by K. J. Frost
He laughs. “Because that’s so much better.”
“I thought so,” I reply.
“I can see you’re feeling more like your old self,” he says, his expression more serious. “So, does that mean you’re well enough for an update on the case?”
“I’m always well enough for an update. What’s happening?”
“Not very much. We’ve completed the search outside The Swan and found absolutely nothing.” He pauses. “I’ve been wanting to ask you whether there was anything… anything at all that you can remember about last night?”
“I can recall the footsteps.” I turn to Amelie. “Did you hear them?”
She shakes her head. “No. You were kissing me—” She stops talking suddenly, and blushes, as though she’s only just remembered that we’re not alone. “I—I mean, no,” she stammers.
I chuckle. “It’s nice to know you were that distracted,” I murmur to her and her blush deepens. I turn back to Thompson. “I remember thinking they were light,” I continue.
“The footsteps?” he says.
“Yes. Like a woman’s.”
“You think a woman did this?” my mother interjects.
“I think that the footsteps I heard belonged to a woman,” I reply, being precise. “They were too light to belong to a man.”
“Even a man who was running?” Thompson asks.
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m more and more convinced that it was a woman.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “In which case,” he says eventually, “we’re looking at Mrs Franklin, Mrs Middlemas, Mrs Gibson… or Kate Pendry.”
I close my eyes, just for a second, and then open them again. Out of all of them, Kate Pendry is the one most physically suited to running at speed, but I’m not entirely comfortable with that idea. “I don’t want it to be her,” I say softly. “I really don’t.”
Without me having to say anything else, Thompson nods his head, and it’s clear he knows who I’m talking about. “I’ll go and question them all,” he says, standing up straight.
“Take someone with you,” I reply. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. We don’t know whether whoever did this decided to take a leaf out of Cole’s book and attack me personally, or whether they’re also responsible for Harper’s death.”
“I’ll take PC Wells,” he replies, smiling.
“We should probably let you get some rest now,” my mother says out of the blue. She gets to her feet and leans over, kissing me on the forehead. “We’ll come and see you again tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “For everything.” I glance at Amelie as I’m speaking and my mother smiles.
“That’s what families are for.” For once, she’s not actually dropping an unsubtle hint about me proposing marriage to the woman I love. She’s just letting me know that, as far as she’s concerned, Amelie is already part of the family.
Thompson has moved closer to the door and Mother goes over to him. “We’ll wait for you outside, my dear” she says to Amelie with a smile, before they go out into the corridor.
Once we’re alone, I manage to twist slightly, despite the pain in my side, and turn to face Amelie. She’s looking uncertain, maybe a little insecure.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, but she just shakes her head. “Tell me, Amelie.”
“Who don’t you want it to be?” she says, her eyes fixed on my chest.
“Sorry?” I’m confused. I know I’m tired, but I don’t understand what she’s asking.
“You said there was one of those four women you didn’t want it to be,” she explains. “Which one was it?”
“Oh… I see,” I reply. “I’d rather it wasn’t Kate Pendry.”
She nods her head. “W—Who is she?” she stammers.
“She’s the friend of the fourth victim, Janet Gibson.”
“A friend?” she queries.
“Yes.”
“Would being a friend of one of the victims give her enough motive to do this to you?”
“Yes, it might. She was very upset about Janet’s death. She opened up about how she felt, and I tried to help her… I thought I’d succeeded, but maybe I didn’t.”
“And why don’t you want it to be her?” she asks.
“Because I felt sorry for her, and I liked her.” I give my reply without thinking and Amelie stiffens, then pulls away from me, placing her hands in her lap, just out of my reach. “Don’t,” I say quickly. “Don’t do that.”
She looks up at me, with tears in her eyes. “Do what?”
“Move away from me like that. Especially when there’s nothing I can do about it.” She softens and blinks, and a couple of tears fall down her cheeks. “And don’t cry,” I whisper, “because I can’t hold you, and I need to.”
“Y—You do?”
“You know I do. My arms feel empty without you.”
She stands and leans over me, resting her head very gently on my chest so I can put my arm around her and hold her.
“That feels better,” I whisper into her hair.
“Hmm. It does.”
She stays like that for a few minutes, and then stands, looking down at me.
“You liked her?” she asks, clearly still in some doubt.
“Yes, but not in the way that you think. She’d been through a lot and she was struggling to come to terms with it all. I wanted to help, that’s all”
“And what did you do to help her?”
“I offered to talk to her.” I sigh deeply. “You and I may not have started seeing each other at the time, but I was already in love with you, even then, and I’d never do anything to betray that. I know how that feels, remember?” She swallows hard and nods her head. “I’m not interested in Kate Pendry, or any other woman. I love you. I want you. No-one else.”
“But do you think Kate Pendry might be interested in you?” she asks. “I mean, it seems unlikely to me that she’d stab you because her friend was killed, but she might do if she wanted to be with you and found she couldn’t… because of us…” Her voice fades.
