The Cuckoo (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 1)

by K. J. Frost

  “I suppose that’s understandable. I presume she paints?” He’s admiring the pictures on the walls.

  “Yes. It’s her one true love, after Sam, of course.”

  He smiles. “And I take it she mixes her drinks on the strong side?”

  “That would be putting it mildly. She travelled widely with Sam and learned her skills from some of the most talented and deadly barmen in the world.”

  “And they taught me well,” Aunt Dotty says, joining on the end of the conversation as she comes back into the room. She sits down in her usual seat at one end of the sofa, near the fire. I sit beside her and Thompson takes a seat opposite. “Ethel’s made some soup this morning,” she says, “so we’ll have some of that for lunch, shall we?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “It’ll be ready in a few minutes, so we’ll just let her lay the dining table, and we’ll go through.”

  Ethel’s vegetable soup was very tasty, as was the bread she’d baked, and we had a marvellous lunch, during which Aunt Dotty kept us entertained with stories of her travels. I’d heard most of them before, but Thompson hadn’t and I think he was quite taken with her. It’s not surprising; most people are…

  We’re back at the station by one-thirty, to find Ellis has returned from his ventures, with the report that Mrs Middlemas had indeed returned from Gravesend, understandably distraught. She knew nothing of her daughter’s activities on Friday, because she left for her sister’s on Thursday afternoon and, at the time Gloria hadn’t made any plans. And, as far as she was aware, her daughter didn’t know any RAF personnel at all, although Ellis discovered that the victim had two brothers, both in the army – not that that helps us much. He also tells us that he’s read through the paperwork he’s collected from the school, which doesn’t offer any new information that Miss Watson hadn’t already told him him over the telephone. She had taken the trouble to speak to some of the other teachers, though, all of whom had agreed with her point of view.

  “I think we need to let that drop now,” I tell them both. We’re sitting in my office, with the files and paperwork spread out on my desk. It’s a horrible mess, but then so is the case, so it feels fitting. “The fact that Ursula and Beth went to the same school is a tenuous and irrelevant link, and we can put it to one side and focus on what we do have, which at the moment, isn’t much, other than Ursula Franklin’s father, who could be living anywhere, Mr Johnson, of dubious temperament, and a mystery RAF officer.”

  “And the fact that the women were in uniform,” Thompson adds.

  “No they weren’t,” Ellis puts in. “Beth Templeton wasn’t in uniform. She worked in a factory.”

  “A factory linked with the armed forces,” Thompson replies.

  “That’s stretching it a bit, don’t you think?” Ellis leans forward and looks at him.

  I hold up my hands to stop their budding argument. “Does there have to be a link between the women?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily,” Thompson replies. “It could be completely random. But it does seem like a bit of coincidence that three of them were in uniform.”

  “And one wasn’t,” Ellis persists.

  I’m tempted to tell them to grow up.

  “Either way,” Thompson says, “they were all picked up in pubs. We’ve still got that…”

  “Yes.” I feel my shoulders sag. “Speaking of which, I’d better go and see Chief Superintendent Meredith, and get his permission for our surveillance operation. Otherwise all we’ll have is that bit of knowledge, and no means to do anything about it.”

  Thompson nods and Ellis sits back in his chair, while I get up and leave the office, going up to Meredith’s outer room, where I ask his secretary if I can see him. She’s just about to answer me, when the man himself steps out of his office.

  “Stone?” he says, clearly surprised by my presence. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looks at his secretary. “If the Chief Constable arrives, tell him I won’t keep him more than a few minutes.” He stands aside and ushers me into his office.

  “What do you want?” he asks brusquely, not inviting me to sit down. I’m not overly surprised, given that he’s obviously awaiting the arrival of Uncle Frank, presumably with regard to my complaint.

  “I need your permission to mount a surveillance operation in several public houses in the Molesey area, starting tonight.” I spend the next five minutes giving him a detailed explanation of my reasons.

  Once I’ve finished, he sits down at his desk. “How many men do you need?”

  “With Ellis, Thompson and myself, I think an extra half a dozen should do it, sir,” I reply.

  He nods. “Very well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I turn around and leave, without waiting to be dismissed.

