Dead Letters
Page 20
What was he to do now? He was a desperate rookie again. Only this time the stakes were terrible.
‘You won’t mind if I push her off, will you, just to even the score?’ Rutter taunted.
Best rushed back towards the stairs and began climbing, throwing off his gloves, scarf and overcoat as he went. Trying to think. Trying to remain calm.
‘If I see any of your colleagues, over she goes!’
Best reached the floor below Rutter, took a moment to get his breath back then looked up to see that evil, superior, grinning face.
‘Tell you what,’ Rutter wheedled. ‘You come here and we’ll do a deal. Her for you.’
Oh God, thought Best, please help me.
He was now on the same level as Rutter, on the Upper Gallery used by cleaners and workmen for maintenance. He looked along the balustrade to where the pair were perched unsteadily. Mary Jane’s terrified eyes pleaded desperately above Rutter’s hand, which was clasped tightly over her mouth.
This time he must act immediately. This time he must not wait for the tragedy to unfold. He grabbed the stanchion with shaking hands, pulled himself up and stood opposite his enemy.
‘Right, Rutter,’ he said in a firm voice. ‘Let me have her.’ He reached forward with his right hand, holding on to the iron pole behind him with his left.
Rutter smirked, his eyebrows raised superciliously. ‘All right.’ He began pushing Helen towards Best. ‘Here she is – fair exchange.’
‘Don’t, Ernest,’ gasped Mary Jane. ‘He wants to kill you!’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘He always said he would.’
Rutter kept his hold on Mary Jane as he said, ‘He told on me, the bastard! I’m sure he’s sorry now though!’
Best’s right hand closed over Mary Jane’s and he began pulling her towards him. He had her. She was within inches of him when Rutter gave her a violent shove – towards the abyss.
For a second she wove to the left and right trying to regain her balance. Best hung on desperately but she could not recover. She looked at him, shook her head hopelessly, then wrenched her hand free and went over the edge, falling towards the flagstones far beneath.
Best howled his disbelief and anguish.
Rutter’s eyes were wild.
‘Gone to a better place, eh?’ he screamed. ‘Thought I was only going to get you. But this is better – much better, seeing you suffer first!’
Best lunged forward, seized the smirking Rutter by the throat, and with a strength born of fury, flung him out into the void.
It was only later that he realized what the man had screamed as he fell.
‘You’re as bad as me! You’re as bad as me!’
‘You never pushed ’im,’ insisted Cheadle vehemently. ‘I was there.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Best wearily. He didn’t care about anything any more.
‘You made a grab for ’im, got ’old of his coat, he tried to pull away, and fell. It’s obvious.’
‘No,’ said Best. ‘I know what happened. In the end, I was as bad as him.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I can’t lie about it.’
‘So you’re going to let that bastard win!’ yelled Cheadle. ‘Then you are worse than ’im.’
‘Yes,’ said Best. ‘I think I am.’ All he could see was Mary Jane, in her brown coat, lying spreadeagled in the aisle below.
‘Anyways, you don’t have to lie,’ announced Cheadle. ‘We ’ave another witness.’ He pushed Smith forward. ‘Tell ’im what you saw happen, lad.’
Smith would not meet Best’s eyes as he muttered, ‘They were grappling, up there, and suddenly Rutter’s right foot slipped. He tried to save himself but he began to fall … Inspector Best tried to pull him back. But couldn’t.’
A long silence followed Smith’s pronouncement, Cheadle glaring at Best determinedly, and Smith keeping his eyes on the ground.
‘No, no, John George,’ Best said quietly, shaking his head and putting his hand out. ‘When I taught you to fib, I didn’t mean this. Not this.’
‘I saw!’ Smith yelled suddenly. ‘He slipped!’ Tears started into the young man’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, glared angrily at Best and shouted defiantly, ‘Inspector Best put his hand out to try to save him – but it was too late!’
‘He’d gone to a better place,’ sighed Best.
‘Right,’ said Cheadle. ‘That’s what ’appened.’
He came right up to Best and fixed him in the eye. He was puce and shaking. ‘You wouldn’t want to make a liar out of this young sergeant, would you, Inspector? To ruin ’is career!’
‘No,’ said Best eventually. He, too, was crying. ‘I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of that young sergeant.’
About the Author
Ex-nurse and policewoman Joan Lock is the author of several non-fiction police/crime books covering the Victorian era, three of which describe the work of Scotland Yard’s first detectives. Of her eight crime novels, seven feature Scotland Yard’s Inspector Best. Dead Letters is the third in this series. She lives in London.
www.joanlock.co.uk
By the same author
Non-Fiction
Lady Policeman
Reluctant Nightingale
The British Policewoman: Her Story
Marlborough Street: The Story of a London Court
Tales from Bow Street
Blue Murder? Policemen Under Suspicion
Dreadful Deeds and Awful Murders: Scotland Yard’s First Detectives 1829–1878
Scotland Yard Casebook: The Making of the CID 1865–1935
Scotland Yard’s First Cases
The Princess Alice Disaster
Fiction
Dead Image
Death in Perspective
Dead End
Dead Fall
Dead Loss
Dead Centre
Dead Born
Copyright
First published by Severn House Publishers Ltd 2003
This edition first published by
The Mystery Press 2014, an imprint of
The History Press
The Mill, Brimscombe Port
Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG
www.thehistorypress.co.uk
This ebook edition first published in 2014
All rights reserved
© Joan Lock, 2011
The right of Joan Lock to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
978 0 7509 5864 6
Original typesetting by The History Press
Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk