by K. J. Frost
“How’s that working out?”
He smirks. “It was going very nicely, thank you. But now you’re here…”
I’m familiar with Edgar Prentice from his days at the Yard and, although our paths haven’t crossed that often, I know him to be excellent at his job – thorough and meticulous. When I hadn’t seen him around for a while, I’d assumed he’d taken early retirement, but it seems not.
He glances at the body by our feet.
“I’ll get on, shall I?” he says and I move out of the way while he gets to work with his powders and brushes. Within fifteen minutes he’s finished and stands up, looking at me. “Nothing. Just like the last one.”
“I’m not surprised. Thanks for coming, Edgar.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure,” he replies, “but in the circumstances…” he glances down at the body and then looks at me. We don’t need to say anymore and, with a rather sad smile, he departs.
“Doctor Wyatt?” I call out and he approaches.
“Yes?”
“Was she virgo intacta?” I ask. “Prior to the assault?”
“It looks that way. There is a small amount of blood…”
I hold up my hand to silence him. “Thank you.” I stand and look down at her just as Ellis comes back over to me.
“I’ve sent a couple of men to start the house-to-house,” he says.
“Fine. Who discovered the body?”
He nods towards a man who’s standing up on the roadside, talking to one of the uniformed constables. He looks about sixty, is wearing a long winter coat, and has a border collie on a lead, sitting dutifully beside him. “That gent up there,” he says. “Name of Charles Winters.”
“Right. I’m going to speak with him,” I reply. “In the meantime, get the photographer in and make sure he gets some pictures of the earth around her head and feet.”
“Yes, sir.’
“And then you can release the body. Alright?”
He nods and I turn away and clamber up the bank to stand in front Mr Winters.
“I’m Detective Inspector Stone,” I explain, taking in his pale complexion and the way his eyes keep darting back towards the riverbank. “I’m sure you’ve gone through what happened numerous times already, but would you mind telling me?” As I’m talking, I lead him away from the scene, so he won’t have to see the girl being put onto the stretcher and taken away.
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“What time did you discover the body?”
“That would have been about six-thirty, maybe a quarter to seven,” he says.
“And what were you doing out at that time of the morning?”
“Well…” He hesitates.
“Mr Winters?”
“I was walking the dog.” I don’t understand his dithering.
“Is there a reason you didn’t want to tell me that?” I ask.
He blushes to the roots of his greying hair. “I’m not supposed to have a dog,” he replies, self-consciously.
“Why?”
“The flats where we live – my wife and I – they don’t allow pets.”
“But you’ve got a dog?” It’s not an easy pet to conceal and I think my incredulity must show.
“She’s not ours,” he says, patting the collie gently on the head. She looks up, doe-eyed and nuzzles into his leg. “She belongs to our daughter… But she’s had to go into hospital, so we said we’d have the dog, just for a few days. I’ve been sneaking her out for walks early in the morning and late at night, just so the neighbours won’t see.”
I nod my head. “I see. So, you were walking the dog and you came across the body?”
“Well, Trixie did,” he says.
“Trixie being the dog?”
“Yes. She ran down the bank and started barking. To start with, I just thought it was a pile of old clothes… and then I saw…”
“Yes.” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. I’ve seen it all for myself. “Have you given your address to anyone, in case we should need to question you further?”
“Yes. The constable took it.”
“Very good. Well, I think you can go.”
He nods. “Thank you. Although heaven knows how I’m going to sneak this one into the flat now… I usually like to get her back home before seven…”
“I can get one of my men to take you back, if you like?”
“I suppose they could drop me round the back. We could maybe creep in that way.” He looks up at me. “Mind you, a police car parking up might be even more noticeable than a dog, don’t you think?”
I see his point. Glancing around, I spy Sergeant Tooley out of the corner of my eye and call him over. He wasn’t working here when I was last at Kingston, but in a way, he seems to be like part of the furniture and in that sense, he reminds me of my father. Tall, and barrel chested, with greying hair, he’s a desk sergeant, right down to his boots, commanding respect from his fellow officers and the public alike.
“Sir?” he says, as he approaches. I reach into my pocket for my keys.
“Can you do me a favour and take Mr Winters home?” I ask.
“Certainly, sir. I’ll arrange a car.”
“That won’t be necessary. Take him yourself… in mine.” I nod towards my car, parked a little further down the road.
“You want me to take him… in your car?” Tooley smiles.
“Yes. We’re trying to sneak the dog back in,” I explain, throwing him the keys at the same time. “So be subtle.”
“In a bright red MG?”
“Well, it’s better than a police car,” I point out.
“I suppose…” Tooley shrugs and moves away.
“Tooley?” I call after him. He turns around. “Don’t scratch it.”
“Sir.”
“Where’s he going?” Ellis asks, coming over.
“He’s just taking Mr Winters home.”
“In your car?”
