The Blackbird (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 2)

by K. J. Frost

  I bathe and dress, and quickly make some tea and toast, before going down the stairs and out of the front door, walking around the side of the block and along the front of the parade of shops. The first one is the newsagents which is directly beneath my flat and I pause, noticing the handwritten sign, for the local newspaper, screaming the day’s headlines: ‘MOLESEY MURDERER IN COURT TODAY’. I imagine this is some kind of preliminary hearing or something, as I should think his full trial would have gathered a lot more interest than this, and I wish I had time to pick up a copy. Still, I have no doubt someone at work will have one which I can read at lunchtime. And anyway, what I really want to hear is the verdict. I don’t care about all the legal arguments, or the evidence, or the witness statements. I just want to know they’re going to hang the bastard who took my precious girl from me.

  *****

  My drive to work is pleasant, if freezing cold. Don’t get me wrong, I really do like my car, but having no roof and no windows can have its disadvantages, especially in the winter months. Even with my thick coat, gloves and hat on, the wind is whistling in and biting at my skin.

  Still, I can’t stop smiling. Not today. The memory of my evening with Amelie is too fresh. It felt good to unburden myself to her and I know I slept much better than usual because of that. It wasn’t just the relief of being able to tell her about my day either. It was feeling the warmth of her body next to mine, her fingers in my hair, the kindness of her words, the softness of her lips. All of it combined to make me more relaxed, more calm, more contented than I’ve ever felt before. Judging from the look in her eyes and the way she held on to me when we said goodnight outside her house, I think she may have felt something similar.

  It’s getting harder and harder to control myself around her though, and I think she knows that after last night. I can’t help wanting more of her… well, all of her, if I’m being honest. I hate having to say goodnight to her at the end of the evening. I hate returning to an empty bed and I’d like nothing more than to wake up beside her. And that can only mean one thing; I need to stop dropping hints. I need to tell her exactly how I feel. And then I need to ask her to marry me.

  I park the car behind the London Road station and go in the back entrance, and up the stairs to my office. A few of the men are already at work and they look up, greeting me with a nod, a smile, or a, “Sir,” as I pass them by, then hang my coat and hat on the hook inside my office.

  “Inspector Stone?” I turn and find Sergeant Tooley standing at my door, his uniform pristine.

  “What can I do for you, Tooley?” I reply.

  “The Chief Constable sent word down that he’d like to see you when you got in,” he says.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He stands to one side to let me pass out of my office again and we walk together back to the main stairs. “Settling in alright, sir?” he asks as we get out into the corridor.

  “Not bad, thanks,” I reply.

  “Well, you know where I am if you need anything,” he says, going back down the stairs to the ground floor offices.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” I call after him, and turn, going up to the next floor.

  The Chief Constable, an old family friend, known better to me as Uncle Frank, is currently occupying the Chief Superintendent’s office as a temporary measure. At the moment, we don’t have anyone to fill that post, being as the previous incumbent – a man named Meredith – was encouraged to take early retirement after I put in an official complaint to Uncle Frank about him tipping off a suspect in the murder case I was sent down here to investigate. His actions were regrettable for a man of over thirty years’ service, but also reprehensible and he couldn’t really be allowed to keep his position. Fortunately, he didn’t kick up a fuss and left a couple of weeks ago. The new man, however, can’t start until the beginning of December, so Uncle Frank has been breaching the gap.

  Former Chief Superintendent Meredith’s secretary – who I now know to be called Miss Parsons – has remained in her position, however, and she looks up as I enter the outer office.

  “You can go straight in,” she says. She seems a lot less awkward now Meredith has gone and I have to ask myself how difficult he was to work for. If my experiences of the man are anything to go by, the answer to that would have to be ‘very’.

  I nod my thanks and knock on the door to the inner office, waiting until I hear the command to ‘enter’, before pushing the door open.

  The Chief Constable is sitting behind the large desk, leaning back as though he’s occupied that chair for his entire career. He looks up at me through his pale blue eyes and smiles genially.

  “Rufus,” he says, getting to his feet and offering his hand for me to shake, before he turns to the other man in the room, who also stands. He’s tall. Not quite as tall as me, but tall, nonetheless. “I’d like you to meet Chief Superintendent Webster,” he continues, introducing the stranger. I turn and we also shake hands. His grip is firm but not bone shattering.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” he says. He has an unusually deep voice, which seems to match his dark, slightly angular features, but then he smiles and I find myself warming to him instinctively. It’s an unusual sensation for me. I don’t normally get on that well with my superiors, but I feel as though this man may be the exception to that rule.

  “At last?” I query, taking the seat Uncle Frank offers with a silent gesture of his hand.

  “Yes,” Webster continues, resuming his place beside me. “I knew your father.”

  “You did?” I’m surprised.

  “Yes,” he says, smiling again. “I trained here, many years ago now, when your father was a sergeant. I suppose he’d have been about fifteen or twenty years older than me, but he was like a father-figure to a lot of us. I learned so much from him.”

  “About how to be a good policeman?” I enquire, knowing my father was up there among the best.

