by K. J. Frost
“Of course.” I follow suit, straightening my jacket.
“I’ll be perfectly alright,” Amelie says. “It’s only over the road.”
“Nonsense.” Aunt Dotty and I speak at the same time, and Amelie laughs.
“I can’t argue with both of you,” she says, standing up.
We make our way out to the hall and I collect mine and Amelie’s coats from the cupboard beside the front door, where I know Ethel will have put them, holding out Amelie’s so she can put it on. She pulls her hat and gloves from the pockets, putting them on and doing up the buttons of her coat, while I shrug mine on.
“I’ve had a lovely evening,” she says, turning to Aunt Dotty. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s been our pleasure,” Dotty beams back at her, her eyes glistening with mischief. She turns to me. “I’m going up to bed,” she says.
“Fine… I’ll take my key.”
She nods her head a little absently as I open the door, letting in a blast of cold air.
“I’ll see you soon,” Amelie says, giving Dotty a quick kiss on the cheek and going outside.
“And I’ll see you tomorrow,” I add, copying Amelie’s actions, then following her. Aunt Dotty smiles up at me, but doesn’t reply and closes the door behind us.
I open the garden gate and let Amelie out onto the pavement ahead of me, then place my hand on her elbow and guide her across the road.
“I really have had a lovely evening,” she says, looking up at me. I can see her clearly in the moonlight, and she looks beautiful – perhaps even more so than ever.
“Me too.”
She looks down as we get to the other side of the road and start along the pavement.
“Your aunt was telling me,” she says quietly, as though she’s afraid of disturbing the silence, “that you’ve tried to enlist several times.” I feel her eyes on me again and turn to look at her as we walk.
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asks. “Isn’t being a policeman a reserved occupation?”
“It is. But we can still apply for permission to enlist.”
“And you’ve tried that, have you?”
“Yes. Four times.”
“In just a few weeks?” She seems surprised.
“I’m nothing if not persistent.”
“Don’t you like your job then?” she asks.
“Yes, I do. I just want to do something more… worthwhile.”
I’m still holding her elbow and she leans into me slightly as we walk. “And you don’t think that catching the man who’s killing all these women and scaring the wits out of me is worthwhile?”
We get to the entrance to Cavendish House and I stop and turn to face her. “Yes. Yes, it is worthwhile.”
“Are you going to try again?” she asks. “To enlist, I mean?”
“No.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Do I need a reason?” I tease, smiling down at her.
She shakes her head, returning the smile. “I suppose not, no,” she says, and we start walking slowly up the driveway.
“I’ll call for you tomorrow morning at eight, shall I?” I ask her.
“If you’re sure it’s not inconveniencing you.”
“Of course not.” I let out a chuckle.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing. It’s just that, for two people who agreed not to see each other for the time being, we seem to be meeting up quite a lot.”
We get to the steps and she turns to look at me again. “That’s my fault,” she whispers, looking at a point somewhere below my chin.
“It is?”
I’m almost sure I can see her blushing, evening in the moonlight, but it just makes her look even more beautiful than she already did.
“Yes. Your aunt asked me back for a drink, and… well, I knew you’d come home eventually, and I wanted to see you.”
I can’t help smiling. “Why?”
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine and glinting in the moonlight. “Do I need a reason?” she asks, mischievously.
I chuckle again and shake my head. “No,” I reply. “But you’re spending far too much time with my aunt. She’s a bad influence…”
Amelie and I managed to keep the conversation during our journey to work centred around reports in the morning’s newspaper about the raid last week by the Luftwaffe on the Firth of Forth. It’s the first time the Germans have launched an air attack during this war, and while they’re still naming some of the Naval crew that were killed, several of the journalists are still crowing over the fact that the RAF shot down multiple enemy aircraft, without loss to our own crews, which just served to remind me that I’m still looking for an RAF pilot, or officer, or someone impersonating one of those two things, in connection with my case.
I tried not to let the enormity of that task affect my conversation with Amelie and we parted without any further teasing, which seemed like a shame, really. I enjoyed that last night. It made the earlier events of my day seem bearable. It also made me realise – if I hadn’t already – how much I need Amelie in my life, because she helps me forget how utterly bloody awful my job can be sometimes.
“Morning… sir.” Thompson is hesitant and evidently undecided as to how he should address me. I’m not surprised. I’m not sure myself yet.
“Good morning,” I reply. “I assume nothing happened last night?” I add, raising my voice and turning to Tooley, who’s on the other side of the room.
“Not a thing, sir,” he says, picking up a file from the table and leaving the room.
“That’s something, I suppose,” I remark, going through to my office.
I’ve just sat down when Thompson knocks on the door frame. “Can I have a word?” he says, leaving off the salutation altogether this time.
I nod my head and he steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as he sits down opposite me.
“Nothing. I just wanted to update you on my investigations into Keith Johnson.”
