by K. J. Frost
“What do you mean?” She tilts her head to one side.
“I got the men to search all the houses first, rather than going straight to the park. I thought the workmen there would have reported seeing a little girl by herself, so I didn’t think to have the area searched…” I look up into her eyes. “That was a mistake, wasn’t it?”
She shifts closer to me on my lap. “No. You said she was killed on the day she disappeared, so it wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d got the men to search there first, would it? The outcome would have been the same.” I know what she’s saying is logical. “You did the best you could at the time, with the information you had to hand, Rufus. You can’t blame yourself for this.” Her voice catches and I raise my hand, caressing the side of her cheek with my fingertips. “I won’t let you.”
“I love you, my darling,” I murmur.
“I love you too.”
“I wish… I wish I could explain to you how good you are for me.”
“You don’t need to. I already know, because I feel the same. You’re good for me too, Rufus.” I put my arm around her and she nestles down into me. “This is a little different to last night, isn’t it?” she murmurs.
“Just a little.”
“It’s still very nice, though,” she says. “I like being close to you. I like the comfort of you.”
“Do you need the comfort of me?” I ask, and she looks up.
“Always.”
I lean down and very gently kiss her upturned lips. “I’m yours, my darling.” I stare into her eyes. “But I’m afraid this does change things.”
She sits back. “How?” She looks so worried, so scared, I can’t help but smile.
“It doesn’t change anything between us,” I say, setting her mind at rest, I hope. “It just means that I won’t be here very much over the weekend.” She looks confused, her brow furrowing. “You wanted to decorate the Christmas tree?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She rests her hand on my chest and leans back into me again, her head on my shoulder.
“I’ll do my best to make some time,” I murmur, settling down, “but I doubt it’ll be until sometime early next week.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it; the weekend is already in tatters. Uncle Gordon left a message here today to say that he’s coming back on Saturday evening. He’s staying until Sunday night – although I’m not sure why, being as he’ll only be here for a few hours.”
“Why don’t you decorate the tree with him then?” I suggest. “You could do it on Sunday, couldn’t you? And it might give you the chance to mend some fences.”
She shakes her head slowly, her hand coming up and playing with one of my shirt buttons. “No,” she says quietly. “I’d rather do it with you. But we don’t have to do it this weekend. The tree is already in the garden and we can bring it in whenever you have time… as long as it’s before Christmas.”
I kiss the top of her head and she looks up at me. “It will be, I promise.”
She snuggles into me and, breathing out a long sigh, she undoes the button of my shirt just like she did last night, only this time she lets her fingers wander inside, and then I feel her hand resting on my chest, skin-on-skin. That’s all she does. Just that. And we sit together for a while, intimate and comfortable. Nothing could be better.
It’s nearly quarter past one in the morning. And it’s freezing. And no-one has even gone anywhere near the bench in the park.
We’ve been watching it for over two hours, since Mr Sanderson dropped the bag containing the money underneath the seat at eleven pm as demanded, before he returned home.
The men stationed around the recreation ground, and in the roads leading up to it, must be as cold and tired as we are, and I look at Thompson in the moonlight, in our hiding place behind a bush about twenty yards from the bench, and give him a nod.
“Let’s call it a night,” I whisper.
“Okay.” He moves forward and, once he’s free of the branches of the bush, he stands and stretches. I do likewise, as Thompson makes his way towards the other side of the park, where we both know Sergeant Tooley is stationed. While he’s gone, I wander over to the bench and retrieve the money bag, checking the contents are still intact, which they are.
A few minutes later, Thompson returns and, even in the dim moonlight, I can see Tooley in the distance, going around various points in the park, and men appearing behind him.
“Stan’s going to round the men up and send them home,” Thompson says, coming to stand beside me. “So what do we do now?”
“Firstly, we return the money to Mr Sanderson and let him know what’s happened.” He requested this of me earlier. Despite the fact that nothing is going to bring his daughter back, he wanted to know the outcome, and I can’t say I blame him for that.
“And then?”
“We get a few hours’ sleep.”
“And what will happen about this?” He nods towards the bench where the money was deposited.
“Well, it was obviously a hoax,” I tell him as we walk back to the car. “The question we have to ask ourselves is, was it someone who read about the girl being missing and saw their chance, but then backed down when they heard she’d been found…”
“Or?”
“Or was it the murderer, playing games with us.”
He stops and looks up at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I know we continued the search after we got the ransom note, but they didn’t know we’d do that, did they? If they knew where we were looking, they might have thought sending a ransom note would make us stop the search, and would buy them more time, to maybe move the body?”
He nods and we start walking again. “Which do you think it is?” he asks.
“At the moment, I don’t know. I hope it’s the former.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s more straightforward. If it’s the latter, that means we’re looking for someone who isn’t scared to alter their plans, to adapt to changing circumstances. And that makes them much harder to spot. They’re less likely to make mistakes… And I’d rather like them to make a mistake.”
We halt by the car and he turns to me. “Because we don’t have very much to go on?” he suggests.
“Try nothing at all.”
