The Magpie (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 3)

by K. J. Frost

  “Because we have to be certain that this is genuine,” I remark to Sanderson, then I hand the note to Thompson. “Can you take this back to the station and get it to Prentice? Ask him to see if he can get anything from it, and tell him to look at the content as well, will you?”

  After all his years at the Yard, I’m almost certain Prentice will have more knowledge of these things than me. He’ll be able to say if this is normal, or not.

  “Certainly, sir.” He gets up, smiling down at me. He rarely calls me ‘sir’ and it sounds unfamiliar.

  “Then find Tooley. Get him to leave Wells, or someone else, in charge of the searches for a short while, and bring him back here with you. We’ll have to work out a plan between us and Mr Sanderson, for tomorrow morning and evening.”

  “Very good,” he says, and leaves the room.

  Mr Sanderson gets up and moves to the fireplace, standing in front of it.

  “I don’t understand,” he says, looking down at me. “If someone has got Amy and is demanding money for her, what’s the point in searching those houses?”

  “Because we don’t know anyone has got her,” I reply and his brow furrows again. “That letter,” I continue, “it could mean any one of several things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, your daughter might have been taken, and someone might be demanding money for her return.”

  “Exactly,” he says, in a rather pompous tone.

  “Or… it might mean that someone has seen the reports in the newspapers and decided to make some cash for themselves by claiming to have her.”

  “Really? Do people do that?”

  “Yes.”

  He stares at me. “There’s another alternative, isn’t there?” he says.

  “Yes.” I lower my voice. “It’s possible that someone did take your daughter, and that she’s already… dead.” I pause and watch him. He blinks rapidly again, just like he did earlier.

  “B—But in that case, how could they hope to profit from this?”

  “Because they’ll expect to be able to take the money and make their escape before we find out she’s dead. That’s why they’ve asked for the drop to be handled in the way they have.”

  “S—So you think that’s the most likely scenario?” he says, stuttering out his words.

  “No. I didn’t say that. All I’m telling you is that we’re not going to give up looking for her until we know for certain, one way or the other, whether this note is genuine.”

  He stares at me for a full thirty seconds, and then nods his head and goes to sit down again, closing his eyes. For the second time today, I feel sorry for him.

  Thompson was gone for just over an hour, but when he returned, the four of us, including Sergeant Tooley, retired to Mr Sanderson’s study, where we finalised the arrangements for him and Sergeant Thompson to collect the ransom money from the bank in the morning, and – more importantly – the surveillance that will be required when Mr Sanderson makes the drop-off of the money in the evening. That was much more complicated, Tooley’s knowledge of the area came in very useful and we were finished by mid-afternoon, with a sound plan set up, which guarantees in my mind that the money won’t be out of our sight at any time. Tooley still had to arrange for sufficient volunteers for this operation, for which the men would be wearing civilian clothing – for obvious reasons – so he left to start on that.

  I got Thompson to drive me back to the station, where I informed the chief superintendent of the plan, of which he approved, while Thompson was briefed by Gilmore and Deakin on their interrogation of the two young burglary suspects.

  After that, although it’s only six o’clock, we decide to go home. We don’t have anything else we can do this evening, and we’re both exhausted.

  “What’s happening on the burglaries?” I ask Thompson when we’re half-way to Molesey. We’ve driven in silence until now, both too tired to really talk, I think.

  “One of them has confessed, the other is proclaiming his innocence.”

  “Interesting.”

  He chuckles. “The supposedly innocent one isn’t very bright, by all accounts.”

  “He doesn’t sound it.”

  “Hmm… Even when Deakin pointed out that his chum had admitted to everything, he still said it had nothing to do with him, despite them finding some of the loot at his parents’ house.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that?” I smile.

  “Yes. Gilmore got a search warrant for both of the lads’ houses. The one who’s confessed turned up clean, but the other one had a bag of jewellery stashed at the bottom of his wardrobe.”

  “Silly boy.”

  “Like I say, he’s not very bright. He seems determined to stick to his story of innocence though.”

  “Do they want any help?”

  He shakes his head. “I told Deakin to keep plugging away at him for the time being – to give it another day, and if he still won’t break, then I said you or I would have a crack.”

  I nod my head. “Sounds wise.”

  Sometimes just the appearance of a superior officer, especially one the size of myself or Harry, can do the trick.

  My mother comes out of the sitting room to greet me.

  “You’re early,” she says as I remove my hat.

  “Yes.”

  She helps me off with my coat and I put both of them over the end of the stairs.

  “Any news?” she asks.

  “Nothing positive.” We start towards the sitting room, together. “We got a ransom note, but I don’t think it’s genuine.”

  She nods. “Come and sit down.”

  Aunt Dotty is already in her seat, at one end of the sofa, nearest to the fire. It’s her favourite place. “Help yourself to a drink, dear,” she says.

  “I won’t. I’m going to see Amelie later.”

  “And that means you can’t have a drink?” She’s surprised.

  “It means I want to keep a clear head, that’s all.”

  For a moment, her eyes twinkle, but she doesn’t say anything. I think both she and my mother have realised I’m in no fit state to cope with them meddling in my love life at present.