  “About how to be a good man,” he replies and I feel slightly humbled by that.

  “Rufus is nothing like his father,” Uncle Frank puts in and I turn to him.

  “Are you saying I’m not a good man?” I ask, smiling.

  “No.” He chuckles, his whole body rumbling and shaking. “You’re the same kind of man as your father ever was, but you’re a different kind of policeman.” For a moment, I sit in silence, wondering if that’s a criticism of my handling of the Ellis case. He immediately puts me straight. “And you’re not to take that the wrong way. I know you still feel responsible for what happened with Ellis, even if you’re not. What I meant was that your father was a sergeant, in uniform, who faced the public and served them well, day in, day out. It’s a job not a lot of us would want to do. You, on the other hand are a detective, and from what I’ve seen, you’re a very good one.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I can feel myself blush at the compliment.

  “Times have changed.” Webster seems thoughtful, sitting forward slightly in his chair. “I think I’d be concerned if you were the same kind of policeman as your father.”

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll give you grounds to question my methods from time to time,” I tell him, and he smiles genially.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he says. “I’ve heard you can be a little unconventional.”

  “It’s been known,” I reply.

  “Well, all I’m going to ask is that you get the job done… properly.” He emphasises the last word, and we both know what he means. Do the right thing. Always.

  We make polite conversation for a few more minutes before I take my leave, with Webster telling me he’s looking forward to joining us in ten days’ time. Now I’ve met him, I’m quite keen myself. I think we’ll work well together.

  Back downstairs, Thompson is waiting for me near the door to my office.

  “Are you looking for me?” I ask him.

  “Yes. I wanted to let you know that Harper and Pearce have just brought in a suspect for the factory thefts.”

  “They
have? That was good work.” When the surveillance teams were sent out yesterday, it was with the instruction that, if nothing happened, they should continue their observations this morning. It seems that might have paid off – rather more quickly than we expected.

  “I know.” He’s holding a file and hands it over to me. “His name’s John Chambers,” he says. “He’s got form.” I open the file and see that the man has served two prison sentences for burglary, the most recent of which only finished six months ago.

  “Where is he now?” I ask.

  “Harper’s keeping an eye on him in the interview room,” Thompson explains.

  I nod my head, closing the file again. “Shall we?” I suggest and let him lead the way around the corner and along the short corridor.

  Thompson opens the door to the interview room ahead of me and stops dead.

  “What the…? Harper. Step away from that man. Now.” Thompson’s voice is uncharacteristically harsh, and he quickly moves further into the room.

  Now that he’s cleared out of my line of sight, and I can see what’s going on, I’m not surprised at his tone. The suspect, John Chambers, is lying on the floor, curled in a ball, beside an overturned chair, one hand clasped over his head, the other clutched to his stomach, and although Harper has moved away to the other side of the room, the expression on the young PC’s face speaks volumes.

  “What’s going on here?” I focus on Harper, who looks very different out of uniform, in casual trousers and a short jacket. He stares at me for a moment, while Thompson rights the chair, then helps Chambers to his feet and sits him down in it.

  “Nothing’s going on,” Harper replies eventually. Thompson crouches down in front of the suspect, checking him for injuries.

  “Then what was this man doing on the floor?” I ask, nodding towards Chambers.

  “He fell,” Harper says, giving me a slight smile.

  “I think you mean ‘he fell, sir’, don’t you?” I glare at him.

  Harper pauses for a moment, then says, “He fell, sir,” barely able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “Get out,” I say to him.

  “Sir?” He looks astonished.

  “I said, get out.” I nod towards the door. “Now.”

  His mouth opens and he mutters something inaudible before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “Is he alright?” I ask Thompson, directing my gaze at Chambers and raising my eyebrows.

  He turns to face me. “I’d be surprised if he hasn’t got a couple of bruised ribs, but I don’t think there’s any lasting damage,” he replies.

  “Put someone else in here with him, and get the doctor to come and have a look at his injuries before we interview him.” I move towards the door. “We’re doing this one by the book.”

  “Don’t we always?” Thompson looks at me and grins.

  It’s hard to even smile back.

  Outside, Harper is nowhere to be seen but there’s another man loitering in the corridor, who looks vaguely familiar, and who is similarly dressed to the errant PC. As I study his youthful features and short blond hair, I recall seeing him yesterday, when Thompson was briefing the men on their task, and I remember that he left with Harper, in deep discussion.

  “Who are you?” I ask him.

  “PC Pearce,” he replies, looking up at me, a worried expression on his face.

  “Right. Come with me.” I walk past him and he follows me into my office, where I close the door. “Take a seat.” He hesitates for a moment, then nervously perches on one of the two chairs in front of my desk. I go around the other side and sit down, facing him, putting the Chambers file down in front of me, and looking up at the slightly built youth in front of me. “I believe you were with PC Harper when John Chambers was arrested?” I say, getting straight to the point.

  “Yes, sir.” His reply is respectful, and a pink flush spreads up his face.

  “So I’m assuming you two were part of the same surveillance team, were you?” I ask. I know they were already, but I want to try and make him relax, by asking a simple question to start off with.

