by K. J. Frost
“Really?”
“Yes.” She looks at me, frowning. “But that doesn’t make him a murderer, if that’s the way your imagination’s going.”
“I’m not entirely sure where my imagination’s going,” I reply, unwilling to reveal my innermost thoughts, or my feelings when Templeton was comforting Amelie.
“You have to bear in mind how difficult it’s been for Gordon, living with Millicent all these years,” Dotty continues a little absently, returning to her sketch. “Of course, it was terribly sad when she lost their first child at birth, and then they told her she couldn’t have any more.”
I let this piece of information settle into my brain.
“Wait a minute… what about Beth?”
“Oh, she was adopted,” she replies, glancing up at me. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.” I wonder why.
“Well, given what went on, I imagine that’s why Millicent eventually became a bit… unhinged, if you get my meaning. We never knew the whole story, but to lose a child like that…” she continues, her voice little more than a whisper. “I imagine it’s very traumatic.”
“Yes.” I’m still struggling to get my thoughts together, taking on board that Beth wasn’t Gordon’s natural daughter. Does this change anything? Would he behave differently towards her? And why didn’t he tell me himself?
“Of course, they adopted Beth quite soon afterwards, and for a while I think everything in the garden was rosy, but then something went wrong. I don’t know what happened, but Millicent took to her bed. From what Samuel used to tell me, I believe Gordon did a lot to try and help her in the first few years after her breakdown,” Dotty adds. “But then it all got too much, and that’s when he started seeing this other woman.”
“Girl,” I correct.
She smiles. “You’re terribly old fashioned sometimes, aren’t you?”
“Very probably.”
“You do realise your mother was only eighteen when she fell in love with your father, don’t you?”
“Yes. But Father wasn’t married to someone else at the time.”
“Hmm… you have a point.” At that moment, Ethel re-appears, carrying a small tray, on which she’s placed a plate of cut ham sandwiches and two cups of tea. “Perfect,” says Aunt Dotty, making some space on her table for Ethel to put the tray down. “Just what we needed.” She looks up at me. “Help yourself, Rufus,” she offers, and I saunter over and pick up a sandwich. “What’s troubling you?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s bothering at you. I can tell. What is it?”
“It… it’s just that there’s another young woman living in that house,” I start to explain.
“There is?” she says, then stops and thinks for a moment. “Oh yes, the daughter of some officer chum, or other, wasn’t it? I remember Samuel telling me about it. The chap died and left the girl an orphan, or something?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
“And?”
“And she’s very young too.”
“How young?” Dotty asks.
“Nineteen.”
“And you’re worried about her?”
I nod my head, but don’t reply.
“I see.” She gets up and turns, putting her sketch pad and pencil down on her seat, then comes over and stands directly in front of me. “Don’t be,” she says. “I’m sure you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, not where Gordon is concerned. I only really knew him as a boy. But Samuel and I both knew his father, who was a thoroughly decent chap, and in my experience, the apple never falls too far from the tree. So, stop fretting.” She takes a half step closer. “Unless you’ve got another, more personal reason for being concerned about this young lady?” A slow smile forms on her lips and her eyes twinkle, and I can’t help smiling back, before I shake my head and take a bite out of my sandwich.
I never could hide anything from Aunt Dotty.
Chapter Nine
It may be chillier today, but it’s still quite nice to sit down by the river. I’ve always rather liked it here, and have often escaped to this quiet bench during my lunch break, if work and the weather permit. I’ve brought the newspaper with me and, thumbing through it, I notice that the murder hasn’t even made the front page today and I sit back, thinking about how quickly I’ve become yesterday’s news.
I glance up, looking down the path which leads along the bank of the river, and catch the eye of a woman walking towards me. She looks away quickly, but I let my eyes roam down her body from the top of her blonde head, to her rather inappropriately high heeled shoes. Although she’s not in uniform, she’s very young and innocent-looking, which is just perfect for my requirements – except it’s the middle of the day and this is a fairly public place. And I’m not that daring… even if she is really rather tempting.
*****
I take the stairs to the second floor, two at a time, not bothering to stop off at my own office, and I walk straight into Meredith’s outer sanctum, where his secretary looks up sharply.
“Is he in?” I ask.
“If you’re referring to Chief Superintendent Meredith, then yes, he is.”
“Good. Tell him I’m here, will you.”
“What’s the name?” she asks, although I’m fairly sure she already knows.
“Stone.”
She gets up with deliberate leisure and knocks on Meredith’s door, going inside and closing it behind her. A few moments later, she’s back.
“The Chief Superintendent will see you now,” she says, standing to one side.
“Thank you.”
As I pass through to the inner office, Meredith looks up at me.
“Stone?” He’s clearly surprised to see me for the second time in just over twenty-four hours. “What can I do for you?”
