The Blackbird (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 2)

by K. J. Frost

  “It’s a possibility,” I reply.

  “What makes you say that?” she asks and I sigh. I don’t really want to tell her, because I know she’ll worry, but I can’t lie to her either.

  “The man who was killed was a police constable,” I explain. “He was shot in the face.” She gasps and I hold her hand a little tighter. “And the killer had scratched a word into his chest.”

  “Scratched?” she queries.

  “Yes… with a knife, or a blade of some sort.”

  “Oh my God. That’s barbaric. What did it say?”

  I pause for a moment, then repeat the word that’s etched in my brain. “Justice.”

  She doesn’t reply. Instead, I hear a slight sob and she sits up, launching herself into my arms. “Oh, Rufus,” she whispers.

  “I don’t think you’re in any danger,” I say, holding her close to me.

  She pulls back, looking at me closely. “No, but you are.”

  “Not just me,” I point out. “Harper didn’t investigate the Ellis case, so that probably means that anyone in a police uniform is a target.”

  She nods her head and settles back down again. “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  “First, I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep. And then, I’m going to interview all the relatives of the victims in the Ellis case.”

  “Well, at least you know it wasn’t Uncle Gordon,” she says, just about managing a smile.

  I take a breath and sit back. “I’m still going to have to question him, Amelie. I’m sorry.”

  “But… he’s in London,” she replies, clearly startled.

  “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have caught a train down here.”

  “He wouldn’t shoot a man in cold blood, Rufus.” She twists her legs around and gets up, moving to the fire and folding her arms across her chest.

  I stand and walk over, so I’m right in front of her. “You don’t know what a man will do in difficult circumstances,” I tell her, keeping my voice soft and low. I can’t stop myself from thinking about the story Templeton told me of his time in the Great War, how he’d allowed another man to take the blame for his own costly actions. But Amelie is blissfully unaware of that, or of her own father’s more honourable role in the event. I reach out and cup her face in my hand, wondering how Templeton would feel if I asked his permission to tell her about it. I don’t feel comfortable having that information and keeping it from her. “I’m sorry, but I have to do my job,” I say quietly, wishing I didn’t.

  I think for a moment that she’s going to pull away from me again, but she doesn’t. She swallows hard, then takes my hand in both of hers, holding it between us. “Would it help if I spoke to him?” she asks.

  “No,” I reply quickly. “I need to do this properly. By the book.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she says. “It’s just that he did say he’d try and come back on Thursday this week, because Aunt Millicent’s birthday is on Friday. All I’m suggesting is that I could telephone him in the morning and ask if he can come back tomorrow evening – well, I suppose it’s this evening now – rather than waiting until Thursday. That would save you having to go all the way up to London to see him…”

  I smile down at her. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

  She nods her head. “And that way, you’ll be able to clear his name even sooner, won’t you?” she adds.

  “Yes,” I reply truthfully, because I don’t for one minute think that Gordon Templeton is responsible for this. That doesn’t mean I don’t have to question him, but going up to London to do that was going to be rather a waste of my time.

  She yawns, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,” she says, blushing.

  “Don’t be. You must be exhausted.”

  “Yes, but not nearly much as you,” she replies, letting her hand rest on my chest.

  “Well, I’m not so tired that I can’t carry you up to bed,” I say and, without giving her a chance to argue, I bend down and lift her into my arms.

  She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t even comment. Instead, she puts her arms around my neck and rests her head on my chest, and I walk across the room, getting Amelie to switch off the lights just before I close the door. I carry her up the stairs and along the landing to the room beside my own, pushing the door open, checking the blackout is closed and asking Amelie to turn on the lights. I only let her down to the floor once I’ve carried her across to the day bed.

  “I’d better leave you to your own devices from here on,” I say, looking down at her and reluctantly pulling away.

  She reaches up, grabbing my lapels, and drags me back, standing on her tiptoes and tilting her head in that familiar fashion. I lean down, feeling her soft lips crushed against mine. I don’t care that my actions may not be entirely appropriate. I need this.

  We end the kiss by a kind of mutual separation and gaze breathlessly at each other for a long time before I eventually come to my senses.

  “I really should leave you now,” I whisper.

  She nods, but I can’t help sensing a slight reluctance in the movement.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she murmurs, taking a small step backwards.

  “Yes. I can still take you to work, but it’ll have to be earlier than usual… around seven-fifteen? Is that okay? I know you’ll be there well in advance of when you need to be, but—”

  “It’s fine,” she interrupts, stepping closer again and resting her hand on my chest once more. “I’ll fit in with whatever you need.”

  “Well… I need you. Does that count?”

  She smiles and her eyes sparkle, just before I lose myself in another perfect kiss.

  Chapter Six

  I thought I’d feel better today. I thought taking revenge would help lift the cloud, lighten the darkness, free my soul.

  It hasn’t.

  I feel just the same as I did yesterday… and the day before. And the day before that.

  Except now, there’s a real possibility that the police will come looking for me.