  Outside, sitting in one of the four chairs next to the wall, is the familiar shape of Uncle Frank. He’s quite a bit shorter than me, with thick steel grey hair and kindly blue eyes. I know better than to speak to him when he’s here on business though, so I just give him a nod of my head. He returns the gesture and then gets up to greet the Chief Superintendent, who has come out of his office to meet him.

  “We’ve got six men,” I announce, as I go back into my office. Ellis and Thompson are still sitting there, going over the files and trying to make things appear more organised.

  “Six?” Thompson says, looking up. “That’s good.”

  “I think Ellis and I should take The Fox,” I say, turning to face him. “You’ve never done anything like this before, have you? So I don’t want you going anywhere on your own.” He nods in agreement. “Thompson,” I say, looking at him. “I’d like you to take The Plough, and then, if you can get together some volunteers, and divide the other pubs up between them, and gather everyone together in the main office, I’ll speak to them all before we leave for the day.”

  “Will do, sir,” Thompson replies, and once again I inwardly cringe at his salutation. “I haven’t been able to get around to looking into Mr Johnson’s background yet,” he says, looking at the clock on the wall. “The banks will be closed now, so I’ll have to leave it until tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay,” I reply. “I know I mentioned him and David Franklin earlier, but I’m not sure it’s either of them we’re looking for now anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re looking for an RAF officer?” I say, trying not to sound too impatient.

  He smiles. “And you’re assuming he’s genuine?”

  I flop down in my chair. “Excuse me?”

  “Who’s to say he’s a real RAF officer?” he says quite calmly.

  I let my head rock back. “This was already a tough enough case, without you adding an imposter into it. You’re suggesting that someone has somehow got hold of an RAF uniform and is using it to… to pick up women?”

  He shrugs. “It’s possible.”

  “Is it though?” I ask. “I mean, don’t they keep tabs on uniforms?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies. “But it might be worth checking out.”

  I turn to Ellis. “Can you get onto that tomorrow?” I ask him. He looks at me a little blankly. “I’d suggest you start with the nearest RAF station. Find out how easy it would be to get hold of a uniform if you weren’t actually serving at the time.”

  He nods. “Yes, sir,” he replies. “Why wait until tomorrow though?”

  “Because at the moment, we need to sit down and work out a plan for this evening…”

  I look over the sea of faces before me. “Sergeant Thompson has allocated each of you to a public house,” I say, and a few of them nod. “When you arrive, I want you to alert the landlord to your presence, and try to get their cooperation. Keep on the lookout for anyone leaving the pub with a young woman.”

  “Especially one in uniform,” Thompson puts in.

  Ellis frowns and shakes his head, but I don’t comment.

  “We think the culprit
may be dressed as an RAF pilot, so bear that in mind,” I add. “If you spot anything untoward, get the landlord to telephone Sergeant Tooley here at the station. He’ll be coordinating everything. Do not leave your post to make the call yourself. If the suspect should leave at any time, follow him. Don’t let him out of your sight. The most important thing… the whole reason for this operation, is to prevent another attack, so keep your wits about you, and under no circumstances are any of you to drink any alcohol. Is that clear?” I look around at them and they all nod this time. “Okay. You can go home now, get something to eat, change your clothes, and get to the pubs for opening time.”

  They disperse and make for the door, and I turn around to Ellis and Thompson.

  “You’ll be alright at The Plough?” I say to Harry.

  “Yes. I’ll be fine.” He checks his watch. “I’ll head off now, if it’s okay. I may even get to read Christopher a bedtime story before I have to go out again.”

  I nod my head, unable to picture him – or Victoria, for that matter – in a scene of such domesticity. “Right, Ellis,” I say, facing him. “Do you want a lift back to Molesey?”

  “No, thank you, sir,” he replies. “I’ve got a few things I need to finish off here. I’ll get the bus back home.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes, thanks.” He returns to his desk and sits down, opening up his notebook and writing something in it. I shrug my shoulders and go back to my office, collecting my hat and coat, and switching off the light, before going down the stairs and out to my car.

  Ethel’s made rabbit stew tonight, which is perfect – and even better, in that it’s ready by the time I get home. I help Aunt Dotty to wine, but stick to water myself, being as I need a clear head for the evening’s work.

  “I’ve got a group of men watching the pubs,” I explain to her as we eat.

  “I see.” She looks up at me. “And what if he strikes again? Won’t you be in danger?”

