by K. J. Frost
“It helps, doesn’t it?”
We stop outside the palace to let a bus go past. “Do you talk to Amelie about work?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her about yesterday?”
“I did, but not in any great detail. I didn’t explain exactly what Coates was doing.”
“Well, I suppose it’s difficult to know how to phrase it,” he says. “It’s probably easier for me and Julia, being as we’re married.”
I smile. “Yes, it is rather awkward. But I won’t have that problem for very much longer.”
He turns and looks at me for a moment, then focuses back on the road. “You haven’t…?”
“I have…”
“You’ve asked her?”
“Yes.”
“About bloody time.”
I chuckle. “I have only known her for just over two months. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. But when it’s right, it’s right, and there’s no point in hanging around just for the sake of it, is there?”
“No, there isn’t.”
He turns again, smiling. “And can I assume from your general good humour that she said yes?”
“Of course she said yes.”
“Her uncle agreed?” he asks, smirking to himself.
“Yes. I asked him on Sunday.”
He glances at me. “Well, you kept that quiet.”
“I had to. If my mother had heard about it, she’d have been hanging out the bunting. As it is, she and my aunts are already plotting and planning.”
“I don’t envy you that,” he remarks. “I left all of the preparations to Julia and her mother.”
“I wish I could do the same, but Amelie’s aunt isn’t going to be of much use to her, I shouldn’t think, which leaves her in the hands of my female relations. She’s going to need me there to back her up.”
“Well…” He pulls the car into a parking space behind the station. “… as long as you don’t start coming into work talking about lace and flowers, we’ll be fine.”
“I have no intention of doing any such thing.”
We both get out of the car and he comes around to me as I’m shutting the door, and holds out his right hand. I look down at it and then take it in mine, letting him shake my hand warmly. “Congratulations,” he says, with a touching sincerity.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it, Rufus. You’re perfect for each other, and I hope you’ll be very happy together.” He turns away, but then looks back. “You deserve it.”
I’m a little stunned by that remark and it takes me a moment or two to follow him into the station and up the stairs. Just before we go into the main office, I pull him back.
“I’d rather you kept my engagement quiet for now, Harry. Just until the case is over. It feels a bit inappropriate to be celebrating at the moment.”
He nods his head. “Will do.”
We go through to my office, Thompson depositing his coat and hat en route, and I stop in the doorway, surprised to see Doctor Wyatt already there, sitting in a chair by my desk.
“Good morning, Doctor.” I shrug off my own coat and put it on the peg behind the door, together with my hat, before going around the desk and sitting opposite him. Thompson takes one look at the doctor’s serious face and rigid demeanour, as he turns to acknowledge my greeting, and closes the door, coming over and leaning against the window sill, behind me and slightly to my right. “What’s wrong?” I ask, because it’s clear something is.
The doctor lets out a long sigh. “I’ve finished all the tests and examinations I needed to do,” he explains, nodding towards a thin file on my desk.
“And?” There’s no point in me reading about it, when he can tell me.
I sense a reluctance though, as if he’d prefer not to say the words aloud. Even so, I continue to look at him. It’ll be a lot quicker if he can just tell me. And I can ask questions if there’s anything that’s not clear.
“And…” He inhales deeply and sits back in his chair. “… and I don’t think you’re necessarily looking for a man. Not anymore.”
Thompson steps forward, approaching my desk. “Are you saying there was no sexual assault?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Doctor Wyatt shakes his head slowly.
“Then I—I don’t understand. If she was sexually assaulted it had to be a man.”
“Not necessarily. I—I…” He’s struggling to find the words.
“You think an object was used to penetrate her, don’t you?” I do it for him.
He focuses on my face and nods his head. “I found minute splinters of wood and some traces of mud inside her,” he says.
“So… something wooden.” I’m thinking out loud. “Like the stake that was missing from the lengths of twine?”
He shrugs. “I can’t be certain,” he replies. “It’s a park. And what’s more, she was found in a toolshed in a park. I’m sure there were other objects available. Or maybe the killer came prepared.”
“It’s possible.”
Thompson moves around the desk and takes a seat beside the doctor, his face pale now. “Just because an object was used, doesn’t mean it wasn’t a man wielding it.” His voice sounds strained.
“No. But it does mean we have to open up our enquiries to include women as well now.”
His head drops into his hands. “Surely a woman wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then he looks up again. “Why would she?”
“To cover her tracks?” I suggest. “To make it appear that the murderer is a man and throw us off the scent.”
“Who are we looking at then?” he asks, leaning back, crossing his legs and staring at me.
“I suppose it could be anyone, but out of the family members, it would have to be the nanny, or Mrs Sanderson. The other staff were at the house the whole time.”
“Excuse me… are you suggesting the girl’s mother might have done this?” Wyatt raises his voice a little, incredulous at my suggestion. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
“You haven’t met her,” Thompson reasons. “She’s shown barely a moment’s concern for her daughter since she went missing. Her sole interest seems to lie with her lover.”
Wyatt raises his eyebrows. “Her lover?”