  “Yes, sir.”

  My technique didn’t work. He’s still tense. “Tell me what happened.” I sit back and try to look at ease in the hope it’ll rub off on him. Pearce does the opposite and moves even closer to the edge of his seat, clasping his hands together.

  “We… we were on patrol,” he begins, a little falteringly. “We’d been allocated the first part of Central Avenue and Molesey Avenue,” he explains, getting more into the stride of things. “And we just saw him – this Chambers bloke – loitering around the back of one of the factories that we’d been told to keep an eye on. He didn’t look like he had any business being there and when Joe… I mean, PC Harper, called out to him, he ran off. We chased him most of the way down Central Avenue and caught up with him just before he ducked into a warehouse.”

  “And then what?” I ask, sitting forward myself now.

  He looks down at his hands and blushes again. “Joe sent me to get help,” he says.

  “So you left the two of them alone?”

  “Just for five minutes. I ran to the end of the road and found PC Beresford there. He went to the police box to call for help, and I went straight back to Joe… I mean, PC Harper.”

  “And?” He raises his eyes and looks at me. “I want the truth, Constable.”

  He pauses, then sighs deeply. “The suspect… Chambers… he was on the ground, holding his head,” he says quietly. “I asked Joe what had happened and he told me not to worry about it…” Pearce falls silent.

  “Was that it?”

  “I went over to the bloke and got him up. He seemed a bit groggy, but he could stand, and we waited there until the vehicle came to bring him here,” he says. “By the time we got back, he seemed a bit more with it and was saying how he was going to get Joe into trouble…”

  “Was he now?” I murmur.

  Pearce nods his head. “Joe told him to shut up, and we brought him inside, then Sergeant Thompson told us to take him to the interview room and wait for you. After that, Joe sent me out of the room,” he adds, his voice fading again.

  “So you didn’t actually see PC Harper inflict any injuries to this man?” I ask. “Not here, or at the time of his arrest?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did he have anything on his person?” I ask.

  “Chambers?” he queries and I nod my head. “He had a wallet and a pocket handkerchief, and a set of keys.”

  “That was it?” He nods his head. “Very well.” I stand, letting him know our interview is over. “Write up your report, please, and let me have it. And you’d better get back into uniform.”

  “Yes, sir. Do I… In my report, do I include what we’ve just talked about?” he asks.

  “You include everything that happened, Constable. What you present must be a true and accurate representation of all that happened this morning. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He shuffles from the room and I go outside into the main office.

  “Where’s Harper?” I ask the assembled faces. They all look around, but no-one seems any the wiser. “Well, when he gets back, tell him I’m looking for him.”

  A couple of them nod their heads and I go back into my room. Thompson comes in before I’ve even sat down, shuts the door and stands, leaning against it.

  “Chambers isn’t badly injured,” he says. “The doctor’s examined him and says he’ll live.” He takes a few steps closer. “Luckily, it looks like the man is too stupid to have worked out what’s gone on. He says he wants to confess.”

  I look up at him. “He does?”

  Thompson nods his head. “Yes.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. We’ve got nothing on him. Harper and Pearce didn’t find any physical evidence, and besides which, Pearce has just told me that when they got back here, Chambers was threatening to get Harper in trouble.”

  “What for?”


  “Harper did something to him at the scene of the arrest. He sent Pearce away to get help and by the time Pearce returned, Chambers was flat out on the pavement and when Pearce queried it, Harper just told him not to worry.”

  Thompson shakes his head. “Joe Harper really is a bloody idiot.”

  “I know. Unfortunately, at the moment, he’s our bloody idiot.”

  “Probably not for much longer though, if I know that look on your face,” he says.

  “Well, first I’ve got to find him, but after that… we’ll have to see. In the meantime, put Chambers into a cell will you? I want to speak with Harper before I interview him. Confession or not, I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

  Just after midday, Thompson comes in to me and makes a point of closing the door very quietly behind him.

  “What now?” I ask. I feel like I’ve already had the day from hell and it’s not even lunchtime yet.

  “I’ve just heard from the court,” he says, sitting down opposite me.

  I’m alert at once. “And?”

  “And you’re not going to like it,” he says.

  “Just tell me, Harry.”

  “Ellis has convinced them he’s insane,” he says, still staring at me, presumably waiting for a reaction. “The court have gone along with his plea and it looks as though he’ll be committed to Broadmoor.”

  “How’s he done that? And so quickly.” They only started the pre-trial hearing this morning, and they’ve decided already?

  “They went through the expert testimony, and reached the decision he’s unfit to stand trial,” Thompson explains.

  “And they disregarded my statement?” It was hard to write, but necessary that the court should understand the depth of Ellis’ depravity. I composed it as soon as I’d returned to The Yard, while the events were still fresh in my mind, and then tried – unsuccessfully – to begin the long, slow process of putting it behind me.

  “I don’t know. But he’s no more insane than you and I. I mean, I know we half expected him to try this, but I never actually thought they’d believe him, especially not so easily. Not after what he did.”