by K. J. Frost
I’ve only just managed to extricate myself from the over-tight sheets when Thompson comes in, closing the door behind him.
“How are you?” he asks, walking over to the bed and pulling up a chair.
“I was doing fine, until my sadistic nurse decided I should get out of bed.”
He laughs. “And how did that go?”
“It felt a bit odd… I’m embarrassed to admit that, if the nurse hadn’t been holding me up, I’d probably have fallen over.” I twist a little in the bed, so I can see him better. “At least she’s got a sense of humour. It makes all of this a little bit more bearable.”
He nods his head. “She needs a sense of humour to put up with you,” he replies.
“Have you come here just to insult me, or do you have another purpose in life?” I ask.
“Well, insulting you is my main reason for living, so not really.” I know he’s joking, because he hasn’t got time to come here just for the sake of it.
“Did my mother and Amelie get home alright?” I ask him, changing the subject.
“Yes, of course they did.”
“Thank you, Harry, for everything you’re doing.” He seems a bit taken aback by my sincerity.
“You’d do the same for me,” he says, after a moment.
“Yes, but that’s not the point.”
“Will Amelie be coming in today?” he asks. “Does she need me to pick her up?”
“No, she’s coming straight from work, but she’ll need you to take her home again, if that’s alright.”
He nods his head. “Of course.” And then he sits back a little. “Now, while I’m here, I suppose I’d better tell you what I’ve been doing.”
“If you must.”
“Well, I’ve spoken to the four women as we discussed.”
“And?”
He pulls his notebook from his pocket and opens it. “I went to see them all last night,” he says, “except for Mrs Middlemas, who wasn’t at home, so I’ve called on her this morning.” He flips forward a page or two in his book. “At the time you were being stabbed,” he says, “she was having dinner with a ‘friend’.” He emphasises the last word and raises his eyebrows.
“Was this the same ‘friend’ who saw her home from the bridge evening?” I ask
He glances down at his notes. “Yes. Mr Powell,” he says, looking back up at me.
“Hmm, that’s the one.” I remember the name.
He smiles. “Well, he was still at the house this morning.”
“Oh… was he?”
“Yes, having breakfast.”
I can’t help but smile. “I shouldn’t imagine either of them was too thrilled to see you.”
“No. That would be one way of putting it,” he replies. “But at least he corroborated her story, in between telling me, probably half a dozen times, that he’s not married; he’s a widower, and only stayed with Mrs Middlemas last night because they were so late getting home.”
“A likely story. Did he think you might disapprove?” I smirk. “You… of all people?”
He grins. “Well, they don’t know me, do they? How would they know I’d be the last person to disapprove.”
“True.” He flicks back a few pages in his book. “What about the others?” I ask.
“Mrs Gibson was at home, with her husband… as usual,” he replies. “Which I suppose means she doesn’t really have an alibi, but I can’t honestly see her stabbing anyone.”
“I can’t see Mrs Middlemas doing it either,” I point out and he shakes his head. “What about Mrs Franklin?”
He smirks. “I was really pleased I’d taken Wells with me when I got to her,” he says, shaking his head. “She could hardly contain herself at the sight of him. Which worked to my advantage, because she seemed to forget I was even there.”
“It was probably the uniform.”
He grins. “And the six foot five of young man inside it.”
“Does she have an alibi?” I get back to the reason for his visit.
“Yes. She was with a man… needless to say.”
“Did she give you his name?”
He nods his head. “Stanley Holmes.”
“Have you been to see him yet?”
Thompson rubs his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, clearly tired. “Yes. I went to see him last night on my way home…” His voice fades.
“Why do I get the impression something happened?”
“Because it did. He was younger than I expected – probably no more than thirty – and it turned out that, unlike Mr Powell, he is married. And his wife was in the kitchen while I was talking to him in the hall.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t realise, and he made no effort to shut me up.”
“She heard?”
“Oh yes… She came at him, with a rolling pin.”
“A rolling pin?”
“Yes. I wished I’d taken Wells with me at that point. She was like a thing possessed. It was all I could do to hold her back. He didn’t help much, either. All he did was goad her and tell her it was her own fault… that if she was better in bed, he wouldn’t need to look elsewhere.”
“Nice.”
“I thought so,” he says. “She threw him out.”
“Good for her.”
He smiles. “I finished the interview on his front porch.”
“And did he confirm he’d been with Mrs Franklin?”
“Yes. He said he was going to go around there when he’d finished with me to see if she’d take him in for the night.” He shudders. “I suppose it takes all sorts.”
“It must do.” I’m starting to feel uncomfortable and shift slightly in the bed, adjusting my legs and pulling the sheets up a little. “What about Miss Pendry?” I ask, with some trepidation. The others all seem to have an alibi of sorts, which only leaves her, unfortunately.