  “Shall we have dinner now then?” Mother suggests from behind me.

  “If that suits you two, then yes. I’m hungry enough.”

  “You didn’t have lunch?” Mother’s does her best to look daggers at me, even though she’s not very good at it.

  “I didn’t have time.”

  “Well, I think it’s lamb cobbler. I’ll just check with Ethel how it’s going.” She leaves the room and I go and sit opposite Aunt Dotty.

  “Are you alright?” she asks.

  “Not really.”

  “An evening with Amelie will do you good,” she replies and I smile across at her.

  “Mother said that this morning.”

  “Which means it must be true.”

  I’m not about to deny that I can’t think of anything in the world I want – or need – more than a couple of hours spent with Amelie. It’s not for the reasons everyone probably thinks though. I have things I need to say to her; questions I need to ask. I just hope I don’t end up regretting them.

  Mother comes back in and announces that dinner will be twenty minutes – just long enough for the cobbler to brown.

  She sits beside me.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks and we both know she’s talking about the case.

  “Not particularly.” And suddenly I remember that I haven’t had the chance to tell them Amelie’s idea for Christmas Day. “But while I’ve got you both here, I’ve been meaning to tell you that Amelie and I have worked out our plans for Christmas.”

  She twists in her seat to face me. “Oh yes?” The excitement in her eyes is unmistakable, and I wonder how let down she’s going to feel when I tell her.

  “Yes. And before you build your hopes up, you have to remember that this will be their first Christmas without Beth. You can’t expect Amelie to drop ev
erything and come over here.”

  She sighs and glances over at Aunt Dotty, and I know that they’d planned just such a thing in their own minds. “No… I suppose not.”

  “But Amelie wondered whether we’d like to go over there for tea on Christmas Day.”

  “Us?” Dotty says, seemingly surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Not just you?”

  “No, all of us.”

  Mother and Aunt Dotty exchange another glance. “A proper family gathering?” my mother says.

  “Well, I don’t know about ‘family’,” I point out. “I haven’t asked her to marry me yet. I…”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rufus. We all know you’re going to. Even Amelie’s probably worked it out by now.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” I reply, “given the number of hints you drop.”

  “Only because I know you need a jolly good shove.”

  “No, I don’t. I just need to find the right ring.” Oh, how I wish I hadn’t said that.

  A smile forms on my mother’s face. “That’s the only thing that’s stopping you?”

  “Well… no.”

  “Then what else is wrong?” she huffs, rolling her eyes.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’d just like a little privacy when I propose to the woman I love, that’s all.” What on earth is wrong with me? I can only plead exhaustion… and pre-occupation with the case, and my impending conversation with Amelie.

  A silence descends on the room, and then Aunt Dotty sits forward slightly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “We have been rather meddlesome, haven’t we?”

  I open my mouth to disagree – only because it’s polite, not because I actually disagree with her – but my mother gets there first. “We’ll leave you to get on with it, in your own way,” she says.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” She nods her head, and looks across the room at Aunt Dotty, before turning back to face me again, leaning over and putting her hand on my knee. “As long as you don’t take forever over it.”

  I smile down at her. “I won’t. I promise.”

  The lamb cobbler was delicious, but once supper was finished, my impatience to see Amelie was too great and I made my excuses, to great smiles and twinkles from my mother and Aunt Dotty. I’m not sure they’re going to be able to stick to their pledge to let me propose in my own time. It’s been a struggle for them to avoid the topic during dinner, and being as I don’t plan on proposing this evening, I think normal service will be resumed tomorrow.

  Outside, it’s chilly. Actually, it’s really cold, and as I walk across the road to Amelie’s house, I can’t help but think about little Amy. I’m certain, in my heart of hearts, that she’s already dead, whether through exposure to the cold, or at the hands of some other person. All I want to do now is to find her, and then find out what happened to her.

  I knock on the door, feeling rather down-hearted, my head bowed.

  “Hello.” I look up at the sound of Amelie’s voice. The light has been turned off behind her, but even in the moonlight, she’s beautiful.

  “Hello.” I can’t help smiling. “Why are you answering the door?”

  “Because I somehow knew it would be you,” she says, standing back and letting me enter the house, whereupon, she pulls the heavy curtain across the door and flicks on the lights.

  “You did?”

  She comes around in front of me and takes my hat from my head, then removes my coat from my shoulders, while I just stand there, looking at her.

  “Yes, I did,” she says, and then places my things on the hall table, before taking my hand and silently leading me into the drawing room.

  The lights in here are dim, coming from two side lamps, set on low tables, and the glow from the fireplace.

  Letting go of me, she takes my jacket from my shoulders, leaving me in my shirtsleeves – even if they are short shirt sleeves, because I can’t get long ones over my plaster cast. “Sit,” she says, placing my jacket over the back of the chair and nodding towards the sofa. I’m not about to say ‘no’, and I walk over and take a seat in the corner of the comfortable couch, while Amelie goes to the drinks cabinet, where she starts to stir the contents of a silver-coloured cocktail shaker, before pouring clear liquid from it into rather attractive cocktail glasses. She picks them up and brings them over, which gives me my first opportunity to take in what she’s wearing – namely dark grey, wide legged trousers and a thin pale pink sweater, both of which combine to make her look absolutely stunning. She stands before me and hands over a glass, before she sits down, leaning into me, her shoulder against mine.