I stand in front of his desk, using my height to its maximum. “You can explain to me why you felt it necessary to warn Gordon Templeton that I wanted to see him, and why you decided to advise him to leave Molesey and return to London. Your actions – and his – have made the man look guilty, even if he isn’t.”
Meredith smiles. “Take a seat, Stone,” he says, trying to humour me.
“No, thank you.” I’m enjoying being tall for the moment.
He pauses, then shrugs his shoulders. “Gordon Templeton is no more guilty than you or I. But I’m glad you’ve realised that for yourself.”
“I haven’t. That’s not what I said. I said your joint actions make him look guilty, regardless of whether he is, or isn’t. That’s in no way an admission of my own thoughts on the matter.”
“And what are your thoughts on the matter, Inspector?” His voice is stern and he makes a point of emphasising my rank.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” I reply.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m also not going to repeat myself.” I place my hands on the edge of his desk and lean forward. “You’re compromised as far as this case is concerned. You should never have involved yourself in the investigation, and the fact that, rather than keeping quiet, you chose to warn Gordon Templeton and potentially jeopardise my enquiries shows that you’re not fit for this office.”
“I beg your pardon?” he blusters, getting to his feet. I stand upright again, giving myself the benefit of at least six inches over the man.
“I’ll be telephoning the Chief Constable’s office when I get downstairs and I’ll be telling him what you’ve done. Whether he decides to discipline you, fire you, or recommend you are put out to pasture, I don’t care… but I won’t allow you anywhere near my case. Is that clear?”
“You can’t speak to me like that,” he bellows.
I turn towards the door. “I think you’ll find I just did.”
“I’ll see you back in uniform for this.” His voice is thunderous and he’s barely maintaining control.
“You can try. But you have significantly further to fall,” I remind him. “And I intend to make
sure you do.” And with that, I open the door and leave.
His secretary looks up, her face pale. I imagine she heard at least the end of that conversation, being as her boss wasn’t being entirely quiet. However, I say nothing to her and make my way back down the stairs and into my office, where I close the door in order to make my telephone call. After all, there’s no need for the whole station to know what’s going on.
Templeton and Meredith may have felt like their ‘old boy network’ held them in good stead, but I can go one better – or at least one higher. I might not have gone to school with anyone even vaguely influential, but my father – while just a lowly desk sergeant – caught the eye of the Chief Constable, when the man was a mere Chief Inspector. They became friends, and over the years, the friendship stuck. As a child, he was known to me as Uncle Frank – the ‘Uncle’ being an honorary title. In adulthood, I’ve tended to refer to him by rank, as he’s risen to the lofty heights he now inhabits, and it’s been a year or two since I’ve seen or spoken to him. But I know he’ll take my call, because it’s me. And he’ll listen to what I have to say, out of respect for my father. I sit for a moment, mentally preparing myself, and then I put through my call to the Chief Constable’s office. I’m connected a little more quickly than I’d anticipated.
“Rufus?” The voice on the other end is familiar and genial.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good to hear from you, boy. How are you?”
“Busy,” I reply, because I can’t think what else to say, and it is the truth.
“You’re down here at the moment, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I’m investigating the death of Gordon Templeton’s daughter.”
“Yes… yes. Nasty business.”
“Indeed.”
“So, how can I help?” he asks.
“It’s a bit delicate,” I reply.
“Better get it off your chest then.”
I take a breath and let it out slowly, before explaining the situation. Once I’ve finished, there’s a long silence on the end of the line; so long, I start to wonder if the call has been disconnected and I’ve been speaking to myself for the last ten minutes. I’m about to enquire whether he’s still there when he clears his throat.
“This is a serious allegation, Rufus.”
“I know. I’m investigating a serious crime.”
He doesn’t reply. I assume he’s thinking, either about what to do, or what to say to me.
“I’ve known you all your life,” he says eventually. “And not once have you asked a favour of me.”
“No, sir. And coming to you isn’t something I’ve done lightly. But this job is hard enough, without having to look over your shoulder…” I let my voice fade, unsure what to say next.
“Indeed.” There’s a pause, and then he continues, “Listen… You’re going to have to leave this with me.”
“Very well.”
“I will investigate the matter,” he adds, with sincerity, as if I could have doubted that. “And I won’t brush it under the carpet. You can be assured of that.”
“I know you won’t.”
“Good.” I hear him sigh. “I’m glad you told me about this, Rufus,” he says. “I won’t abide disloyalty on my team.”
“I think the Chief Superintendent would probably argue that he was being loyal, sir.”
“Yes… the problem is, he was being loyal to the wrong person.” He coughs. “How’s your mother?” he asks, changing the subject with practised expertise.
“She’s well, thank you. Making mischief with Aunt Issa as usual. She doesn’t even know I’m here yet. I haven’t had a chance to telephone her.”
“Well, when you do, send her my best wishes, won’t you? She invited Marion and I down for a visit, but we haven’t been able to go yet.”
“I’m sure you’d have a lovely time, sir. The countryside around their house is beautiful.”
