by K. J. Frost
“Don’t be mischievous,” I tell her, leading Amelie towards the kitchen table, which is laid for lunch.
Mother opens the Aga door, pulling out a perfectly cooked toad in the hole, with beautifully risen, crispy Yorkshire pudding surrounding browned sausages, while Issa drains some carrots, topping them with a small knob of butter, and we sit down to eat.
Luckily, I managed to keep mother off the topic of my love life during lunch, and we talked about the case instead. I’m not sure Amelie found that any more comfortable, but I felt that my mother was entitled to know the full reason for Amelie’s sudden presence in her and Aunt Issa’s house. As soon as they realised the danger she’d been in, they became solicitous for her welfare, which was encouraging, as I know they’ll take especially good care of her in my absence.
Unfortunately, the time for my departure arrives much more quickly than I’d like and, before long, we’re all standing outside once more. Aunt Issa is going to take me back to the station, while Amelie remains with my mother.
“You’ll be alright,” I say to Amelie, taking her to one side. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t have complete confidence in that. I know my mother and Aunt Issa are a bit… unusual… but they mean well.”
She nods. “I know.” She looks down at her clasped hands. “I—It won’t be the same without you,” she mutters.
“You will be safe,” I reiterate.
She looks up at me and goes to open her mouth, but closes it again, and I wonder for a moment whether it wasn’t her safety she was thinking about just then.
“We need to leave, Rufus,” Aunt Issa calls from behind me.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Amelie. “I’ll call you whenever I can.”
“And you’ll come back soon?” she asks.
“Yes. I promise.”
My mother comes over. “You really do need to leave, Rufus, or you’ll miss your train.”
“Yes.” I wish I could kiss Amelie goodbye, but I can’t. Not now. Not in front of my mother. She’d have kittens… well, she’d have a field day, anyway. “Take care,” I whisper to Amelie.
She nods and I pull away from her. My mother moves in and stands beside her, linking arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s alright,” she says.
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” I tell her, smiling and leaning down to kiss her goodbye on the cheek. “Just behave yourself.”
“Yes,” Amelie says, a little uncertainly.
“I was talking to my mother, not you,” I reply and they both laugh.
“Oh… I’ve got plans for Amelie,” my mother says. I roll my eyes heavenwards, fearful of what she’s got in mind. “Now… go,” she adds and I turn, giving Amelie one last wave as I get into the car beside Issa.
“She will be alright you know,” she says as she reverses down the driveway and out onto the road, without bothering to check whether there’s any traffic coming. I’m starting to wonder if I should be more concerned about myself, and whether I’ll make it to Taunton station in one piece.
Chapter Eighteen
It has to be tonight. There’s no alternative. It has to be…
For once, my mother has been truly obliging. She got one of her headaches and took herself off to bed early, so I was able to creep out of the house by eight o’clock, wearing George’s uniform, and making quickly for The Fox.
I make a point of buying my pint from the landlord’s wife, and I choose my moment carefully, selecting a time when she’s particularly busy and I know she won’t be paying much attention to who she’s serving. She won’t remember me from the next person. Then I settle myself at a table not too far from the bar, but with my back to it, so no-one notices me listening to conversations. I can also see the main entrance from here, so I know who’s coming and going. It’s the perfect spot, and I’ve only been here for about fifteen minutes when a petite redhead catches my eye. She’s not in uniform herself, but I’m close enough to the bar to overhear her telling the landlord’s wife that she’s just joined the ATS, and that she’s going away next weekend. She makes a point of explaining that she wouldn’t normally have come out on her own, not after the warnings they’ve been putting in the newspapers, but she’s expecting some friends to join her in the pub later on, to celebrate and give her a send-off.
As soon as I hear that, I know I have to move quickly. Fortunately for me, after just a few sips of her drink, she asks where the Ladies’ toilets can be found and is given directions. I take my chance and, keeping my back to the bar as best I can, I follow the redhead, making my way down the short corridor that leads to the facilities.
She disappears into the Ladies’ and I stand outside, pretending to read the signs and posters on the noticeboard opposite.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I say, deliberately bumping into her as she comes out of the door a few minutes later.
“No damage done,” she replies, smiling up at me.
I glance up and down the corridor, just to make sure there’s no-one else about.
“Did I hear you say you’ve just joined the ATS?” I ask, before she can move away.
“Yes,” she replies, her brow furrowing. I suppose she’s a little suspicious of a man who eavesdrops on someone else’s conversations.
“Oh,” I say quickly. “I wondered, because my sister’s been with them for a month or so now.”
Her face clears and she smiles again. “Really? Does she like it?”
“Oh yes.” I check left and right again. “I say… I was just going out the back for a cigarette. It’s very hot in there.” I nod towards the bar. “Would you like to join me?”
“I’d better not,” she says, taking a half step away, “I’m expecting some…”
I don’t give her a chance to finish her sentence. I’m bored with this conversation anyway. I grab her, twisting her around and putting my hand firmly over her mouth. She makes a slight squeal of terror, but it’s too noisy in the bar for anyone to have noticed.