Chapter Six
Dearest Kitten,
I’ve just read in the newspaper about the discovery of Amy’s body. I’m in shock. There aren’t that many details, but this is absolutely dreadful. You must be devastated, my beautiful beloved. I wish I could be with you, to hold you in my arms and kiss away your troubles.
I’ve got your letter from yesterday in front of me, and despite this latest news, I want to reassure you that, of course it’s not awful of you to want to be with me. I want exactly the same thing, because that’s how it should be, my darling. We’re perfect together. And one day very soon, I hope we’ll be together again. I can’t wait. And you shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting that too.
I miss you like mad, my beautiful Kitten. I can’t wait to be with you again, and no matter what happens in the coming hours and days, remember that I love you and we will be together soon.
With all my love,
D xx
*****
“You look exhausted.”
My mother and Dotty are both watching me closely at the breakfast table, although it was Mother who spoke.
“I didn’t get in until nearly three,” I explain, taking some toast. “And I’m afraid my hours could be erratic for the foreseeable future.”
“Were you able to explain that to Amelie last night?” my mother asks. “Or would you like me to go and see her today?”
I shake my head. “No, I explained it to her.” I did. As we were saying goodnight. She was very understanding. “I’ve promised to help her decorate their Christmas tree,” I add, “so I’ll find the time for that, but…”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Mother interrupts, beaming, her hand
s clasped together.
“Do you think you’ll be back for dinner tonight?” Aunt Dotty asks, before Mother can go into further raptures.
“I honestly don’t know. Why?” I glance across the table at her, while I’m spreading blackberry jam onto my toast.
“Because Issa’s due to arrive this afternoon…”
“She is?”
“Yes.” Aunt Dotty smiles. “She’s coming for Christmas.”
“Already?” Christmas isn’t for another week yet. I’m surprised Aunt Issa has been willing to give up her writing for that long. I doubt she’ll get much time – or peace – to do any here.
“I telephoned her yesterday,” Mother explains, taking over the story. “We talked it through and she agreed it might be wise to come up early… to… to avoid any last minute rushes on the trains.”
“They’re unreliable enough as it is,” Dotty adds.
There’s something about the way they’re talking that makes me wonder what they’re hiding. I know they’re hiding something – that much is obvious. But as to what it is, I have no idea. Still, I have no doubt I’ll find out soon enough.
“I’ll do my best to get back for dinner.” I finish my toast and gulp down my tea. “I’m sorry, but I’ve just realised I need to make a telephone call before Sergeant Thompson arrives.” My mother smiles and I wonder if she’s thinking I’m going to phone Amelie. I wish I was, but I’m not, and I stand and leave the room, going out into the hall, where the telephone sits on the long side table.
I ask the operator to connect me to the London Road station, asking for Sergeant Tooley once the call is connected.
“Hello?” He sounds as tired as I feel.
“Tooley? It’s Inspector Stone.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Can you do something for me?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Sergeant Thompson and I are going over to the Sanderson house this morning, but in our absence, could you put together a list of all the known felons in the area with a history of sexual assault.”
There’s a pause. “Against children, sir?” he asks.
“And adults. Our man may have just decided to… diversify.” I can’t think of another way of phrasing that. “Obviously you can ignore any who are currently incarcerated, and I’d stick to the ones who are based in the fairly immediate vicinity of Long Ditton for now. Whoever did this must have been aware of the workmen’s movements.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If possible, can you try and have that on my desk this afternoon?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Get Wells and a couple of the others to help, if necessary.”
“Yes, sir… While you’re on,” he adds quickly, “DC Deakin would like a word.”
“Very well.”
I wait and then hear a different voice. “Inspector Stone?”
“Yes, Deakin?”
“I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wanted to update you on what’s been happening… and ask a question.”
“Very well.”
He explains that the second youth has now confessed in the burglary case, which is hardly surprising, considering his situation. “Alex… I mean DC Gilmore and I spent most of yesterday going through the evidence. I think they’d already sold some of it, but we’ve got quite a bit… What I wanted to ask was, what do we do with it?”
“You catalogue it, label it and give it to Sergeant Tooley to be locked up in the evidence room. But I’d suggest you make a separate note of all the items you’ve found, and then go and see the victims. Ask them to describe the things that were taken, and cross-reference them against your list. You can hopefully put their minds at rest that at least some of their possessions have been found – even if they can’t have them back yet.”
“Very good, sir,” he says.
“With all of that in mind, can you put me through to the chief superintendent?”
“Yes, sir. Um… what will Gilmore and I do after we’ve finished going through the evidence and seeing the victims?” he asks.
“I’ll move you over to this murder case,” I tell him.
“Oh… right, sir.” I can almost hear his gulp. “I—I’ll put you through to the chief super.”
“Thank you, Deakin… And good work, by the way.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The phone goes dead for a moment, and I hear a couple of clicks, and then Webster’s voice.
“Stone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How are you?”
