by L M Krier
'Roger, it's Ted.' Ted's first call of the day was to Hard G. 'I need your help.'
'But of course, dear boy, anything at all I can do,' the Professor said immediately.
'I've got a suspect in custody,' Ted told him and Hard G immediately interrupted.
'You have? But that's wonderful, well done.'
'I have links between him and both victims,' Ted went on. 'Very strong links with the second girl, Maggie Fielding. He's admitted picking her up off the street and having sex with her on the evening of her death.'
'Good gracious,' Hard G said. 'How very naughty of him.'
Ted thought that was a bit rich coming from a serial womaniser who admitted going dogging, but he let it pass. 'I have links between him and Vicki Carr whilst she was alive but at the moment, nothing at all to tie him in to her body. I'm having his car gone over with a fine-tooth comb now, to see what that comes up with. I just wondered if there was anything on the body, anything at all, that James could have missed on the post-mortem?'
'James is very thorough, he's like a beagle on a scent,' the Professor told him. 'I would be very surprised if he missed anything, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Would it help if I went through his report this morning, just to see? You do know the body has now been released for burial, so short of exhuming the poor girl, there's not much we can do, even if there is a chance James had missed anything, and I would be surprised if he had.'
'Anything would be helpful, Roger,' Ted told him. 'Thank you, that would be great.'
'I'll tell you what, old chap, why don't I take you to lunch afterwards and go over what I've found?' he suggested. 'I still feel very bad about how I behaved at the club, quite unforgivable of me. At least let me buy you lunch to make up in some small way.'
Ted hesitated. Lunch with Roger was low on his priority list. He had too much to do, including more interviews with their prime suspect. On the other hand, he did need to eat and if anyone could turn up anything at all that may have been missed on the initial report, the Professor was the person to do it, so he agreed.
'Splendid!' Hard G said. 'I'll come and pick you up, around twelve-thirty? Look forward to it.'
Ted's next port of call was the DCI. His team was flat out trying to establish any and all links between Jones and the two dead girls, particularly Vicki Carr, as he had already admitted to being with Maggie Fielding. There was a lot of leg work involved now to see if they could find any witnesses who had seen him with Vicki Carr on the day she died.
Ted would be spending much of his time interviewing Jones. So far he had only circumstantial evidence to link him and he wanted something much more concrete, preferably a confession. He still couldn't work out why Jones had come in with information yet stopped short of admitting the killings. Unless, of course, he really was innocent and just unlucky enough to have been one of the last people to be with Maggie Fielding before she was killed.
The forensic tests on the car would show if there was any blood. It was possible that Jones had taken the girl somewhere other than the waste ground he had mentioned and either killed her immediately or held her captive somewhere before going back to finish her off. His wife almost certainly would not have noticed. But Ted was uneasy about the time-frame because of the wife's testimony and also uncertain where Jones might have taken the girl.
He would normally have asked the DCI to sit in on the interviews. His size and solid bulk made the perfect foil to Ted's slight build and mild way, but it would be completely inappropriate, given the boss's personal and social links to the suspect. He might settle for Maurice Brown instead, as he looked slightly menacing at the best of times.
'We've got to be absolutely certain of our ground on this one, Ted,' the DCI cautioned him. 'If we get this wrong, with his connections, Jones will have us hung out to dry and we'll both be singing soprano with the Vienna Boys' Choir.'
'I know, Jim, and I have to say, my gut feeling has been telling me all along that this is not our man,' Ted said. 'I've got Hard G going through the post-mortem report again, to see if there is anything that's been missed. I'm meeting him for lunch to discuss it.'
'Nice,' the DCI growled. 'If Roger's taking you, it will be somewhere expensive with very good food. The club?'
'Not sure but it's never exactly a pleasure dining with Hard G,' Ted smiled. 'The things I do for the job, eh? Right, Maurice and I will go and have another crack at Mr Jones. I think we should consider a search warrant for his house and any other property he has, if you could set that up for me? I'll get someone to check with the wife if there's a lock-up or anything. I'm far from convinced but let's go with what we've got.'