I smile. “No, it wasn’t like that,” I reply. “She does have a motive…”
“She does?” I can tell she’s confused and I’m going to have to explain it to her.
“Yes. Kate and Janet were more than friends.”
“More than friends?” Her brow furrows in confusion.
“Yes. They were lovers.”
She gasps and raises her hand to her mouth. “Lovers?”
“Yes. That’s what gives Kate a motive. She was devastated by Janet’s death, and the manner of it… and she probably does blame me – as well as herself.”
“Why would she blame herself?” she asks, lowering her hand again.
“Because she’d told Janet she wanted to try being with a man,” I explain. “Her parents were putting her under a lot of pressure to settle down and she’d decided to try and conform. She felt she’d pushed Janet away.”
“She told you this?”
I nod my head. “Yes. She was distraught. It all came out in a kind of rush, although I’m not sure she was even aware of what she was saying or doing at the time. She told us she spent the night with a soldier she met, but she regretted it.”
“And that was the night Janet was killed?” Amelie guesses.
“Yes. And you can’t repeat any of what I’ve told you to anyone,” I add. “Thompson and I learned about their relationship during the investigation and decided to keep it out of the notes, so I’m relying on you to keep it to yourself.” She nods her head, looking down at me. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll realise that Kate Pendry wouldn’t even give me a second look, let alone stab me in a fit of jealousy. From what she said, I think her experience with the soldier was enough to put her off men for life… And I’d never be interested in her either, darling, because I love you, more than anything.”
“I love you too, Rufus,” she murmurs.
“Good.”
; “And thank you for explaining it to me.”
“You know I’ll always tell you whatever you need to know… if I can.”
She nods and pauses for a moment before whispering, “I miss you.”
I smile up at her. “What do you miss?” I tease.
“Your kisses, your arms, your touch. The reassurance of you.” She’s being completely serious and, for a moment, I’m taken aback.
“I can still hold you, and touch you.” I put my words into action, running my hand up her back, ignoring the pain in my side.
“It’s not the same like this,” she whispers. “I miss standing with you, feeling your strength, your arms around me.”
“I miss that too, but I can still kiss you.” I pull her down to me and her lips touch mine, taking my breath away with their intensity. She moans softly into me and I groan in response, wishing I was more able bodied and could stand with her, or better still, pull her down onto the bed beside me. Eventually, she leans back and straightens, and I look up at her. “And I promise, you don’t need any reassurance.”
“I don’t?”
“No. I’m here.” Without moving my eyes from hers, I take her hand and gently place it above her left breast, holding it there. “And you’re here.” I move her hand again, and place it flat on my chest, in the same place, right over my heart. “Always.”
Chapter Eighteen
I went down to the newsagents early this morning, but there was nothing in the papers about Inspector Stone. That struck me as odd, but I suppose they might be keeping it quiet for some reason – perhaps until his family have been informed of his death. I wonder how they’ll react, whether they’ll feel pain like mine…
I suppose it must be around five o’clock when there’s a knocking at my door. I haven’t been into work today. I felt too shaky after what happened last night, and telephoned the office this morning to let them know that I’d been up all night – which I had – but not for the reason I gave them. The only thing I’ve done all day is to sit on the sofa, staring into space, and even though it’s dark, I haven’t bothered to put the lights on. Why would I? There’s nothing worth seeing.
I go downstairs and open the door as far as the security chain will allow.
“Miss Pendry?”
I recognise the police sergeant from the times I’ve seen him with Inspector Stone, although I don’t know the man in uniform who’s standing behind him.
“Yes.”
“Can we come in?” he asks.
I close the door slightly to release the chain and then open it wider, standing to one side to let them enter. Once the door’s closed, I switch on the light.
“Are you alright?” the sergeant asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “Why?”
“You’re very pale,” he says.
“Because I’m not well.” Not that it’s any business of yours. “I’ve only just got out of bed.”
He nods his head sympathetically. “There’s a nasty cold going around,” he says. “I think my little boy is coming down with it.”
I stare at him for a moment, unsure how to respond, but then realise that I have to say something. “Oh dear,” I reply, automatically.
He smiles. “We won’t keep you very long. We just called round to ask where you were last night between nine and ten o’clock.”
“Why?” I enquire, trying to sound interested, because it seems like the sensible thing to do.
“Because Inspector Stone has been stabbed,” he replies, staring at me.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He nods his head and and raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for my reply to his question. “I was here,” I tell him quickly, but not too quickly. “I came down with whatever it is that’s wrong with me after work yesterday and went to bed at about five, or just after.”
“Can anyone confirm that?” he asks.
“No.”
He writes something down in his notebook, which he then snaps closed, making me jump.
“Well, thank you for your time, Miss Pendry,” he says, turning towards the door and I flick off the light just before the constable opens it, waiting for them to pass through. As I’m about to close the door again, the sergeant turns back.
“I hope you feel better soon,” he says, smiling.
“Thank you.”