I sit back. “Okay…”
“I looked into his bank accounts, his private affairs, his work colleagues, and I couldn’t find anything amiss.”
I roll my eyes and sit forward again. “Marvellous.”
Thompson picks up a pencil from my desk and starts twirling it between his fingers. “Which is why I went to visit his mother yesterday afternoon,” he adds.
“His mother? What about the father?”
“He died some years ago, evidently.”
“I see… And?”
“And she told me that Keith was with her, at home, at the time of the last two murders.”
“Just the last two?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She was out at a Women’s Institute meeting on the night of Beth Templeton’s murder and said that Keith was at home, but obviously couldn’t prove it. And she couldn’t remember where they’d been on the evening Ursula Franklin was killed.”
“Did you believe her?” I ask him.
He nods his head. “Yes, I did.”
“So, he’s got an alibi…” I muse.
“He’s got more than an alibi,” Thompson replies.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs and puts the pencil back down again, leaning a little closer. “He came in from work while I was talking to his mother,” he explains. “And to start off with, he was fairly hostile.”
“I did warn you.”
He smiles. “I know.” He pauses, then continues, “Anyway, his mother had to leave for another W.I. meeting, and once she’d gone, he opened up a bit more.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I asked him about his secretaries. He told me the most recent one had been dismissed because she was plain useless at her job.”
“Which was what he’d told me,” I put in.
“And then I asked about the first one…”
“And?” I can feel my anticipation building, because I can tell Harry’s got something.
<
br /> “And he told me that he let her go because she made a sexual advance to him.”
“That’s what I half expected, but there’s more to it than that. He’s not married, so why didn’t he just tell her that her behaviour was inappropriate? Or did he act on it?” I ask. “And then regret it and fire her?”
“None of the above,” Thompson replies and lets out a long sigh. “It took a while, but eventually he confessed that the reason he let her go was because she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he was worried she’d discover his real secret… which is that he’s not interested in women, if you get what I mean.”
Well… I didn’t see that coming.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, after a moment’s thought. “I mean, are you certain he wasn’t making it up? Let’s face it, he’d probably rather be arrested for gross indecency than for murder.”
Thompson shakes his head. “That did occur to me,” he says, “but the man was terrified about telling me. He knows he’s breaking the law, but he was much more worried his mother would find out, and that he’d lose his position at Hawker’s. To be honest, I think he’d rather be accused of murder…”
“So, why do you think he told you? If, as you say, he’s so scared, and he knows he’s breaking the law… why confess?”
“I think he knew you weren’t going to stop asking about his secretaries, and he feared it would all come out eventually. He just wanted to be the one to tell us, rather than have someone here work it out for themselves and decide to take action against him. He told me he’d seen you in the pub last Friday and was thinking about talking to you then – unofficially, as it were – but he noticed you were with someone, and then saw Sergeant Ellis there as well, and thought better of it.”
We sit in silence for a moment, before I gather myself together. “This goes no further,” I say, looking him in the eye. “Mr Johnson has an alibi for two of the murders, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s off the hook, and there’s no need to divulge his private circumstances to anyone else.”
Thompson nods. “I’m glad you said that,” he murmurs, “because I told him that’s how you’d view it.”
There’s a knock on the door and we both sit back. “Come in,” I call and Ellis enters.
“We’re back to square one,” I say, giving him a nod.
“Sir?” he replies, and leans against the doorframe, folding his arms.
“Keith Johnson has alibis for two of the murders, so we can discount him.”
Ellis nods. “So we’re definitely looking for someone in the RAF?” he says thoughtfully.
“Or someone impersonating someone in the RAF,” Thompson replies. “Although I’m still awaiting confirmation from Salisbury police about my enquiries.”
“I assume this is about David Franklin?”
He nods. “I asked them if they had any record of him.” He pulls out his notebook and opens it, flipping through a couple of pages, then reads, “He was arrested in 1935 and 1936 for breach of the peace. On both occasions he was given a caution.”
“So he’s still living there?” I ask.
“They had an address for him, but it’s from his last arrest, so I’ve asked them to confirm it. That’s what I’m waiting to hear back about.”
“Any luck with his parents?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No sign of them in Molesey. They used to live a few doors down from their son, but they left three years ago. The neighbours don’t know where they went. His mother wasn’t the most friendly of souls, evidently. There’s no record of a death for either of them though, so we can assume they’re still around somewhere…”
“Possibly with their son?” I suggest.
He shrugs. “It’s a possibility, I suppose.”
“Let me know the minute you hear back from Salisbury,” I say to him and he nods his head
Ellis huffs out a breath and comes further into the room, resting his hands on the edge of my desk and leaning over toward Thompson. “If we take David Franklin out of the equation for now, don’t you think your impersonation theory is a bit far-fetched?” he says. Clearly he’s got a bee in his bonnet about this and has been mulling it over while Thompson and I have been talking. “That RAF station commander I spoke to yesterday said we’re more likely to find our culprit is a serving officer… Surely we should be looking in that direction, shouldn’t we? I mean, shouldn’t––”
“When the RAF station commander is running this investigation,” I interrupt, “I’ll listen to him.” Ellis stands up straight again and looks down at me. “In the meantime, we follow up every avenue of enquiry… without exception.”
