by K. J. Frost
He smiles. “Well, I suppose the sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can feel clean again.”
I shake my head and we both get to our feet. I doubt we’re going to feel clean for some time to come.
Douglas Coates is a large man, probably around six feet tall, overweight to the point where his belly hangs over his trousers and his shirt buttons bulge, with a bald head and dark brown eyes. He sits across the table from me, leaning back in his seat, his hands in his lap, like he hasn’t a care in the world. Maybe he hasn’t, but his attitude is already annoying me, and we haven’t even started yet.
“Douglas Coates?”
He glances at me and smirks. “That’s me.”
“Can you tell me where you were between twelve midday and three pm on Tuesday of last week?”
He nods at Thompson, who’s sitting beside me. “I’ve already told him, I have no idea. I can’t remember.”
“I see. You are aware this is a murder investigation?”
He sucks in a sharp breath, and nods his head. “Rape and murder, I understand.” He pauses. “Of a little girl?”
He says those last two words with a sneer on his lips. “Yes.”
“I might’ve been in the pub.” He looks up at the ceiling, with a ponderous expression on his face, although I’d be willing to swear it’s fake.
“Which pub?”
“The Albert Arms.”
“And did anyone see you there?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Would the barman remember you?”
“I was served by the barmaid,” he corrects. “Lovely young girl.” He lowers his face and looks me in the eyes. “Gorgeous arse on her, that one… and huge tits.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “And she’s gagging for it. You can tell.”
“She sounds a bit old for you,” Thompson says sarcastically and I turn and look at him, just as Coates starts laughing.
“Yeah, I suppose she is really. Still, I wouldn’t say no… not if I got the chance.”
“Mr Coates.” I cut into his continued sniggering. “Do you think this young lady would remember you?”
Again, he shrugs. “Not sure. And I don’t know that I’d call her a lady either, not the way she flutters those eyelids and pouts those lovely pink lips.”
I open the file that’s on the table in front of me. “Have you ever seen this girl before?” I show him the photograph of Amy that Mr Sanderson provided, laying it in front of him.
He stills, leaning forward a little, then he picks it up and holds it in his left hand, staring at it, tilting his head this way and that.
“Well?” I ask.
“I’m not sure.” He frowns. “She does look familiar.”
“So you think you’ve seen her?” I push.
“Don’t rush me.” He focuses hard on the image in front of him, bringing it a little closer to his face, as though deep in thought.
“Have you seen her or not, Mr Coates?”
He lowers the picture again, then moans softly and licks his lips in a slow, lascivious way and I reach over, grabbing the photograph back from him. His eyes flutter closed, and I’m aware of his right hand moving beneath the table, just as Thompson gets to his feet, leaning over and seizing Coates by the collar of his jacket, hauling him to his feet, and it becomes clear what he’s been doing out of our sight.
“You fucking pervert.” Despite Thompson’s actions, and his loud, angry words, Coates continues to stroke his erection, and Thompson pulls back his arm, ready to strike.
Just in time, I grab Thompson, pulling him away, and Coates sinks back into his chair, the smile playing on his lips. “Get out,” I say to Thompson, who glares at me for a second or two, and then leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.
Slowly, I turn to Coates. “Stop that. Now.” His hand stills. “I mean it.”
He hesitates, staring into my eyes and then slowly pulls his hand away, letting out a long sigh.
“We’ll check whether the barmaid at The Albert Arms remembers you.” I motion for him to stand, which he does. “If she can’t, you’re going to have to come up with someone else who can vouch for your whereabouts.”
“And if she can?” He smiles, I presume because he knows he’s on safe ground and this whole exercise was just an excuse to bask in the limelight for five minutes.
“If she can, then I’m going to have to let you go.” His smile becomes a grin and I take a step closer, so I’m only inches from him. His eyes widen and I know my close proximity is making him uncomfortable. “And I’m going to make it my personal mission to ensure you are watched. All of the time. Whenever you look over your shoulder, someone will be there. Your life won’t be your own. And if you so much as glance at a child, I will haul you in, lock you up and throw away the key.”
He raises his chin in an act of defiance. “It’s not against the law to look.”
“It will be by the time I’ve finished with you. Trust me.”
He swallows and I notice a few beads of sweat appear on his forehead just as I step away from him. “Do up your trousers,” I snap, and go over to the door.
Outside, PC Beresford is walking down the corridor. “Constable? Can you take this man back to the cells?” I bark.
“Yes, sir.” He stops and waits while I usher Coates out into the hallway, then I return to the interview room and pick up my file, going back to the main office. There are several uniformed men scattered around, but Thompson is nowhere to be seen.
“Has anyone seen Sergeant Thompson?”
Most of them look at me blankly, but then PC Wells pipes up, “He came through here a while ago. I think he went to the gents.”
I dart into my room and leave the file on my desk and then go out into the main office and through to the corridor that leads to the stairs. The toilets are on my left and I stop, taking a deep breath, before I push the door open. Inside, Thompson is standing leaning over one of the three basins that line the left hand wall, his hands clasping its edge, knuckles white.