Jones looked dreadful. He clearly hadn't slept at all, his eyes were red and shadowed underneath. His solicitor had been summoned again and was still playing the hand of disclosing nothing, letting the police do all the legwork and set out their stall.
Ted probed and questioned gently, going back over what Jones had said before, checking facts and timings. Jones stuck to the same story throughout. He didn't know Vicki Carr and had merely had sex with Maggie Fielding who was alive and well when he left her.
For once Ted found himself almost looking forward to some time with Hard G. At least it was time out of the office, with a decent meal. He still could not shake off the impression that they were wasting their time on an innocent but unlucky man while the real killer was still out there.
Despite the chilly day, Hard G swept up in the Jaguar with the top rolled down. It was a custom rebuild, so the top was cream to match the Italian leather of the seats. It was the first time Ted had had the occasion to ride in the car and he was looking forward to it.
He was surprised to find that the seats were protected by plastic slip-on covers and there was clean new paper in the passenger foot-well.
Hard G saw his look and laughed. 'Hand stitched Italian leather, dear boy,' he said. 'You don't think I allow mere mortals to sit on it, do you? Nothing personal. It's my favourite toy, I have my man give it a full valeting every day.'
Ted couldn't believe the power and thrust from the motor as Hard G pulled away from the curb, making him feel he was being pressed back into the seat. Although the Professor drove within the speed limit, just, he opened the Jag up whenever there was the slightest possibility.
'French food all right for you?' he asked as he overtook another car with scant inches to spare. 'I should have checked, rude of me.'
Ted knew Hard G had several holiday homes scattered about the globe, one of which was in the south of France. 'It's fine, Roger, whatever. It's very kind of you.'
'Nonsense, old boy, I behaved abominably the other day, it's the least I could do,' the Professor said, as the powerful car sprang away from traffic lights like a greyhound out of the trap. 'We're heading for a little place I know just the other side of Marple. Not far, it won't take us long in this old bus.'
Roaring up Dan Bank, Ted did briefly have the strange illusion that the car might actually take off and fly the rest of the journey. It was, he hated to admit to himself, one of the most exciting car rides he'd ever had. He also had to grudgingly concede that Hard G was an excellent driver.
Their destination was a small pub at the side of a country lane, with impressive views. It looked unprepossessing from the outside and there were not many cars in its car park. When he caught sight of the prices on the menu, Ted understood why. Even for a wealthy county like Cheshire, it was eye-watering.
'Have whatever you like, Ted,' the Professor reassured him, seeing his expression.' As I am in the company of the long arm of the law, I shall be very good and restrict myself to just one small glass of wine, and I seem to remember you don't drink.'
A deferential waiter appeared and took their order. As he disappeared, the Professor said, ' Shall we talk shop now whilst we wait? Then we can enjoy our meal in peace, without thinking about gory details. Although, in short, I'm afraid I have nothing at all new to offer you.
'The body was very thoroughly
cleaned after death, inside and out, if you follow me. You're not going to find any trace of your killer from that source, I'm afraid. No semen, no blood, no pubic hairs, not even a nasal hair. The only thing the body tells us about your killer is that the fatal wound to the neck was made with the left hand, whereas the rest of the scalpel work was probably right-handed.
'Other than that, any other information you need to link your suspect in custody to the death of this young woman is going to have to come from your not inconsiderable detection skills. I'm sorry if that's not the news you were wanting.'
It wasn't, so Ted had to console himself with the meal, which was incredible, and another fast and exhilarating ride back in the Jag.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Pocket Billiards was lying in wait for Ted the minute he arrived at the station the next day. He spotted Ted's car and pounced as soon as the DI pulled up. Then, as Ted did his best to ignore him, he trotted next to him across the car park towards the entrance, left hand working away frenetically through his pocket lining.
'Is it true you have a suspect in custody, Detective Inspector?' he asked.