  “You’ve made us a cocktail?” I look down at her.

  “I’ve made us a dry martini.” She smiles and holds up her glass. I clink mine against hers and take a sip of what is, essentially, cold, neat gin, with just the barest hint of sweetness from the dash of vermouth I assume she’s shown it.

  “That’s astounding.”

  She takes a sip of her own and wrinkles up her nose, rather beautifully. “Hmm. It is rather good.”

  I put down my glass on the table, then lean over and take hers, putting it beside my own, and then I twist in my seat, just as she turns to face me and I capture her chin in my hand and cover her lips with mine. I don’t think I’ve ever needed this more than I do tonight, and it takes us a good few minutes to pull away from each other, with great reluctance.

  “Did you have that drink sitting there all evening?” I ask, nodding toward the cabinet on the far side of the room.

  “No.” She smiles. “I saw you coming back from work when I went upstairs to change earlier. I was just about to close the curtains, when I caught sight of your sergeant pulling up outside Dotty’s house, so I knew you were home and you wouldn’t be too late in coming over.”

  “You mean you knew I couldn’t stay away.” I kiss her again, cupping her cheek, my fingers twisting into her short, softly curled hair, as she breathes out a gentle sigh.

  “It’s entirely mutual,” she says, leaning back eventually and nestling into me when I put my arm around her. “How’s work?” she asks.

  “Awful.”

  She sits up again, looking me in the eye. “You haven’t found the little girl?”

  “No.” I reach forward to pick up my glass, but she hands it to me, and I take a longer sip this time. “We got a ransom note today, though.”

  “Someone kidnapped her?” She’s shocked.

  “Not necessarily.” I explain the likely scenarios surrounding the ransom note, while I finish my drink.

  “More?” she asks, nodding at my glass.

  “I should probably say ‘no’, but I’m not going to.” She smiles and gets up, taking my glass, and goes over to the drinks cabinet, returning a few moments later, with it filled up again.

  “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” she says, sitting back down and passing the glass to me.

  “Yes.”

  “Then talk to me,” she says and already I feel the relief washing over me, as I lean forward and put my drink down on the table.

  “We found out that the mother is having an affair,” I say bluntly.

  “The little girl’s mother?” she clarifies.

  I nod my head. “Yes. She explained to us that she finds her husband dull and boring.”

  “Then why did she marry him?” she asks, repeating my own question from yesterday.

  “I don’t know. She said he was romantic when they first met. H—He’s a lot older than her though, and I think the romance has worn off.”

  She nods her head and leans closer to me. “And you’ve been worrying about whether I’ll ever feel the same way?” she asks.

  “Are you a mind-reader?”

  “No. But I think I know you fairly well.”

  “Better than anyone.”

  She sighs and, without another word, she stands up and turns to face me, then places her knees on the sofa, either side of mine, and sits down on my lap, astride
me, her hands on my shoulders, her eyes boring into mine.

  “What do I have to do to make you understand?” she says. I’m rather breathless, so I don’t reply, and she lets her hands wander up around my neck and into my hair. She shifts closer, her breasts just brushing against my chest, her lips touching mine, and the next few minutes are filled with heartfelt moans, deep, longing sighs and ardent whisperings, which mainly consist of each other’s names, and love. When she finally sits back, I find that my hand has wandered up her back, beneath her jumper and is resting on her soft bare skin. She doesn’t object, so I leave it there, looking into her eyes.

  “I nearly lost you,” she whispers, the break in her voice betraying her emotions. “When you were stabbed, I watched you bleeding on the pavement, I sat in the hospital, scared out of my mind, while you were in surgery, and I had a lot of time to think about what my life would be like without you. They weren’t good thoughts, Rufus. They’re not thoughts I want to have again. We already share so much, and one day I—I know we’ll share even more.” She lowers her eyes, just for a moment, then looks at me again. “But I don’t ever want to share any of myself with anyone else.”

  I move my hand a little further up her back and pull her closer, kissing her deeply and passionately, like never before, pouring myself and my love into her, her words ringing in my ears.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you,” I murmur as she sits back again.

  “You didn’t,” she replies, rubbing her fingertip gently along my lips. “You were doubting yourself. You think that as we get older, I’ll find you dull and boring, don’t you?”

  She sees through me, every time. “It had crossed my mind, yes.”

  She smiles, the most sweet and beautiful smile in the whole world. “It’ll never happen,” she murmurs. “How could it, when you love me like you do? When you say the words you do, so often? When you make me feel like this every time we’re together? When you kiss me like that, and make me want so much more…?” She lowers her eyes again, perhaps a little shy at her admission, and I bring my hand around and place it beneath her chin, raising her face until our eyes lock again and I see the glittering sparkle in hers.