“Yes. She’s besotted.”
“Even so,” the doctor contends, “could a mother really do that to her child?”
“Mothers have murdered before,” I point out.
“Murder, yes. But this…? Surely the nanny is the more likely suspect?”
“I’d agree,” Thompson says, “if it wasn’t for the fact that the nanny is the only person in the house who’s had a good word to say for the little girl. She’s the only one who seems to have cared for her at all.”
The doctor nods his head and, with another heavy sigh, gets to his feet. “Well, I’d rather not be in your shoes when you have to question them.”
I stand myself and offer my hand across the table. He seems surprised, but takes it.
“Thank you, Doctor.” We shake firmly. “I know this has been a particularly difficult case. I’m grateful for your hard work.”
He lets go of my hand and puts his own in his pocket. “This has been one of those times when I’ve really hated my bloody job,” he murmurs and he turns, and leaves the room.
I have to say, I can’t disagree with him.
“How are we going to handle this?” Thompson asks, once we’re alone again.
I sit back down, putting Wyatt’s file to one side on my desk. “For now, we’re going to keep this to ourselves. We’ll go over to the Sanderson house and question both women again about their activities on the afternoon that Amy disappeared. We’ll try and make it seem as though we’re just checking the facts again, to see if we’ve missed anything.”
Thompson nods his head. “I suppose there’s a chance it could be a stranger?”
“It could. But do you really think
so?” He pauses for a minute and then slowly shakes his head. “No, neither do I.” We both get to our feet and I go and put my coat and hat back on, just as Gilmore appears in the doorway.
“Sorry to intrude,” he says, “but I thought I should let you know that Deakin and I went to speak with that Ralph Ellison chap last night.”
“Oh yes?”
“He seemed a bit confused about why we were asking, but confirmed that David Cooke had arrived at his house at just before one-twenty. He said the appointment was for one, but that he was running late himself, so he didn’t mind.”
“Right. And Donald Curtis?”
“We couldn’t speak to his boss until this morning,” he replies. “He’d already left for the day by the time we got there last night. But he said that Donald Curtis left for his lunch at twelve-fifteen, like he always does when he’s going to meet his girl, and was back just over an hour later.”
“His boss knew he was going to meet Miss Sutton?” I can’t hide my surprise.
Gilmore smirks. “Not by name, no, but it’s common knowledge at his place of work that he sneaks off whenever he can for a bit of how’s your father with his girlfriend. The boss – a Mr Pike – said he doesn’t mind because Curtis is exceptionally good at his job, and he makes up any lost time at the end of the day.” He looks up at me. “And he always comes back smiling, evidently.”
“Smiling and bragging, no doubt,” I remark.
“Mr Pike didn’t mention any bragging.”
“Oh, believe me,” Thompson says, “Curtis isn’t the type to hold back.”
I pat the young detective constable on the shoulder. “Well done, Gilmore. Excellent work – again.”
He grins. “Thank you, sir.”
He turns and leaves Thompson and I alone. “You’re full of praise,” he murmurs under his breath.”
“Does no harm. And it puts those two charmers in the clear – if we were still thinking in terms of it being a man – so at least we learned something.”
He nods. “So, where were we?”
“Discussing tactics for interviewing Mrs Sanderson and the nanny. We mustn’t let them know we suspect them,” I point out to him as we start walking out through the main office towards the stairs. “We can’t afford for either of them to make a run for it.”
“No,” he muses.
“I want to see if they slip up, make a mistake, forget a lie they’ve told us before, or maybe tell us a new one under pressure…”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll have to think again.”
There’s a short pause while we get into the car, and then Thompson turns to look at me. “It could still be a man though, couldn’t it?”
“Yes. It could either be a complicated double-bluff, or a fetish that I don’t want to think about.”
“But you don’t think it is? You think it’s one of those two women?”
He starts the engine. “Yes. Let’s face it, we’ve been getting nowhere with the men in this investigation. Maybe this is why.”
“And if you had to choose between them?” he asks. “Who would you put your money on? Mrs Sanderson or Elizabeth Sutton?”
I take my time before answering, “My head says it’s the mother. As you said to Doctor Wyatt, she’s shown no interest in the child since we’ve been involved in the case.”
“And your heart?”
“My heart doesn’t want to believe a mother could do that. So my heart says it’s the nanny. But I have to bear in mind that there’s a huge allowance for wishful thinking in there. Still, I suppose until we have more evidence, or one of them slips up, wishful thinking is about all we have.”
The temperature has dropped since earlier this morning and there’s a definite feeling of overcast gloom in the air. That’s perhaps more to do with my own mood than the weather, but even so, I wouldn’t be surprised if we had snow soon. It’s certainly cold enough.
Thompson parks the car outside the Sanderson house and we both pause before getting out.
“How do you want to do this?” he asks me.
“I’m wondering about trying something a little unorthodox.”
He glances across at me. “Well, it is supposed to be your middle name,” he replies, although there’s no humour in his voice for once and I ignore his comment.
“I’m going to see if we can try and interview them both together.”