“Yes, it’s been years since we’ve been to the West Country. We’ll have to try and get down there.”
“She’d love to see you.” She would. Mother loves to entertain – in every sense of the word.
“I’d better be getting on,” he says. “I can’t guarantee to keep you posted on my enquiries into this matter, but you can trust me to see it through.”
“I do.”
“And if there’s anything you need, just get in touch.”
“Thank you, sir.”
We finish our call and I set about typing up my notes from my interview with Templeton and Miss Foster while they’re still fresh in my mind.
I’m about half way through, when my door opens and Ellis comes in.
“Sorry I’m late back,” he says.
“I didn’t know you weren’t here.”
“I was over at The Plough,” he replies.
“Still?”
He comes in and sits down opposite me. “Well, Mrs Davies was due back at two, so I didn’t see the point in coming back here and then going all the way over there again.”
“I see.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “And?”
He pulls his notebook from his pocket, flicking through a few pages and then stopping. “On the night of the murder, she noticed a man in uniform talking to the victim, but she didn’t see her leaving. That means she didn’t know whether the man left with her.”
“What kind of uniform?” I ask.
“Oh… she couldn’t be definite. She said she only caught a glimpse of him and the light wasn’t very good,” he replies.
I nod. “There was an RAF officer mentioned in the Franklin file, but if Mrs Davies isn’t sure which service this man was in, then it’s not very helpful, especially as we don’t know whether he and Beth Templeton actually left together…”
“No, that’s what I thought.” He puts his notebook away again.
“You don’t think there’s anything else they can tell us?” I ask him.
“No, sir.” He shakes his head. “How did it go in London?” he asks.
“Well…”
A knock on the door interrupts me.
“Come in,” I call, and my shoulders drop as Harry Thompson steps into the room. He glances from me to Ellis.
“Would you mind leaving us for a minute?” he says to the sergeant.
I want to ask him who the hell he thinks he is, but I don’t. My feelings towards Thompson are my own business and I’m not about to let Ellis or anyone else share them. Ellis glances at me and I give him a quick nod.
“Wait outside,” I say to him, and he gets up and goes out of the room, closing the door behind him. Now we’re alone, I turn to Thompson.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” He stares at me, but doesn’t respond. “Well, now you’re here, what do you want?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my tone.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you since you got here,” he says, sitting down opposite me, uninvited. “This is silly, don’t you think?” It’s my turn to stare at him now. “Even if we can’t be friends again, surely we can put the past behind us and be professional about what happened, can’t we?”
“Professional?” I hiss, desperate not to raise my voice. “There was nothing professional about your behaviour six years ago. And what happened then has nothing to do with me being here now, or with this case.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I think you might have to reconsider that perspective,” he says quietly. “We’ve had a breakthrough on the arson case and it looks like an arrest is imminent…”
“I’m thrilled for you,” I say with barely disguised sarcasm.
“And once it’s over,” he continues, ignoring me, “Inspector Styles says I’m to transfer to your team.”
“What?” I stand, pushing my chair away from my desk. Thompson looks me up and down and then gets up and goes over to the door, opening it.
“I get the message that you don’t want to work with me,” he says. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to. I’d prefer it
if we could do so without any animosity. I think we’d both find it easier to get the job done. Don’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for my reply, but goes, leaving the door open. Before I have a moment to think, or to act, or to think about acting, Ellis comes back in.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing to me.”
“It’s personal.” I snap, with a finality he can’t argue over. He sits again and I follow suit, gathering my wits. “Where were we?”
“You were telling me about your visit to Mr Templeton this morning,” he says.
“Oh, yes…”
It takes me maybe half an hour to recount my interview, which is quite a good way of calming down, and while I’m explaining about the extreme youth of Abigail Foster, I notice the smirk on Ellis’s face.
“So you’re thinking we should maybe be looking at Templeton a little more closely?” he suggests.
“I don’t really know what I’m thinking.”
“Well, he does seem to have a ‘thing’ for younger women,” he replies, then pauses. “But… but surely… he wouldn’t do that to his own daughter, would he?”
“Except she’s not his daughter, not by birth.”
“She’s not?”
“She’s adopted.”
“Really?” His eyes widen and I’m reminded that, adopted or not, the girl was still his daughter.
“Ignore me,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “Of course he wouldn’t do that to her…”
“Except…” Ellis says questioningly.
“What?” I glance up at him.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” He shrugs and blushes.
“No. Tell me.”
“Well, I was just thinking… What if she’d found out about his affair? If she’d threatened to tell the mother about it, or go public in some way… well, that would ruin his career, wouldn’t it? And I’ve heard he’s rumoured to be a rising star in the Conservative Party.”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t rape her. That’s going too far, and besides, it doesn’t help with the earlier murder.” I don’t put forward my theory that Templeton might have copied the first murder. It feels even more preposterous now I’ve had time to think about it.