“She claimed to have been unwell,” he says, closing his notebook, presumably because he doesn’t need to refer to it. “And I have to say, she looked pretty awful. I gave her a cock and bull story about Christopher coming down with something and she made all the right sympathetic noises…”
“But?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
“Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I can’t put my finger on it,” he says. “I’m fairly sure she was lying, but I’m not sure what about. She didn’t look unwell. She just looked tired and shocked, as though she didn’t expect to see me, and when I told her you’d been stabbed, she said she was sorry to hear that, but she didn’t ask how you were, or even if you were alive or not.”
“And you didn’t tell her?”
“No. And we’ve kept it out of the newspapers as well,” he explains.
“You think she’s lying about being ill?”
“Yes, but she told me she hadn’t been at work all day, because she was unwell, and when I called the factory this morning, they confirmed that was true. They said she’s still not gone back in today.”
“She hasn’t?”
“No.”
“You need to get a search warrant,” I tell him, with a degree of urgency.
“For her flat?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“What am I looking for?”
“The knife… and the gun.”
“You think… You think she killed Harper as well?” His voice has faded to a whisper.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because all of the victims were loved by someone, but she loved Janet Gibson like her life depended on it. I thought she was just grieving, but given her reactions, and her lack of alibi, I’m wondering if it was more than that; if she’d be willing to sacrifice her life to get revenge… more so than any of the others.”
“Even David Franklin?” he reasons.
“Yes. Franklin is far more interested in himself than anyone else.”
Thompson gets to his feet. “I’ll get a search warrant,” he says, putting the chair back against
the wall.
“Make sure you take plenty of men with you, and don’t leave her by herself. She’s dangerous, Harry…”
He nods his head.
“I wish I could be there with you,” I add, after a moment’s reflection.
“It’s probably best that you’re not,” he replies.
“Probably.”
Nurse West comes back in sometime after lunch and helps me stand up once more. I manage half a dozen steps before I’m exhausted and she sits me back down again.
“You’re less cheerful this afternoon,” she says as she tucks me in again. “Are you alright? Not in too much pain?”
“No, the pain is fine. I’ve just got something on my mind, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologise.” Her voice is softer than usual now. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”
I nod my head, although I know I won’t be able to sleep until I hear what’s happening with Miss Pendry.
I’ve got a long afternoon ahead of me as well. Amelie will be at work until five-thirty, and I can’t realistically expect to hear anything from Thompson until later on.
“Hello, dear.” The door opens and my mother comes in, accompanied by Aunt Dotty.
“Hello.” I do my best to sound cheerful, even though I’m really not in the mood.
“How are you feeling?” Dotty asks, coming over and kissing me on the forehead.
“Better than I was.” I do feel better for seeing her too. I can’t help feeling responsible for what happened to her, but it’s good to see that she looks none the worse for her experiences, with just a small dressing on her head now, rather than the bandage she had been wearing.
“We’ve brought you a couple of books to read.” My mother hands me two hardback books and I turn them over. They’re both by Agatha Christie. One is called Hercule Poirot’s Christmas, and the other Appointment with Death.
“We checked your bookshelves, and you don’t have them,” Aunt Dotty says, sitting down to my left and allowing my mother to take the seat to my right.
“No, I don’t. Thank you.”
“It should help while away the time a little,” my mother adds.
“Well, they’ve had me up and walking today,” I tell her.
“That’s good.” She smiles.
“And they’re hoping I’ll be home in time for the weekend.”
“Really?”
“Yes. So I’ll be there for Saturday, with any luck.”
“As a spectator only,” Aunt Dotty says firmly.
I smile across at her. “I think you’ll have enough helpers, without me. But I wanted to be there.”
She rests her hand on my shoulder, being as the arm nearest to her is in plaster, and murmurs, “I know,” her voice a gentle whisper.
“I was surprised there wasn’t anything about you in the newspaper,” my mother says from the other side of the bed and I turn to her.
“That’s because they decided to keep it quiet.”
“Who did?” She’s almost affronted.
“Uncle Frank, I presume… and before you start talking about telephoning him, I think it was done for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“I think they did it to try and flush out the person responsible.”
Her face pales. “They… they weren’t thinking that whoever it was might come here and try to finish the job, were they?” she asks.
“No. They just wanted to see what reactions they would get from the suspects when they questioned them, that’s all.” I take her hand in mine. “Don’t worry. If Uncle Frank or Sergeant Thompson thought I was in any danger, I’m sure there would be a man outside my door.”
She softens noticeably. “He’s a nice man,” she says vaguely.
“Who?”
“That sergeant of yours.”
“Yes, he is.” I take a breath. “How’s Amelie?” I ask, although I’m not sure if they’ll even know the answer to that.
“We haven’t seen her today,” my mother replies. “Your sergeant took us back to Molesey yesterday afternoon, and she went straight home.”