  I clamber out of bed, have a quick wash and get dressed, then set off for work at the factory, walking along the street in a daze. I feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing.

  Maybe it would be better if I’d told him why I was killing him; explained my motives, and seen the realisation in his eyes before I pulled the trigger, that he had no-one to blame but himself. As it is, there’s no sense of satisfaction in what I’ve done. It’s hollow. Empty.

  If I can’t get justice for her… if I can’t feel justice for her, my life may as well be over.

  *****

  When I get down for breakfast at just before seven o’clock, Aunt Dotty tells me that Amelie’s already eaten and has just gone home to bathe and change into clean clothes.

  “She said she’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” she says, pouring me a cup of tea. “Now, eat something.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” I reply with mock obedience.

  “Amelie told me you didn’t get in until after two-thirty this morning,” she continues, ignoring my comment and passing me some toast.

  “Yes.”

  “Was it bad?” she asks.

  “Very.”

  She reaches over and puts her hand on my forearm, letting it rest there. “Please be careful, Rufus.”

  “I will,” I reply, placing my hand over hers and giving it a gentle pat.

  I eat quickly, swallowing down two cups of tea, being as I don’t know when I’ll get another one, and just as I’m putting on my coat, the doorbell rings. Aunt Dotty opens it and Amelie enters the hall, wearing her dark blue winter coat, with a grey beret and black leather gloves.

  “I was going to come and get you,” I tell her.

  “I thought I’d save you the trouble.” She smiles over at me.

  “You’re no trouble.”

  “I’ll remind you of that the next time you have to come and collect me from the station, because I’m too pathetic to ride one stop on
the underground,” she says, her smile widening.

  “You’re not pathetic,” I reply, going over to her. “And it was no trouble. I told you that at the time.”

  “Hmm. Well, if we don’t get started, you’ll be in trouble yourself,” she says.

  “Yes, I will.”

  I do up my coat and take her hand in mine, leading her out of the door.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I call out to Aunt Dotty over my shoulder. “But I’ll let you know what I’m doing.”

  “Don’t worry,” she replies. “Just take care.”

  She stands by the door and waves us goodbye as I drive away.

  When we get to the end of the road, Amelie turns to me. “How did you sleep?” she asks.

  “Not too bad,” I reply truthfully. “I had a lot going on in my brain, but I managed to block it all out eventually, and doze off.”

  “Were you thinking about the shooting?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Oh?” She seems surprised. “What else were you thinking about? Are you worried about what this murder means? Does it…”

  “I was thinking about you,” I interrupt.

  “Me?”

  I glance over at her, then turn my eyes back to the road. “Yes. You.” I smile. “Do you have any idea how tempting it was, knowing you were right next door?”

  “Yes,” she replies softly. “It took me a while to get off to sleep too.”

  I look at her again. She’s staring at me, her eyes fixed on mine. I cough, then drag my gaze back to the road once more, wondering how much I should read into her comment.

  “I telephoned Uncle Gordon,” she says, changing the subject, although I’m not sure whether that’s for my benefit, or hers. “While I was getting dressed.”

  “Oh. And?”

  “And I think I woke him up,” she adds, smiling. “I explained that you needed to speak to him about something that happened in Kingston last night, but I didn’t go into any detail.”

  “Well done,” I reply. “I’d rather tell him about it myself.”

  “I thought you might,” she says. “He assured me he was in London for the whole of yesterday, but I said you still needed to speak to him. He seemed to understand and explained that he’s got meetings all day today, but I said it was important, so he’s going to try and come home this evening, if that’s alright? He said it might be quite late though.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “So, I’ll let you know when he gets back?” she asks and I nod my head in approval. “And I’ll cycle home tonight,” she adds. “It makes sense, being as my bicycle is still at the factory.”

  “Okay.” I don’t think there’s any threat to her, not now. “But can you telephone the station when you get home, just so I know you’re alright? I may not be there, but someone will take a message for me.”

  “If you want me to,” she says.

  “I want you to.” There’s no harm in being cautious.

  I reach over and take her hand in mine, holding it for a few minutes, until I have to let go so I can change gear.

  After I’ve dropped Amelie at work, and stolen a brief kiss, I drive to work, parking behind the station and going up to the first floor offices.

  Thompson is in my room, depositing a file on my desk and turns on hearing my entrance.

  “What’s that?” I say, nodding to the file as I take off my coat and hang it on the hook behind the door.

  “Preliminary report from the doctor,” he says.

  “And?”

  He picks up the file again and opens it. “Needless to say, the cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head.”

  “I think we could all have worked that one out.” I walk around my desk and sit down, motioning for him to do the same, and he takes one of the seats opposite me. “What else?”

  “The bullet passed right through his brain,” he adds, looking up at me.

  “That’s what we thought, but it’s good to have it confirmed,” I reply. “We need to get some men over to the scene right away. I want a fingertip search of the whole area. We need to find that bullet, and the casing, if there is one.” He tilts his head to one side and stares at me for a moment.

  “You’re talking about matching them to the weapon?” he says eventually.