“Mrs Sanderson and Miss Sutton?” he says. “In the same room?”
“Yes. I’m wondering if they might trip each other up somehow. It’s an outside chance, but it could work.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Well, you never know.”
We both climb out of the car and go to the front door, which Thompson knocks on, saving me the trouble. I glance up at the sky, which has that yellowish tinge you often get before a storm, and wonder whether I’ll make it home this evening before we see the first of this season’s snow.
The door is opened by Lois, who smiles up at both of us in turn.
“Is your mistress at home?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
She stands to one side and I enter, with Thompson following behind. Once we’re inside, Lois closes the door and takes our hats. “She’s in the drawing room,” she says and leads the way, opening the door and announcing us.
Inside, Mrs Sanderson is sitting in the same chair as she was on the first occasion when we met her, a week ago today. It feels like a lot longer than that, but cases like this can distort time, for the families much more than for us. I half expect her to blush, or look embarrassed, being as the last time we met, she was throwing things around her bedroom, but she merely turns from gazing out of the window as we enter, and nods an acknowledgement.
“Detective Inspector,” she says, rather formally.
“Mrs Sanderson.” I make my reply with equal restraint.
“How can I help?” Her voice is monotone and disinterested, despite her question.
I’m about to explain the reason for our visit, when the door opens behind us and Mr Sanderson walks in.
“Inspector,” he says. “I’ve been working in my study. I heard you arrive. Do you have any news for us?”
Although he seems to have aged in the last week, he’s more alert, more eager for information than his wife, who’s turned away again, presumably having decided to leave her husband to deal with us.
“We’ve come to speak to your wife, and to Miss Sutton,” I explain to him. He screws up his eyes, his brow creasing in confusion.
“My wife and Miss Sutton?”
It seems as though to want to speak with one of them would have been acceptable, but both is beyond his comprehension.
“Yes. We can talk to them both in here, if you could arrange to have Miss Sutton brought down? Perhaps your maid could look after your daughter for a short while?” I put forward the suggestion, while also making it clear that he doesn’t really have much choice in the matter.
He pauses for a moment, glancing over towards his wife, and then nods his head, just once. “I’ll go and check,” he says, and leaves the room.
Mrs Sanderson makes no movement, not even a turn of her head, and I glance at Thompson, who shrugs his shoulders and makes a show of looking at the picture on the wall to our left. It’s a large landscape of a field, leading down to a river, with some trees off to one side. Although I’m no great expert, I’ve spent enough time with Aunt Dotty to realise that it lacks any sort of focus, leaving me to wonder why the artist chose this view.
I’m just thinking about moving further into the room, when the door opens again and Mr Sanderson comes back in. He’s alone.
“Where’s Miss Sutton?” I ask, not beating about the bush.
“She’s just waiting for Lois to go upstairs, and then she’ll be coming down.” He goes to the fireplace, standing in front of it, and looking rather uncomfortable. He doesn’t sit and for a moment I wonder why, but then I conclude that he’s probably waiting for the arrival of
the nanny, so he can choose a seat beside her. God, I’m becoming cynical in my old age. “What’s this about?” He turns to face me, his hand resting on the mantlepiece.
“I’d rather wait for Miss Sutton, if you don’t mind,” I reply, although him ‘minding’ doesn’t really bother me one way or the other. “I’d prefer not to have to repeat myself.”
“You haven’t found out who did it, then?” he says, defiantly and Mrs Sanderson turns, looking at me.
“No.”
Mr Sanderson tilts his head, as though he’s expecting more of an explanation, but I don’t offer one and, after a short silence, he sighs and looks down at the fire. His wife turns away from me and stares at him, although from this angle I can’t see her face clearly enough to read her expression, and then she goes back to looking out of the window.
Within a minute or so, the door opens once more and Miss Sutton appears. I smile to myself, taking in her neatly combed hair and pristine lipstick, and wonder – again with a tinge of cynicism – whether she really has been waiting for Lois, or whether she’s been using these few minutes to tidy up her appearance.
“Inspector,” she says, keeping her voice low, presumably with the intention of making it alluring to the opposite sex.
“Miss Sutton.” I nod my head by way of greeting and she smiles and flutters her eyes, clearly not appreciating my immunity to her charms.
“You wanted me?” She’s leaning forward now in an obvious, flirtatious pose.
“I have some questions.” Her rapid blinking is the only thing that gives away her surprise at my response, but she rallies well.
“More questions?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’d like to come in and sit down?”
She glances across to her employer, who smiles and waves a hand towards the sofa on his right, and she smiles at him now – using that same seductive expression she’s obviously worked out is wasted on me – and crosses the room, taking a seat on one of the sofas, and making a point of straightening her skirt as she does so.
Mr Sanderson pauses for no more than a few seconds before moving across and sitting beside her, leaving less than a six inch gap between them. After his argument with his wife, I suppose there seems little point in him pretending anything other than an interest in their nanny, and Miss Sutton doesn’t seem to object to his presence, looking up at him and giving him an encouraging smile, which he returns. Well, this could get complicated…