“Fine, sir.” It’s a lie and he knows it, but there’s no point in telling him the truth. There’s nothing he can do about it.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“I’ve just had a conversation with DC Deakin. He’s informed me that the two suspects have confessed to the burglaries. Evidently some of the jewellery was sold before their arrest, but a lot of it has been salvaged. Deakin and Gilmore are going to catalogue it all today and will be going to visit your sister and the other victims later on to let them know. Obviously they can’t have their things back yet…”
“No, obviously,” he interrupts. “But it’s good work, nonetheless.”
“I know. I’ve told him that. And once they’ve finished what they’re doing, I’ll be moving them over to this murder case.”
“Very good.”
“I just wanted to keep you updated… as promised.”
“Good of you, Stone,” he says. “I’ll telephone Ruth and let her know to expect a visit.”
Thompson pulls the car into the driveway of the Sanderson house.
“Today’s going to be hell, isn’t it?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Ever dealt with a case like this before?” he asks, turning to me.
“A child murder? Yes… three times.”
“With the sexual element?” he asks.
I nod my head. “One of them. She was thirteen.”
He huffs out a sigh, which says everything that needs saying and we both get out of the car.
Lois looks like she’s been crying half the night, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She closes the door behind us and takes our hats and coats, before leading us to the drawing room in silence. It’s hard to know what to say to her, so we don’t say anything – whatever we do say is likely to upset her, and that’s not going to help anyone.
Inside the drawing room, Mr Sanderson is sitting by himself, staring into the fire. There’s no sign of his wife, but he looks up as we enter.
“Inspector,” he says, his voice rather monotone. He doesn’t acknowledge Sergeant Thompson, but I doubt Harry will mind. “My… my wife is still in bed,” he continues.
“That’s alright, sir.” I move further into the room and sit opposite him, uninvited, although he doesn’t seem to care. “I’m afraid I have to give you some information… some detail about how your daughter was killed.”
He looks up at me, and leans forward. “Detail? You told me yesterday, she received a blow to the head… what else…”
“The blow to the head is the cause of death, but I’m afraid I have to tell you that something else was done to her.”
“What are you saying?” he asks.
“I’m very sorry, Mr Sanderson. I’m afraid your daughter was sexually assaulted.”
He stares at me for a moment, then clasps his hand across his mouth and runs from the room, clattering into the side table and knocking over the lamp that sits on top of it. We hear the front door open and then the sound of retching, followed by vomiting.
I stand and pick up the lamp, setting it back on the table again, and then sit and wait, until eventually I hear the front door close, and the sound of footsteps coming back in our direction. Mr Sanderson appears in the doorway, his face grey, his eyes haunted. He glances at Thompson and then at me and comes and sits opposite me again, looking straight into my eyes.
“My daughter was sexually assaulted? Do you mean she was raped? Is that w
hat you’re telling me?” he murmurs.
“Yes. I’m very sorry.”
“I’ll kill him,” he says, raising his voice, just slightly. “Whoever did this to Amy… I’ll kill him.”
I know I’m supposed to tell him that taking the law into his own hands isn’t ‘recommended’ or ‘advisable’ and that we frown upon such things, but I don’t blame him. I know, in his shoes, I’d feel exactly the same. I ignore his comments, however, and pose a question instead. “Can I ask you again, sir, whether you can think of any men who are associated with this household? Any men who’d wish you, or your family harm?”
“There is one,” he says, with conviction. “There’s one man who’d like to hurt me, who’d like me out of the way.” He shakes his head. “But whether he’d do that…” He leaves his sentence hanging, and I notice he’s gripping the edges of the sofa, his knuckles whitening.
“Who is this man?” I ask.
“David Cooke,” he replies. “He’s my wife’s lover.”
For a moment, I’m slightly taken aback, but I rally quickly. “Would he harm your daughter?” I ask.
“Well, in an ideal world, it would be me he’d rather see dead, I’m sure.” A slight smile plays on his lips. “Then he could take my place as head of the family.”
I want to tell him that the last thing Cooke wants to do is to take his place – the man’s only designs are on his wife, not his children.
“I’ve known since the beginning… since the very first time she went to his bed,” he says all of a sudden, the bitterness in his voice quite shocking. “She changed overnight,” he adds slowly, as though he’s thinking it all through, maybe for the first time. “She’d been unhappy – unwell, I suppose – since Amy was born, and things didn’t really improve after Eve… She was distant, quiet, introverted. It was hard to know what to do, or say, most of the time, so I gave up trying. We muddled on through, and I kept hoping that she’d snap out of it. And then one day I came home from work and she was smiling and cheerful – completely different to her usual self. I honestly thought she’d finally turned a corner, but then she told me she’d met David, she said they’d spent the afternoon together, and how much fun they’d had. She was like a different person, Inspector. And then, I suppose about a week or ten days later, she changed again – only this time there as nothing cheerful about it. She became more secretive, and much more distant from me, and I knew then that she’d gone to bed with him. She started making excuses to go out during the day. She bought new clothes, started wearing make-up and perfume again.” He looks up at me. “Sometimes I used to catch her daydreaming, with a faraway look on her face. It was so obvious what was going on, I’ve often wondered if she wanted me to know. Whether she was flaunting the affair at me, letting me know she’d found another man – a younger man – to share her body with.”