“Are we alone in here?” I close the door and lean up against it, preventing anyone from coming into the room.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, but then he slowly nods his head, the movement almost imperceptible.
“Are you alright?” I ask. Again there’s no immediate reaction, but after a short pause, he stands and turns to face me.
“No.”
“I think you should go home.”
His brow creases in confusion. “Are you suspending me?”
“Good God, no. I’m suggesting you go home early for the evening, to spend some time with your family. That’s all.”
He blinks rapidly a few times. “You’re not angry with me?”
“No.”
“Not disappointed?”
I shake my head. “Of course not. I sent you out of the room for your own good, Harry – and mine. The last thing I need at the moment is you being brought up on a charge. But that doesn’t mean I don’t completely understand how you feel.”
He nods his head. “I—I can’t just leave, can I? I mean, you need me to take you home yourself.”
I smile at him. “Believe it or not, I can cope. I’ll get someone to give me a lift. Or I’ll catch a bus if I really have to. I can manage, you know.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and then shakes his head, as though he’s just working something out. “No. I’ve let you down enough today. I’ll stay.”
“You haven’t let me down at all, Harry. But you do need to get away from this place, and from the case. Go and give Christopher a hug. Hold your wife. Feel human again, even if it’s just for a few hours.” He hesitates. “If necessary, I’ll order you to go.” I make sure I’m smiling while I speak, just so he knows we’re still friends.
“You mean it?”
“That I’ll order you? Absolutely.”
He smiles. “No. I meant do you mean that I can go?”
“Yes. I’m not altogether sure why you’re still here.”
His smile w
idens slightly and he moves closer. “Thanks, Rufus. I need this. I need to get away.”
“I know you do.”
In Thompson’s absence, I set Wells and Pearce the task of following up on Coates’ alibi, getting them to pay a visit to the The Albert Arms, and I also remember that we need to check on both Donald Curtis’ and David Cooke’s versions of events for Tuesday afternoon. So, I get Gilmore and Deakin into my office. They’ve finished with the burglary case now, other than tying up loose ends, so they can afford to spend a couple of hours helping me with this.
“I need you to go to this address…” I hand them a piece of paper with Ralph Ellison’s address on it. “Can you check that David Cooke went to see him at approximately one-twenty on Tuesday of last week? And be discreet about it. I’d rather you didn’t mention the case, so just fudge the issue and say we’re investigating something to do with the bank.” They nod their heads. “And then I want you to go and visit Donald Curtis’ employers.” I hand them a separate piece of paper. “Again, I need verification as to what time he returned from his lunch break on Tuesday.”
“Very good.” Deakin speaks for both of them, and they leave the office, then I sit at my desk for a couple of hours, going over what we’ve got so far. I have to say, it’s not very much, and by the time I’m ready to go home, the only thing I’m really left with is the hope that Doctor Wyatt will come up with something – fairly soon. Just before I leave with Beresford, who’s volunteered to take me home, Wells reports back that, after a brief explanation, the landlord at The Albert Arms gave him and Pearce the barmaid’s home address and they went to see her. She remembered Mr Coates, mainly because he gave her the ‘creeps’, as she put it, which leaves me no choice other than to release him.
On the drive back home, during which I take the opportunity to apologise to Beresford for biting his head off outside the interview room, I reflect that it’s been a bloody awful day.
Over dinner, I manage to keep the conversation away from the case – mainly because I’m not sure I can bear to think about it, let alone talk about it. Instead, Aunt Issa keeps us entertained with stories from the Holy Wars, which she’s discovered during the research into her next book. She seems rather taken with the period and regales us enthusiastically, with some of the goriest tales I’ve ever heard, much to my mother’s disgust, being as we’re eating at the time.
As soon as we’re finished, I get up from the table. “If you’ll all excuse me,” I say, leaning on the back of my chair, “I think I’ll go and see Amelie.” They all look up at me, a mixture of inquisitiveness, jollity and mischief on their faces. “She wanted me to help her decorate their Christmas tree, if you remember?” My mother’s face, which had been the mischievous one, falls somewhat.
“Oh… I see,” she says.
“And being as it’s still only seven-thirty, I may as well make the most of having some time to myself. I’ll take my key and let myself back in.” I turn and leave the room, not giving them the chance to comment.
Before putting on my coat and hat, I dash upstairs as quickly as I can and go straight to my room, picking up the small box my mother gave me yesterday, placing it in my jacket pocket, and smiling to myself. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to propose this evening, but I may as well be prepared.
Outside, the air has turned icy cold and I pull my hat down a little further, going out through the garden gate and across the road to Amelie’s house. The door is answered quickly by Sarah, the maid, who smiles at me. I suppose I am a regular visitor these days, so that’s hardly surprising.
“Good evening, Inspector,” she says, stepping back so I can enter.
“Good evening, Sarah.” She closes the door and, once she’s turned the light back on, she holds out her hand for my hat and coat, which I give to her.
“Miss Amelie is in the drawing room,” she says, nodding her head towards the door.
“Thank you.”
I like that she doesn’t bother to show me the way anymore. It makes me feel more at home… or at least more welcome anyway.