“Yes. It’s a long story.” I turn to face him properly. “The doctor’s gone?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“In that case, organise a thorough search of the area.”
“Yes, sir.”
He goes to move away. “Ellis?” I call him back.
“Yes?”
“How’s your hangover this morning?”
He comes and stands in front of me again. “I wasn’t that drunk,” he replies. “And besides, I don’t get hangovers.”
“Hmm. I’ve got no idea what was going on last night, but try and control yourself a bit better in future, will you? And it would have been nice to know that you live in the same road as the Templetons,” I add, with just a hint of reproach in my voice.
“Sorry, sir,” he replies meekly. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“It probably isn’t.” I soften just fractionally. “Just try not to spring any more surprises on me. Alright?”
“Yes, sir. Shall I get on now, sir?”
“Yes… please.”
“Sir?”
I flip around at the sound of the familiar voice coming from behind me, and see Sergeant Thompson walking over from a parked police car. This is just what I need…
“Yes?” I reply. What’s he doing here?
“Inspector Styles telephoned me,” he explains once he’s standing in front of me.
“And?”
“And he suggested I come over here to see if I can be of any service. So… what do you want me to do?”
“Go home?”
I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. I stare at his hand until he releases me.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
“I apologise,” he says. “But don’t you think you’re being a bit childish?”
“Excuse me?”
He swallows. “You’re being childish, Rufus—”
“We may have been on first name terms once upon a time—”
“We were a lot more than that… we were f
riends,” he interrupts.
“Yes, but those days are long past,” I say, moving closer to him. “And you know why. Now… you need to be very careful about what you’re saying. And you need to go home.”
He stares into my eyes, unflinching. “I can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because Inspector Styles ordered me to come over here and help out.”
“Fine.” I raise my voice. “You can take charge of traffic control.”
I turn around and walk away without waiting for his response. It strikes me as the safer option, being as the alternative is to punch him.
I find Ellis down by the river, overseeing the search and, as he sees me, he comes up, standing beside me. “I forgot to tell you, with everything that’s happened, I started looking into our friend Johnson… from Hawker’s?” He seems to think I may have forgotten the man.
“And?”
“And he lives at home still. He’s never married and I can’t find evidence of a serious relationship.”
“I see. That’s all you’ve got?”
“Yes, sir. So far, anyway. I was going to continue with it next week.”
I glance over his shoulder and see Sergeant Tooley returning with my car, thankfully intact. “Everything seems to be under control here. I’m just going to the station for a while.”
“Sir?”
“Thompson’s here now. The two of you can manage things between you. Meet me back at the office when you’re finished.”
“Very well,” he says. He seems confused, but I’m not going to explain. I need to get away for a while. I need to think… and I also don’t relish the idea of seeing Harry Thompson at every turn.
The main office is almost empty, other than a couple of men I’ve seen working with Styles on his case. I don’t know their names and I don’t need to.
“Where’s Inspector Styles?” I ask them.
“In his office, sir,” one of them replies.
“Thank you.”
I go over to Styles’ office and knock once, waiting for him to call out, “Enter”, before pushing the door open.
“Ahh, Stone,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“As well as can be expected,” I reply evasively, closing the door behind me. “Can I speak to you?”
“Certainly.” He puts down his pen and sits back, staring up at me. “Take a seat,” he offers and I do so, just as he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t need Harry Thompson working on this case.” I can’t see the point in beating about the bush. “I explained already that I was happy with Ellis. That stands.”
He leans forward, his elbows resting on the edge of his desk. “I’m not taking Ellis away,” he says, “but your case just got a lot bigger… and my arson matter is almost concluded, so I don’t need Thompson anymore. I thought he’d explained this to you?”
“He did.”
Styles looks puzzled. “Then, I don’t understand.”
“I can mange perfectly well without him,” I say, a little desperately.
“I disagree. I realise you’re from Scotland Yard and you think that makes you better than the rest of us—”
“It’s nothing to do with that,” I interrupt. “I’ll take help. I just won’t take it from Harry Thompson.”
Styles sits back again. “Care to explain why?”
“No. It’s personal.”
He nods. “Sorry, but that won’t do. Either give me a bloody good reason why he can’t be on your team, or he stays.”
I huff out a sigh and stand up. “Fine. He can stay. But don’t expect me to be pleased about it.”
I turn to leave. “I don’t know what your problem is, Stone,” Styles says, stopping me in my tracks, “but you should be aware of the fact that Thompson is the best sergeant we’ve had in CID here since… well, since you left, actually. So, I strongly suggest you try and get on with him.”
I stare at him, my hand on the door knob. “I’m perfectly well aware of how good he is at his job… I suppose I’ll just have to remember not to introduce him to my girlfriend this time, won’t I?” I’ve let my guard drop and I regret it almost immediately, wishing I could take back the sarcastic comment.