“Shut up and stop struggling,” I whisper directly in her ear. “I’ll only hurt you so much more…” She stills and I feel the fear course through her.
There’ll be no sweet talking this time, no introducing myself with a false name, no buying her drinks, or seeing her home. I’m going to take what I came for and leave… by myself.
*****
My journey back has been arduous, to say the least. The train was held up near Reading for over an hour, to allow for troop movements. As a result of that, by the time I’ve called in at my flat, collected my clothes and made the drive back to Molesey, it’s just before ten o’clock when I park up outside Aunt Dotty’s house. I’m just wondering whether it’s worth me showing my face at The Fox this evening, when I hear my own name being called and I turn to see Aunt Dotty herself standing at the doorway, the lights turned out behind her, her outline visible in the moonlight. For a horrible moment, I wonder if something’s happened to Amelie.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, running up the steps.
“I’ve got a message for you,” she says.
“You have?”
“It’s from a Sergeant Tooley.” My fears for Amelie disappear. If it had been anything to do with her, the message would have come from my mother or Aunt Issa. A message from Sergeant Tooley can only mean one thing, and I feel my fists clench involuntarily by my sides.
“When did he call?” I ask her.
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Okay. And where do I need to go?”
“The Fox public house.” I unclench my fists, as my heart falls to my shoes.
“The Fox?” I repeat.
“Yes,” she says softly. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. Thank you.” I run back down the steps and pick up my extra clothes, which I threw into a bag, taking them back to her. “Can you put these in my room?” I ask.
“Of course.”
I quickly remove my coat and hand that to her as well, taking my jacket
back and pulling it on. I’ll get too hot in the coat.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I tell her. “So don’t wait up.”
She nods and I run back down the steps, getting into my car once more. Obviously, I could walk to The Fox fairly quickly, but I might need my car later on, so I’m going to take it with me now to save time.
As I pull away from the kerb, I wonder whether I’ve really messed up properly this time. I left an inexperienced officer – Ellis – in charge of surveillance at The Fox, while I went off making sure Amelie was safe. Should I have done that? I put my personal life first for once, but in doing so, have I caused another death?
I pull up outside the pub, finding a space amidst the police cars, and go inside unchallenged.
There are a lot of people in here – members of the public as well as police officers – but it only takes me a second to spot Ellis. He’s over by the bar, standing beside Sergeant Thompson and the two of them seem to be having a heated discussion.
“What’s going on?” I ask, as I approach them.
“Oh… you’re here,” Ellis says, turning to me.
“Yes. I’m here. Now answer the question. What’s going on? Why is nobody manning the door?”
Ellis blushes. “Sorry, sir. I’ll go and see to it right away.”
He goes off and I turn to Thompson. “What’s happened?” I ask. “And don’t state the blindingly obvious. I realise there’s been another murder, so just give me the salient points.”
He nods his head. “I’ll take you to her,” he says, leading me out to the back of the pub, down the corridor where the telephone is, past the toilets and through a door that gives onto a dank alleyway. “At the back,” he says, closing the door behind us, standing still and pointing.
I move further down the alley and even in the moonlight, I can see the few wooden beer crates that have been knocked over. Beside them lies the body of a young woman – not in uniform this time, but wearing a skirt and jumper, both of which have been pushed up, exposing her. I crouch beside her, taking a look at her molested body. While I can see that she’s been strangled, I can also see some cuts and bruises to her face and body.
“He beat her?” I turn to Thompson.
“Looks that way.”
I ball my fists once more. “Where’s the police surgeon?”
“He’s been called.”
I nod my head and return to my inspection of the body. Taking out my handkerchief, I use it to protect my fingers while I open her handbag and search inside for her identity card, holding it up to the moonlight and just about making out her name, which is Doris Cole.
“And where’s Ellis?” I enquire, standing up again and going back towards Thompson.
“Here, sir.” Ellis comes out through the door, right on cue. It’s a tight squeeze with all three of us out here, but I don’t care.
“Where the hell were you?” I ask him.
He looks up at me, then swallows and takes a breath. “With all due respect, sir… where the hell were you? You were meant to be here too.”
I’m stunned by his reply, but try and hide it, glancing over at Thompson, who’s not doing such a good job of disguising his reaction, his open mouth and staring eyes giving away his shock at Ellis’s outburst.
“Sergeant Thompson,” I say, turning to him.
“Sir?” He stands to attention, seemingly worried about what’s coming next.
“I want you to witness everything that’s about to be said here. Do you understand?” As I’m speaking, I turn back to Ellis, who gulps and, even in the moonlight, seems to pale noticeably, realising that in saying those words, I’ve gone from treating him informally, to making this official.
“Yes, sir,” Thompson replies.
“Where were you?” I ask Ellis again.
He hesitates for a moment, then replies, “In the pub,” his tone still somewhat resentful.
“Be precise, Sergeant,” I snap.
