I was fine. I always managed before I met you.” She looks up into my eyes. “Although it feels like I’ve known you forever.”
“Hmm. It does, doesn’t it?”
“Speaking of cars,” she continues, before I get the opportunity to kiss her, “what’s happening about yours?”
“It’s too badly damaged to repair. The front is completely crushed.”
“Oh dear. What will you do?”
“Well, I’m entitled to use a police car, so I’ll do that for the time being – at least for work. And then I’ll have to give some thought to what I’m going to do, once I get back the use of my arm.”
It’s something I’ve considered fleetingly over the last few days, when I’ve had the odd moment to myself. The thing is, I can just about afford to buy a new car but, I’m not sure I want to. It’s not really a priority at the moment, because I also want to ask Amelie to marry me at some point in the very near future, and that means choosing a ring, saving for a house, and buying furniture. And all of that is infinitely more important than a car. As much as I loved my MG, I love Amelie so much more.
“I came over for a reason,” I tell her, before I forget that I haven’t bought the ring yet and propose anyway.
“To see me?”
“Well, yes. But also to tell you that we arrested a man today.”
She twists in her seat, wide-eyed. “The murderer?”
“No. The man who threw the brick through Aunt Dotty’s window and tampered with the brakes on my car.”
“He’s not the murderer as well, then?”
“No.” I shake my head slowly. “The man we’ve arrested has an alibi for the night PC Harper was shot.”
“So there’s still someone out there who’s looking for revenge?” she whispers.
“Possibly.”
She leans into me. “Rufus, I’m so scared,” she murmurs, her hands snaking around my waist.
I put my arm around her shoulder, holding her close to my body. “Don’t be, darling.”
She looks up suddenly. “You called me ‘darling’,” she says, a smile forming on her lips, her earlier fear evidently forgotten, at least for the moment.
“Yes.”
“It sounded nice.”
“Good.”
She tilts her head just slightly and I lean down, brushing my lips against hers. She moans into my kiss and I pull her closer.
“You feel lovely,” I say with complete honesty as we break the kiss.
“So do you.” She bites her bottom lip and I bring my hand around and pull it away from her teeth with my thumb.
“That’s mine,” I whisper and prove the point, claiming her for a second time.
“You’re a very good distraction,” she says softly as we pull apart once more. “I almost forgot I was scared then.”
“Only almost?”
She nods her head. “I don’t like the idea that someone out there might still be trying to kill you.”
“We don’t know that,” I reply. “And in any case, I’ve got a job to do.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “I just wish it wasn’t so dangerous sometimes.”
“It isn’t, not most of the time.” I turn to face her. “A lot of the time, it’s very boring indeed.”
“Even so…” She lowers her head.
I place my finger beneath her chin and raise her face to mine. “Are you asking me to give it up? To stop being a policeman?” I ask her.
She looks shocked and leans back. “No… No, of course not. It’s who you are, Rufus. I know that. I’m just saying that I’m scared, that’s all…” Her voice fades to a whisper.
I pull her into a hug once more and kiss the top of her head. “I do understand,” I reply and she nestles down comfortably against me. “And just so you know, there’s no-one else I’d give it up for. No-one but you.”
She twists and looks up at me. “Except I’d never ask you to.”
And in that moment, I truly know how lucky I am to have found her.
Chapter Fifteen
Well, who’d have thought?
When I set off for work and saw the headline on the sign outside the newsagents, I genuinely didn’t believe it could be about Mr Cole. It said ‘POLICE ASSAULTS - LOCAL MAN ARRESTED’. Intrigued, and wondering if the headline might be about the shooting, which really would have been a shocker, I went inside and bought a copy, and read through the article on my way to the factory. According to the report, he threw a brick through Inspector Stone’s window – well his aunt’s window, anyway – and then when that didn’t work, Cole tampered with the brakes on his car, causing him to crash and break his arm. It’s just a shame it wasn’t his neck.
I don’t know why I bothered buying the paper though. I could just have listened to the conversations in the cloakroom and the canteen. The whole factory is alive with gossip about what Mr Cole has done. He might have been strict, and could even lose his temper on occasion, but no-one seems able to believe he’d do anything like this.
In about the fourth paragraph, the report mentions the fact that Mr Cole’s daughter was killed by that police sergeant, suggesting that as a motive for his alleged crimes. That seems to have really set everyone whispering, being as none of us even realised he had a daughter, let alone that she’d been murdered. If only I’d known we had so much in common, maybe we could have sat down and compared notes – who knows, between us, we might have been able to come up with a better plan than cutting Inspector Stone’s brake lines.
As it is, I’m left to finish the job by myself, but I feel a sense of vindication, in the knowledge that I’m not just doing this for ‘her’, but for all of them, and that Inspector Stone is finally going to get what he deserves.
*****
I lie awake in the darkness, even though I know it’s morning. My mother will be along in a moment to he
lp me bathe, and I want to make the most of my last few seconds of silence to remember how wonderful last night actually was. I place my hand behind my head and smile to myself, recalling Amelie’s sparkling eyes, her gentle words, her soft kisses. And how I decided to leave after about an hour, before my need for her overcame my reason. It was a close-run thing.
The knocking on my door brings me out of my reverie and I call out, “Come in,” climbing out of bed at the same time and sitting on the edge.
“It’s only me,” my mother announces, letting in a little light from the landing. “Shall I open the curtains?”
“Yes, please.”
She makes her way over to the window and reveals the world outside. “At least it’s not raining,” she says, straightening the blackout and turning around. “I’ll go and run your bath, shall I?”
“Thank you, Mother.”
She smiles at me as she passes. “Did you sleep better last night?” she calls from the bathroom.
“Yes, thank you.” I slept very well. My dreams were filled with images of Amelie, most of which are not the kind of thing a man discusses with his mother – or anyone else, for that matter.
“I should imagine it’s such a relief knowing that man is behind bars and you’re safe,” she continues and I chuckle quietly.
“Yes, it is.”
If she knew what I’d really been dreaming about, I doubt she’d let me spend another evening alone with Amelie, at least until we’d named the day, anyway.
Once I’m bathed and dressed – which I manage by myself again – and I’ve had breakfast, I wait for Thompson to come and collect me. He’s due at eight-thirty, but by eight-forty-five, he still hasn’t arrived. I’m just contemplating telephoning the station, when the car pulls up outside and he toots the horn.
“We’ll see you later, shall we?” My mother comes out into the hallway with me. Aunt Dotty is already ensconced in the sunroom, painting.
“Yes. I shouldn’t be late back, but I’ll telephone if I’m going to be.”
She leans up and kisses my cheek, then lets me go.
Thompson climbs out of the car and holds open the passenger door. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, closing it again and going around to the other side. “Julia was being even more sick than usual this morning, so I got Christopher up and stayed to make sure she was alright.” He glances across at me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