Styles looks at me for a moment, and then laughs. “I should have known there’d be a woman behind this,” he says. “Sit down.”
I want to remind him that we’re the same rank and I don’t have to take orders from him, but I’m too tired to be petty. I sit down again and face him. After a minute or so of silence, he says, “Going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?”
I smile at him. “You could try.”
He grins then opens the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. “I usually find this works better anyway,” he says, pouring two small measures… well, it is still quite early in the day. I take one of the glasses from him and find myself sipping a very good single malt. The man has taste. “So, you introduced him to your girlfriend?” he prompts.
“No. I didn’t actually. He met her without my help.”
“I see. And?”
“And she wasn’t my girlfriend either. She was my fiancée.” He nods, but says nothing. “I didn’t exactly catch them in the act,” I continue, taking another sip of whisky, “but it was close enough.”
“Ouch,” he replies, wincing.
“You could say that.”
“What hurt more?” he asks, after studying me for a moment.
“Sorry?”
“Well, I’m assuming he was a friend of yours?”
“Yes. Well, I thought he was, anyway.”
He nods. “So, what hurt more. Her betrayal, or his?”
I’ve never really thought about that before, although I don’t know why. He’s right, though. Before it happened, Harry and I had been very good friends. What he did – what they did – ruined that for me and, if I’m being honest, that did hurt. Whether it hurt more than Victoria’s infidelity, I’m not sure… but it hurt, nonetheless.
“It’s in the past,” Styles says, not waiting for an answer.
“I know. I’d just prefer it if I didn’t have to look at my past every day, if that’s all the same to you.”
He smiles. “Things change. People change,” he says. “He’s been married for over five years now. They’ve got a child.”
Over five years? So he married her then… Why am I surprised? I’m not really, not when I think it through. But I am relieved. Because if I’d married her, I’d never have had a chance to be with Amelie. And I’ve got that. I’ve got a chance, if nothing else. And I know that, if I take it, we’ll be a hundred times happier than Victoria and I could ever have been. Maybe Victoria and Harry are happy together and if they are, good luck to them. I let out a long breath, feeling the last dregs of hostility leave my body. “Forget we ever had this conversation,” I say quietly to Styles.
He raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” he replies.
“I need to grow up and put it behind me.”
“Well, I don’t know I’d have put it that way myself.”
“No, but I would.” I smile across at him, finishing my whisky in one gulp. “I can’t guarantee to be his best friend, but I’ll work with him, and I’ll be professional about it.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.” He offers his hand, which I shake.
“And now…” I say, standing up again. “I’d better get on.”
When I go back out into the main office, a few of the junior officers are already back and, by the time I’ve assembled all the paperwork, they’re joined by Ellis and Thompson.
I go straight over to them. “Has either of you called on the family?” I ask.
“Yes,” Thompson replies. “That’s where we’ve just come from.”
“And?”
“And there’s no-one at home. The neighbours say Mrs Middlemas is a widow and she’s gone to stay with her sister at Gravesend.”
“Marvellous.” I turn to Ellis.
“Get on to the local force down there, will you?” He nods his head. “See if they can help us track her down and ask them to send someone round to break the news.”
He hurries over to his desk, and I take the chance to gather everyone around.
“I’m afraid we’re going to be on this all weekend,” I tell them. “And all leave is cancelled until we find this man. He’s struck three times in as many weeks, so we need to get to the bottom of this, and we need to do it quickly.”
I pin up photographs of the victims on a board, and lay out the pieces of evidence we’ve got, which don’t amount to much, talking them all through what we know so far, because most of the men standing in front of me are new to this team, including Thompson. Once that’s complete, I set a couple of the junior officers to work on collating the evidence from the Middlemas case, while two others type up the notes from the house-to-house enquiries. Then I turn to Thompson and Ellis, who has rejoined the group.
“Grab a spare chair and join me in my office,” I say going in ahead of them.
“Do we have any suspects at all?” Thompson asks once the door is closed. It seems I’m not the only one who’s decided to forget our earlier altercation. His voice and demeanour are entirely professional and I sit down in my chair with the two of them opposite, looking across the desk at me.
“At the moment, the only person we’re really focusing on is one of the designers over at Hawker’s… a man named Johnson. But even then, there are problems.”
“Such as?” Thompson asks.
“Such as, he didn’t know Ursula Franklin or Gloria Middlemas.” Ellis gets in an answer before I can say anything.
“Well, according to him, he didn’t know Beth Templeton either,” I point out.
Thompson looks at me. “So these were just random women that he picked up? The fact that Beth Templeton worked in the same factory as him and was about to become his assistant, is a pure coincidence?”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“No. Neither do I,” he says. “Are we absolutely sure there’s no connection between the victims?”
“It didn’t look like there was when we were dealing with just the first two, because they’re from such different backgrounds, but now…”