'Have you been through the correct channels to check out your information with the Press Office, Alastair?' Ted asked impatiently.
'I was just hoping you might be able to give me some information,' he said hopefully.
'Information?' Ted stopped and looked at him. 'Well, let's see. The longest gestation period known in mammals is that of the African elephant, at six hundred and sixty days. By contrast, the shortest animal gestation period is probably that of the opossum, at just twelve days.'
'Are you denying you have a suspect in custody?' the reporter asked, desperately trying for a quote he could use.
'I am neither confirming nor denying it,' Ted said shortly. 'I hope you will remember that when you write your piece. I would hate to have to come and find you to remind you of my exact words,' and he turned and disappeared inside.
After he'd touched base with the team and the DCI, Ted wanted to have another go at Jones. They'd applied for, and been granted, an extension to hold him for up to seventy-two hours for further investigations. After that time they were either going to have to charge him with the murders or let him go.
Without finding traces of blood in his car, or a secret cache of surgical instruments at his house, Ted didn't think they had a hope in hell of making charges stick, unless he could get a confession.
Jones looked so dreadful that Ted actually felt sorry for the man. He didn't believe he was guilty. Jones had just done what he thought was his duty as a good citizen in coming forward with information. But he now found himself caught up in a nightmare. But Ted was a police officer and a good one. It was his job to do a thorough investigation, for the sake of the two young dead women and their families.
Ted and Sal took their seats opposite Jones and his solicitor and Ted took care of the formalities. Maurice was out doing legwork so he'd brought in Sal once more.
'Mr Jones, I appreciate this is all very difficult for you. But this is a serious murder enquiry and I have to ask you these questions in order either to charge you or to eliminate you from our enquiries,' Ted told him. 'I am still waiting for the results of the forensic testing of your car and the search of your house. Do you have any other property anywhere that we should be aware of? An allotment, perhaps? A lock-up garage or storage unit?'
Jones looked exhausted, demoralised and utterly bewildered. 'An allotment?' he echoed. 'No, nothing remotely like that, I'm not interested in gardening at all. I'm just a very ordinary person. I go to work, the wife and I don't go out much. The only place I go to is the Lodge with …'
He was clearly again about to mention the number of high ranking officers from the force with whom he was acquainted, but his solicitor laid a restraining hand on his arm and he stopped in mid sentence.
Before coming downstairs to question him, Ted and Sal had bounced a few ideas around to see if they could open up a new line of enquiry.
'Ask him about the eyes, boss,' Sal had suggested.
'The eyes?' Ted asked.
'Yes, sir,' Sal clarified. 'We know both victims had blue eyes, and Steve made that good point about it possibly being significant because the killer cut out Maggie's eyes. You could ask him if he knew what colour Maggie's eyes were.'
Ted looked dubious. 'Would any john know the colour of a prostitute's eyes anyway? It's not a road I've ever been down myself.'
Sal laughed. 'Me neither, sir, never had to pay for it in my life. But maybe just asking him about eyes in general may cause a reaction? The eye thing hasn't been leaked yet, has it, so only the killer would know there was anything significant about eyes. Worth a shot?'
'Anything is worth a shot at this stage, Sal' Ted said. 'At the moment my personal feeling is that we have diddly-squat and we are barking up entirely the wrong tree. Good idea, we can try it.'
'Mr Jones,' Ted asked him now. 'What colour eyes did Maggie Fielding have?'
Jones looked absolutely incredulous. 'Eyes?' he echoed blankly. 'I, er, I wasn't looking at her eyes, I was looking at the back of her head mostly.'
Ted and Sal exchanged a loaded look, both remembering the detail of the post-mortem report on Maggie Fielding.
'Mr Jones, are you saying you had anal intercourse with Maggie Fielding?' Ted asked.
'No!' Jones looked and sounded horrified at the suggestion. 'No, God, no, nothing like that. I was looking at the back of her head because she was …' he was visibly squirming. '… her head was …' he pointed towards his crotch, '… her head was in my lap.'