“Well, she was exhausted,” Aunt Dotty puts in. “She’d had hardly any sleep the night before.”
“No,” Mother replies, as they talk across me like I’m not there. “I could hear her crying. Could you?”
“Yes…”
“Crying?” I interrupt their conversation.
“Yes,” my mother says, noticing me again. “After we had our drinks and went to bed, I heard her crying.” She looks down at our still entwined hands. “I thought about going in to her, but I wasn’t sure if I should.”
“I think she was better off by herself,” Dotty says quietly.
No, she’d have been better off with me, if she was crying. More than ever, I hate the fact that I’m here and I can’t do anything.
“She’s supposed to be coming in later,” I say quietly, almost to myself. “I’ll talk to her… find out what was wrong.”
Dotty smiles at me. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I don’t?”
“No, Rufus. It’s obvious what was wrong.” She stares at me for a moment, then continues, “She was scared. She’d just seen you being stabbed right in front of her. She’d had to wash your blood from her hands, and then sit through you having surgery until the early hours of the morning, not knowing what was going to happen to you. I think she was entitled to have a little cry to herself, don’t you?”
I nod my head, although knowing that still isn’t going to stop me from talking to her. I don’t like the idea of her crying by herself and I want to make sure it’s not still happening.
Mother and Aunt Dotty leave at just after four-thirty, which gives Nurse West enough time to torture me with another attempt at walking, before they bring my supper. It’s a poor effort at shepherd’s pie and I’m reminded of how good Ethel’s was by comparison.
I’m just settling back down on my pillows when the door opens and Amelie pokes her head around.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
“Yes, of course you can.” I can’t help smiling at her. She’s rosy cheeked from the cold, and looks utterly beautiful.
“Hello.” She comes around to the right hand side of my bed and leans down to kiss me quickly. She stands straight away, but I reach behind her and pull her back down again.
“That was not a proper kiss,” I tell her, and relish her giggle as our lips meet once more.
“Better?” she asks after a few minutes, her eyes sparkling as she pulls back, her hand resting on the pillow beside my head.
“Much, thank you.”
“Good.” She smiles and steps back a little. “It’s very hot in here,” she says, undoing the buttons of her coat, before shrugging it off, to reveal a smart work suit in navy blue, with a pale yellow blouse showing at the collar. She clutches her coat for a moment, looking around the room.
“Put it on the end of the bed,” I suggest, and she lays it across my feet, before pulling the chair up close beside me and sitting down.
“How are you today?” she asks.
“A lot better for seeing you,” I reply with absolute candour, taking her hand in mine and resting it on my chest. “How was work?”
“It was okay, although all I wanted to do was get to the end of the day, so I could come and see you.”
“And you’ve been alright?”
She nods her head. “Yes, I’ve been fine.”
“Really? Honestly?”
“Well, I’ve found it hard to concentrate, but other than that…”
“Why have you found it hard to concentrate?” I ask her.
She lets her head drop and I release her hand, reaching over and placing my fingers beneath her chin, raising her face again. Her eyes are glistening. “Tell me?”
“Because I’m tired,” she says, letting out a long sigh.
“Didn’t you sleep very well? Even though you were at home, in your own bed last night?”
She shakes her head. “I keep reliving it,” she murmurs.
I don’t need to ask her what she’s talking about, but I take her hand again. “Is that why you were crying?”
“When?”
“When you were staying at my aunt’s? The night it happened, after you’d gone to bed…”
“How do you know about that?”
“Because Dotty and my mother heard you.”
“Oh…” She pales a little. “I didn’t realise.”
“So, were you crying because you kept going over it?” I ask her.
“Partly.”
“And why else?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Even though you knew I was going to be alright by then?”
She nods. “It could have ended so differently, Rufus.” A tear falls down her cheek and she wipes it away with her free hand.
“But it didn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to cry,” she reasons, looking up at me.
“No, of course it doesn’t, darling. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Just that, if you’re worried, or scared, or doubtful, I want you to tell me, to talk to me, to cry with me. I don’t want you to cry yourself to sleep on your own ever again.”
“Neither do I. It was awful. But how can I do any of that when you’re in hospital?” she says.
“I’ll admit that me being in here is a bit of an obstacle, but I’m supposed to be coming home at the weekend.” Her face lights up beautifully, then falls again.
“Even so, I can hardly wake you up in the middle of the night, can I?”
“Yes, you can. If you need me, then you can call me. I’ll come to you, Amelie, no matter what time it is.”
“I’m not sure what your aunt, or your mother, or Uncle Gordon would have to say about that,” she says, smiling, although her eyes are shimmering. “But I doubt they’d approve.”
“I don’t care.” I let my voice drop to a low whisper. “I just don’t want you to be alone if you’re scared or unhappy… alright?”
She nods her head just slightly and then leans over, resting it on my chest again. “I love you so much,” she murmurs.
“I love you too.”