I’m about to go home when Thompson comes and knocks on the doorframe of my open office.
“Salisbury have come back to me,” he says, leaning against the wall.
“I’m sensing this isn’t good news?”
“David Franklin isn’t at his old address,” he replies. “The neighbours there report that he left about two years ago and, at the moment, as far as we know, he could be anywhere.”
“So… he could be living in Molesey, then.”
“Yes. Or in the Outer Hebrides.”
“With or without his parents.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Listen to this, Kenneth,” Mother chirps, coming out into the kitchen and watching me make the tea. “‘The police, led by Detective Inspector Rufus Stone from Scotland Yard, are following up leads and are currently to be found keeping vigil each evening in all the public houses in Molesey. In the meantime, the inspector has issued a statement, warning that local women should be extra vigilant and not go out by themselves after dark…’” She lets the newspaper drop to the table and looks up at me. “What use is that?” she asks. “People can’t stay indoors forever, can they? And what if you don’t have someone to go out with?” She clasps her hand to her mouth in a dramatic fashion. “I mean… what would I do if I had to go out in the evening? I’ve got no-one to take me, have I?”
“I don’t think the murderer is targeting women of your age, Mother,” I reply, fetching the teacups from the cupboard.
“You don’t know that,” she snaps back. “He might be. And this Inspector Stone didn’t specify an age. He just said ‘women should be extra vigilant’,” she quotes, checking the wording from the newspaper again.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine, Mother. It’s not as though you go out in the evenings, is it?”
“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to now, could I? That’s the point.” She shakes her head and goes back into the living room, muttering to herself.
I need to get out. I need to find another woman. And definitely not one as old as my mother. It’s been several days now since I dumped that girl behind the police station… I smile, remembering how good that felt, but my smile soon fades as I wonder what I can do next. Whatever it’s going to be, I need to find something to draw the police away from their current investigations in the local pubs… especially that bloody Scotland Yard inspector. I need to throw him off the scent.
I’ve got a fairly good idea what to do. I just need to work out how to go about it.
*****
Thompson knocks on my door late on Friday afternoon. Earlier in the week, I decided to break my silence and give an official statement to the newspapers. Their speculations weren’t helping and, although I knew there was a risk of starting a panic, I hoped that a few comforting words might help to calm the situation and allay rising fears. So far, the plan seems to have worked. Obviously we can’t be everywhere at once, but during their observations, the men have been reporting a marked decrease in the number of women they’ve seen by themselves. Even so, the full days, followed by evenings spent on surveillance at the pubs, are starting to take their toll on all of us. My one personal comfort is that I get to drive to and from work with Amelie. At the moment, her company is what’s keeping me going.
“Come in,” I call out and Thompson does so, sitting down opposite me.
“I’ve compiled a list of all the men who are currently serving in the RAF, who either have family in the area and could stay here if they were on leave, or have been posted to within a reasonable distance – close enough that they could drive here, commit a murder and drive back again. It’s quite a substantial list.”
I nod my head. “Well done. What’s Ellis got?” I don’t bother to enquire after Franklin or his mother. I know if he had anything to report on that side of the enquiry, he’d tell me.
“He wasn’t at his desk when I came in here… But he’s been working on the names of RAF personnel who’ve died in the last six months, who have family in the area, who might therefore have a uniform lying around. Needless to say, his list isn’t looking so long.”
He’s just finished speaking when Ellis appears in the doorway.
“Finished?” Thompson asks abruptly, looking up at him. They’ve been working together for the last couple of days, even though they’re compiling separate lists, and I’ve been under the impression that they don’t really get on very well.
“Yes,” Ellis replies. “I’ve narrowed it down to RAF officers who have a male family member.” He pauses. “I didn’t see the point in looking into the ones who only had women in their families.”
Thompson nods and looks across at me, raising his eyebrows, seemingly impressed.
“Well done,” I say to Ellis, sharing my praise equally between them. I check the time and notice that it’s nearly five-thirty. “We’ll call it a night.” I’ve got to collect Amelie before six, but I don’t tell them that. “We’re due back on duty again soon.”
They nod their heads. “It doesn’t feel like we’re getting very far,” Thompson says.
“I know the feeling.” I stand. “But once we start working through those lists, hopefully something will turn up.”
I’m just about to reach for my coat when the telephone rings on my desk. For a moment, I wonder about leaving it, but I can’t, so I pick up the receiver.
“Stone,” I say, perhaps a little abruptly.
“Rufus?” I know immediately who’s on the end of the line.