'I see,' Ted said neutrally. 'So what you are saying, Mr Jones, is that you had oral sex with Maggie Fielding. Did you also have any form of penetrative intercourse with her?'
Jones shook his head miserably.
'For the purposes of the tape, Mr Jones, could you please confirm aloud what you are saying?'
Jones cleared his throat a few times before he could manage to speak. 'We didn't have penetrative sex. We just had oral sex,' then, with clear revulsion in his voice, 'I paid her to give me a blow job.'
'Thank you, Mr Jones,' Ted said quietly, 'I appreciate this is very difficult for you. Your honesty is very helpful, both to our enquiries and to yourself. By the way, do you have any form of medical training?'
'Medical training?' Jones asked, astonished. 'None whatsoever. I can't stand the sight of blood. They wanted me to go on a first aid course for work but just the idea of it made me unwell. I couldn't do it.'
Ted went on, 'Mr Jones, do you have a particular preference for eye colour in women?'
The solicitor interrupted. 'Really, Inspector, what kind of a question is that? My client has been nothing but cooperative so far and you are asking him about his preference for eye colour? Can we please stick to basic facts, not speculation and fantasy.'
Ted had been watching Jones whilst the solicitor was speaking. He saw no signs of any reaction to the mention of eyes or eye colour from the man. It either had no significance for him or he was an extremely good actor.
Jones sighed wearily and his voice was resigned. 'I don't mind answering,' he said. 'I want to cooperate in any way I can, to bring an end to this total nightmare so I can get out of here. My wife has green eyes, very cold green eyes, so I like eyes that are warm and inviting. I don't recall what colour eyes that poor girl had, it wasn't that sort of a relationship. I just paid her to do the business. Whatever her eye colour, she was a lot kinder to me than my wife ever was. Above all, she didn't laugh at me.'
Ted felt his heart go out to the insignificant little man across the table from him. He sounded so dejected. He sincerely hoped he could find enough evidence to clear him as he didn't believe he was guilty of killing anyone. But he wouldn't be doing his job properly if he didn't investigate each and every lead, and Jones wouldn't be the first seemingly mild-mannered and hen-pecked husband to turn out to be a murderer.
His evident self-loathing at going with prostitutes co
uld well be motive enough to explain the killing of Maggie Fielding. How he fitted into the Vicki Carr case Ted was not yet sure, but he needed to keep him in custody until all the search and test results were in, at least.
'Mr Jones, I am hoping to have results back very shortly, when I will talk to you again. In the meantime I am afraid you are going to be held a little longer,' Ted told him, as he and Sal left the room.
The test results from Jones' car were waiting for him when he got back to his desk. They told him absolutely nothing he didn't know already. They backed up Jones's story of his brief encounter with Maggie Fielding in the car but there was no trace of blood at all and certainly not of the quantity which would have been left by her having her throat cut in the car.
The house search had thrown up nothing, either, certainly no trace of the girl's presence at the house either alive or dead.
He went in to see the DCI to bring him up to speed. 'We're going to have to let him go, Jim,' he said, 'we have absolutely nothing to justify keeping him any longer and his brief is already getting very twitchy. I think he really is what he appears to be, a sad little man whose wife doesn't put out, so he pays for what he can get on street corners but probably wouldn't hurt a fly.'
'Bad business, Ted,' the DCI shook his head. 'He came in of his own free will, trying to be helpful and he's been treated like a criminal.'
'We had to check out his story thoroughly, Jim,' Ted said, aware that the DCI felt compromised because of his links to Jones. 'I'll go and tell him the good news and I'll be as diplomatic as I possibly can. I suspect he will be so relieved to be off the hook he won't even think of making a fuss.
'But then we're back to square one, because if it's not Jones, then who the hell is it?'
Chapter Twenty-eight
Trev was sitting at the kitchen table, deeply absorbed in a technical motorcycle manual in Japanese, one of his languages, when Ted got home.
'Club tonight?' he asked, without looking up.