  “Yes.”

  “Assuming we can find the weapon,” he adds.

  “Well, obviously we’ll be looking for that too,” I point out. “But I doubt the murderer will have left it behind. I think they’ll have taken it with them, so we’re going to have to use our initiative over finding that…”

  “That’ll be interesting,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Does Wyatt have anything else for us?” I ask, getting to my feet again.

  “Just that the inscription on Harper’s chest was made by a sharp instrument with traces of rust on the blade.”

  “That’s helpful. Certainly narrows it down, doesn’t it?”

  “Not especially, no.” He sighs.

  “If this job was easy, Harry, everyone would be doing it.” He glances at me and gives me a weak smile, which I return with a little more feeling. “Right, I want to speak to everyone outside,” I say. “Get them together, will you?”

  He closes the file and puts it back on my desk, before getting up and leaving the room.

  I give him a few minutes and then follow him out, where a group of men await me. I know a lot of them were here until the early hours of the morning, and they look as tired as I feel.

  “Good morning, everyone,” I say, raising my voice above their dim whisperings. They all turn to look at me, and I feel the weight of their expectation bearing down on my shoulders. “For any of you who weren’t here on Monday, and who aren’t familiar with me already, my name is Stone. I’m new to the station, but not to the area and, while I may not have known PC Harper very well, you can trust me when I say that his death affects me just as much as it does you. That said, as far as we’re concerned, it’s a murder, just like any other, and I don’t want the fact that the victim was a police officer to alter the way in which we conduct our investigations. Is that clear?” There’s a general nodding of heads, some more enthusiastic than others. I glance over to Sergeant Tooley, who’s standing near the back of the group. “Sergeant Tooley is going to be arranging a fingertip search of the area, which a lot of you will be involved in,” I explain. “We’re looking for anything that doesn’t belong, but especially the weapons – namely a handgun and a knife with a rusted blade – and the bullet, which we now know passed through the victim’s head. Obviously, if a pistol was used, there should be a casing as well, so keep your eyes open.” I take a breath. “I think you should all know that we’re working on the theory that Harper’s murder is connected to the Ellis case. With that in mind, you should all be extra vigilant while going about your duties. Don’t take any unnecessary risks and make sure you always work in pairs for the time being.” I look around and notice a couple of them have paled significantly. “Right, let’s get on with it.” They move away slightly and I spot PC Pearce out of the corner of my eye, and call him over.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I have something I want you to do,” I tell him.

  “Me, sir?”

  “Yes.” I look around until I find PC Wells and summon him into our small group, then pull them to one side. “There is a very small chance that Harper’s murder may not have anything to do with Ellis,” I explain and they nod their heads in unison, both wide-eyed. “It’s possible that what happened between him and Mr Chambers might have had some influence.” Wells looks at me, slightly confused. “Pearce will explain that to you,” I say and he nods his head. I turn to Pearce. “I want you both to speak to Mr Chambers again,” I continue. “Don’t tell him what’s happened, but see if you can find out if he’s got any associates in the area. I want to know if there’s anyone who might have been with him yesterday morning and who could have seen what happened on the factory estate.”r />
  “I don’t think there was,” Pearce says, standing upright. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “That’s as maybe, but we need to bear in mind that Chambers was very keen to confess last night, even though we’ve got no actual evidence against him. I can only assume he’s protecting someone else, and maybe that someone else might have seen what happened between Chambers and PC Harper.”

  Pearce nods and I move away from them and back into my office, followed by Thompson.

  “You trust those two to handle that, do you?” he asks, closing the door.

  “Yes.” I look up at him. “Pearce could have covered for Harper yesterday, but he didn’t. He did the right thing and told me what had happened.”

  “And Wells? He’s very young…” His voice fades.

  “And? We all had to learn the ropes at some point, didn’t we?” Thompson shrugs. “And besides, I liked the way he dealt with Mr Wilkinson last night. He showed consideration… maturity.”

  “You don’t think you should get Gilmore and Deakin to handle this instead?” he suggests.

  “No.” I shake my head. “As you pointed out yourself, they’re both wet behind the ears, and while I appreciate that Pearce and Wells aren’t any more experienced, Deakin and Gilmore weren’t involved in Chambers’ arrest, and Pearce was. And besides, I think we may need our few CID men to help with gathering evidence in Harper’s murder, rather than following up on this other matter, which I really don’t think will be connected at all – not in the long run.”

  Thompson nods. “Okay. If you’re convinced, then so am I.”

  I take my coat down from the hook.

  “I assume we’re going out?” Thompson asks.

  “Yes. We’ve got a busy day,” I tell him, putting on my hat. “We’re going to interview all the relatives of Ellis’ victims.”

  He closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a sigh. “I’ll fetch my coat,” he murmurs and I know he’s dreading the next few hours just as much as I am.

  “Where are we going to start?” he asks, getting into my car beside me.

  “Daniel Milton,” I reply. “Although if he’s still working nights, I doubt he’ll thank us for waking him.”