“I was by the bar, watching the main door,” he says. “We were told the murderer would take a woman – probably one in uniform – out through the main door, so that’s what I was looking out for.”
To a certain extent, I can’t argue with him. Those were the basic instructions we issued at the briefing, based on the fact that our murderer has done that every other time.
“Did you notice any uniformed men in the pub?” I ask him.
“Lots,” he replies. “The place was full of them. It was hard to keep track of them all.”
I look at him for a moment. It’s hard not to blame him, but at the same time, it’s equally difficult not to blame myself.
“Go and see if you can find the police surgeon,” I say to him and, after a moment’s hesitation, he goes back through the door.
“When I arrived,” I say to Thompson as soon as Ellis has gone, “it looked like the two of you were arguing. What was that about?”
He looks down at his feet, then back to me. “Ellis wanted to take charge of the scene,” he says quietly. “But I didn’t think he should.” He takes a step nearer and lowers his voice still further. “For one thing, I’m the more senior officer, having been a sergeant for longer… but more importantly, he’d been here when the crime was committed. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea for him to be in charge of things, pending your arrival.”
“No… you were right.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t put anyone on the door,” he adds. “Only Ellis was making such a fuss, I didn’t get the chance.”
I nod my head in understanding. “Can you go and see the landlord? His name is Dennis Wilberforce. His wife is Agnes. Ask them if they noticed anything, if they saw this young woman with anyone in particular…” I pause for a moment. “And check that they saw Ellis here earlier as well, will you?”
Thompson nods and leaves, bumping into the police surgeon and Ellis, who are just coming the other way.
“Inspector Stone,” the doctor says by way of greeting.
“She’s down there,” I tell him, pointing to the body.
He makes his way towards her and crouches down, coming back just a few minutes later.
“I can’t tell you much,” he says. “She’s been dead no more than two or three hours.”
“So, no earlier than seven o’clock,” I suggest and he nods his head. “Did she put up a fight?” I ask.
“I take it you’re referring to the bruises and cuts?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He shrugs. “I’d need to see her in better light than this, to see whether she’s got any other marks on her, showing she resisted him, but it could just be that he’s getting a thrill out of hitting them now…” His voice fades, and then he looks up at me. “Catch this bastard will you, Stone? I’m getting fairly sick of looking at the bodies of abused young women.”
“So am I… believe me.” I give the signal for the body to be removed and Ellis and I inspect the area in silence, not that it tells us anything.
Thompson comes back out just as we’re finishing. “Well?” I ask him, but he gives me an odd look, tilting his head towards Ellis at the same time. “Ellis,” I say and he turns to face me. “I want you to go and start interviewing the customers inside. Make sure we’ve got full names and addresses of everyone, and once they’ve given a statement, you can let them go.”
He nods his head and scurries away.
“What?” I say to Thompson once we’re alone again.
“I’ve spoken to Mr Wilberforce and his wife. He told me that it’s been busy all evening. Evidently they had a problem in the cellar with one of the barrels, or something, just after opening time, so he was down there sorting that out. He came up at about seven-thirty, or maybe just after and noticed that neither you nor Sergeant Ellis were sitting in your usual places. He asked his wife if she’d seen you, and she said no, so they assumed the surveillance had been called off and got on with serving customers. Mrs Wilberforce remembers serving the victim at about eight-thirty or thereabouts, an
d her saying that she’d just joined the ATS, but they both said there were a quite a few men in uniform, and neither of them noticed anyone in particular going near her.”
“Quite a few?” I pick up on his phrase. “Not ‘lots’ as Ellis suggested?”
“No. They actually said there were less service personnel in than usual tonight.” He gives me another strange look.
“When was the body found?” I ask him, still processing the fact that Ellis’s story doesn’t seem to tally with the landlord’s and that he wasn’t where he said he was – well, not at seven thirty, anyway.
“Just before nine-thirty, when the landlord went out the back to get rid of some empties.”
“Did he knock over the beer crates?” I ask.
“He says he didn’t. He says that’s what alerted him to there being something wrong. He always stacks them up, but they’d been knocked over, so he went to take a look, and saw the young lady.”
“And he didn’t move anything?”
Thompson shakes his head. “He went straight back inside, had a quick look around to see if you or Sergeant Ellis had arrived, and when he couldn’t see you, he telephoned London Road, like you’d told him to the other day.”
“I assume Ellis was here when you arrived, being as you were arguing with him?”
“Yes.”
“What time was that?” I ask him.
“About nine forty-five. I ran down here from The Plough, after Tooley phoned me there.”
We stare at each other for a minute, then I lean back against the wall.
“It can’t be him,” Thompson says eventually, his voice a mere whisper.
“Can’t it?” I reply.
He turns to face me. “All of them?”
I take a moment. “I don’t see why not. Obviously I don’t know as much about the first case, and I didn’t see the body or the scene, but I don’t see why he couldn’t have committed the others. He’s the right build, right hair colour…”
Thompson nods very slowly. “Is it possible for a man to rape and kill these women, and then calmly investigate their deaths in the way he has?”