I go upstairs in the darkness, and back in the living room, I flop down on the sofa once more, staring up at the ceiling. It’s odd. I thought I’d feel better for killing Stone, but I don’t. I think, if anything, I feel even more empty than I did before. Janet is still dead and I’m still alone.
What am I supposed to do now?
*****
I’m feeling quite a bit better today and the nurse has helped me to sit up a little more, which helps me to feel like a human being again.
Amelie’s departure yesterday was rather bittersweet. It was awful seeing her go, but we’d had some time together at least, and she told me that she’ll come and see me today when she’s finished work. She said she’s going to catch the bus to her office, and come here afterwards. I’ve told her that Thompson will take her home again later on and, although she demurred, I insisted, and she yielded, in the nicest way possible.
The doctor comes to see me not long after breakfast and tells me that, if I continue to improve at this rate, I’ll be allowed to go home at the weekend. I’d feared I might not get out that soon, and I really want to be there, at least for Saturday. Everyone is putting themselves out to come to Aunt Dotty’s to dig the garden. I feel like the least I can do is be there.
Once all the morning rounds are done, the nurse, who I now know as Nurse West, comes in and tells me it’s time to get out of bed.
“Seriously?”
She smiles. “Yes, Mr Stone… sorry, Inspector Stone. You’re not here for a holiday, you know.”
“You are aware that I was stabbed the night before last… that I was in surgery for several hours…”
“I seem to remember reading something about that, yes. I think it was in your notes somewhere,” she replies, then sighs. “I’m not suggesting you start running up and down the corridors…”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I interrupt.
“But it’ll do you good to get up, just for a few minutes,” she says, ignoring me. “I’ll help you.”
I stare at her for a moment, but then realise she’s not going to relent, and shrug my shoulders, hoping she knows what she’s talking about. She pulls the sheet and blanket away, and stands back, and I notice that I’m wearing white pyjama bottoms again, feeling surprised that I didn’t bother to check this time, but then I suppose being stabbed is a little distracting.
“Try to swing your legs around,” she says.
I twist in the bed, moving my legs over the edge. It’s not exactly, ‘swinging’, but the end result is the same.
“Now put your feet down flat on the floor,” she continues.
“I think I’d worked that bit out for myself.” I give her a mock smile and she returns it with one of her own as I nudge forward on the bed until my feet are resting on the floor.
“Give me your right hand,” she says, and I do. “Now, up we go,” she says, taking my weight as I straighten my legs and stand.
The sensation of vertigo is almost overwhelming.
“I—I’ve never enjoyed being tall less,” I comment, and she giggles just lightly.
“Get your bearings for a minute,” she says softly, still holding onto my right arm, which I have to say I’m grateful for, being as I feel like a newborn foal.
We stand like that for a couple of minutes while I slowly look around the room, seeing everything from a new angle, and then she gently lowers me back onto the bed.
“How was that?” she asks.
“Strange,” I reply truthfully.
“You felt dizzy?”
“Yes. Very.”
She nods her head. “Don’t worry. That’s perfectly normal. We’ll try again later, and maybe throw in a few steps,
just for good measure.”
“If you’re asking me to dance, Nurse West, I have to point out that I’m spoken for,” I remind her, joking to cover up my surprise at my own inadequacy.
“Don’t worry, Inspector,” she replies smartly, with a broad grin, “so am I.”
“Do you mean to say there’s a poor fellow out there who has to put up with you all the time?” I’m teasing her, and she knows it.
“Well, not all the time.” She helps me to lie down again. “I’m only engaged, not married. That’s all happening at Christmas…” She’s buoyed with excitement, but stops speaking abruptly and I wonder if she meant to say that out loud, although she’s still got a faraway look in her eyes and I think that perhaps she’s just recalling happier things.
“And then you’ll get to rule him with a rod of iron?” I jest as she pulls the sheet back up again, and tucks it in very tightly, pinning me to the bed.
“Yes,” she replies, smiling. “And in the meantime, I get to take out my control issues on the likes of you.”
“Should I be scared?” I ask as she picks up the teacup from beside my bed.
“That depends on how much you like cold bed baths,” she quips.
“I’ve never had one, but I can’t imagine I’d enjoy it.”
She laughs. “No, you probably wouldn’t.” She puts her free hand on her hip, looking down at me and smiling. “Was that your young lady who came to see you yesterday?” she asks.
“That sounds rather proprietary, but yes.”
“Well, we could call her your fiancée, if you prefer,” she remarks.
“Except we’re not engaged. Not yet.”
“But you will be?”
“If my mother ever stops interfering and gives me enough time to work out the how, the when and the where, so that I can actually propose, then yes.”
She chuckles, shaking her head just slightly, and leans in a little closer. “Can I give you a word of advice?”
“Of course.”
“When it comes to proposals, the how, the when and the where don’t really matter. It’s the who. That’s the only thing that counts.”
She stands up straight, glances around the room, as though checking everything’s as it should be, and then, without another word, she leaves.