I open the drawing room door, to be greeted by a blanket of warm air, and the sight of Amelie, sitting on the sofa, reading a book. She looks up and smiles.
“Hello,” she says softly, closing her book and getting up. She looks perfect, in her grey wide-legged trousers and a navy jumper, and I walk towards her, pulling her into my arms and kissing her deeply.
“Hello,” I reply eventually and she lets her head rest against my chest. “Are you alright?” She seems a little uncertain, or insecure, her arms coming around my waist as she clings to me. “Amelie?”
She looks up at me. “I’m fine.”
I lean back. “Truly?” I stare into her eyes, knowing she’s not telling me everything. Even if I wasn’t a detective, trained to know when people are lying, I’d still know she was keeping something from me.
“Oh…” She pulls away, huffing out a sigh. “I’m just feeling out of sorts, that’s all.”
“Why?” I take her hand and lead her to the sofa, sitting down and pulling her onto my lap. She nestles into me, her head on my shoulder. It’s a familiar, comforting feeling.
“I took your advice,” she says, her voice rather sad and wistful. “I spent yesterday evening with Uncle Gordon and we had rather a fun time together, actually.”
“You did?” I recall my conversation with her guardian on the driveway, my own fears that he wouldn’t give her his time and attention, and his concern that Amelie was distancing herself from him.
“We didn’t do anything terribly exciting,” she continues. “We just had a late tea and then listened to some music and played cards, but it reminded me of when Beth was alive. It was the sort of thing we’d have done together… she and I.”
“I see.”
“And then he left to get back to London. And I realised how lonely I felt, all by myself.”
I lean back into the sofa, so I can see her properly. “Why didn’t you telephone me? I’d have come over.”
“It was after ten o’clock,” she says, reasonably. “And besides, you’re busy with your case. And you’re tired.”
I move my hand up, cupping her cheek, and look deep into her eyes. “I’m never too busy, or too tired to come and see you.”
She stares at me, tears brimming and when she blinks, they fall, landing in droplets on her cheeks.
“Oh, my darling.” I pull her close to me. “Don’t cry.” She sobs into my chest, her body shaking as I hold her. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear and she pushes against me, leaning back.
“Why?” she sniffles.
“I’ve just realised… what I said just then, it wasn’t entirely true, was it?” She stares at me again, but doesn’t reply. “I have been rather busy and preoccupied of late, haven’t I?”
She shakes her head and places her hand on my cheek. “I do understand, Rufus. I really do.”
“But you’re feeling a bit… neglected?” I search for the right word.
“No,” she says with absolute clarity. “I honestly can’t complain about the amount of time you’ve spent with me. I know how busy you are, and how difficult this case is for you, and I know you’ve spent almost every spare moment you have with me…”
“And it’s been my privilege.”
Her lips twitch upwards, just slightly. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then leans into me again. “I—I think it’s just because it’s Christmas, and Beth’s not here. I—I miss her.”
I hold her closer, stroking her hair. “I know, my darling. And I know I’m a poor substitute, but if you need me, then you really do only have to call. You know I’ll do everything I can to get here as soon as possible.”
She looks up at me, tracing along the line of my jaw with her fingertip. “You’re not a poor substitute. You’re perfect. And I always need you.”
I lean down and capture her lips with mine, showing her that the feeling is entirely mutual.
We’re both breat
hless in moments, but Amelie pulls away first, looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Would you mind if we decorated the Christmas tree?”
I smile down at her. “Not in the least.”
She returns my smile with one of her own – a rather shy and beautiful one. “I just think it might help to break a tradition, if you know what I mean. Doing things with Uncle Gordon is one thing, but he was always here. For as long as I’ve known Beth, I’ve known him. But doing something like this with you… it’s different. It’s… it’s like I’m moving on. Well, trying to, anyway.”
“As long as you’re sure?”
She nods her head. “I’m sure. I need to make some new memories… new beginnings.”
I kiss her lips very gently. “Well, I’m all for those.”
We sit for a moment or two longer, and then Amelie takes a deep breath and stands, holding her hand out to me. It feels like she’s taking a giant leap, and she needs me to help her along the way. And I’m only too happy to oblige.
“The tree is in the garden,” she says. “It’s already been put into a pot. It just needs to be carried through.”
“To where?”
“Into here.” She nods to the space beside the piano. “But I’ll come and help you. You won’t be able to manage by yourself; not with your arm.”
Ordinarily, I’d object, but she has a point, and we go out into the hall, putting on our coats, and then make our way through to the back of the house, where Amelie lets us out of the door, and I see there’s an enormous Christmas tree standing off to one side.
“It’s huge,” I remark and she looks up at me.
“That’s rather traditional in this house. A huge Christmas tree.” Her face is alight, smiling, and I lean down and kiss her, because I can’t resist. She smiles up at me, and then, with much giggling and laughter – and a little assistance from Sarah – we manage to carry the tree through to the drawing room.
Removing our coats again, Amelie tells me the decorations are in the dining room, and between us, we carry three large, flat boxes through, and place them on the chair nearest to the tree. Amelie removes the lid from the first of the boxes and then turns and looks up at me, a smile settling on her lips. “You’re very useful.”