  I smile at her. “The idea is to protect the young women of this parish, not ourselves, but we have thought it through. If any of our men spot someone behaving in a suspicious manner, they’re to alert Sergeant Tooley at Kingston. He can then send cars from Kingston and Molesey to assist, and also phone round to the nearest pubs and get the men who are stationed there to go and help as well.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” she says.

  “Well, we did spend half the afternoon working it out.”

  “So, where will you be?” she asks.

  “I’ve got The Fox.”

  She puts down her knife and fork. “You will take care, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “I’d hate anything to happen to you…”

  I smirk. “Trust me… so would I.”

  I finish my meal and bid her goodnight, telling her not to wait up for me, although I have a feeling she might. Being as it’s turned colder, I put on my coat as well as my hat, and go out of the front door, making my way along Spencer Road and onto Walton Road, which is the village’s equivalent of a high street.

  It only takes a few minutes to get to The Fox and, when I do I introduce myself to the landlord, Dennis Wilberforce who remembers speaking to Thompson this morning. He’s happy to help, and introduces his wife, Agnes, who also works behind the bar. They’re both clearly impressed at being part of an ‘undercover’ operation, as Mr Wilberforce calls it, and he suggests I sit at the corner of the bar, as it affords the best view of the whole pub. While his wife goes off to see to a couple who’ve just come in, he fetches me a cup of coffee and asks how the investigation is going.

  “I’m undercover,” I remind him, under my breath, trying hard not to smile. “I can’t really discuss it.” It’s the perfect excuse for not telling him anything.

  He touches the side of his nose. “Mum’s the word,” he says, grinning.

  I’ve only been sitting there a few minutes when Ellis arrives, apologising for being late.

  “You’re not. Not really.” He takes a seat beside me and I explain to the landlord that Ellis is with me. They nod a greeting and Wilberforce moves away.

  “You got home alright then?” I ask him as a group of three young men come into the pub and stand a little further along the bar, where they’re served by the landlord’s wife.

  “Yes, thank you, sir,” he says.

  I lean a little closer to him. “It’s probably best if you don’t call me ‘sir’ while we’re in here. It’s a bit of a giveaway.”

  “Oh,” he says, blushing. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Excuse me?” The landlord comes over again and stands right in front of me. “Insp… I mean, Mr Stone?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a telephone call for you,” he says.

  I look at Ellis. Already?

  “Where?” I ask the landlord.

  “Come through here.” He moves to the other end of the bar and lifts the hatch for me to pass through.

  “I’ll be back,” I whisper to Ellis.

  He nods and I go through the gap in the bar and follow the landlord through a doorway and into a narrow hall. There’s a wall-mounted telephone, the receiver of which is sat on a small shelf. Wilberforce hands it to me and moves away.

  “Stone here,” I say into the receiver.

  “Rufus?”

  “Aunt Dorothy?” I recognise her voice immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so sorry to bother you when you’re working,” she says, “but I’ve just taken a telephone call for you… from Amelie Cooper, and you need to go and see her. Immediately.”

  I feel my blood freeze in my veins. “What’s happened to her?”

  “She said she was followed home from work.” I can hear how upset she is, which seems odd. She doesn’t even know Amelie. “She’s in a real state, Rufus,” she adds. “If you can’t go to her, then tell me where she lives, and I will.”

  “No.” That’s a nonsensical idea. “I’m not having you wandering the streets at night.”

  “She’s absolutely distraught,” she says, as though she hasn’t heard a word I’ve said.

  “Calm down.” My voice is more stern than usual and I hear her take a breath. “I’ll go to her.”

  “Now?” she asks, more quietly.

  “Yes. Now. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s alright.”

  “Thank you.” She’s almost whispering now.

  “Don’t thank me.” I try to sound as calm as I can. “I need to go.”

  “Yes… yes, of course. I’ll see you later.”

  I hang up and turn around, coming face-to-face with the landlord.

  “I’m going to have to leave, I’m afraid,” I say to him, reaching into my pocket for my card and writing down the Kingston station telephone number on the back. “If my sergeant should need your assistance, you’re to call this number and ask for Sergeant Tooley. Is that clear?”

  He takes the card from me and nods his head. “Absolutely, sir,” he says. I pat him on the shoulder, then go back out to the bar and around to Ellis, who’s sitting where I left him.

  “Sorry,” I say as I get to him. “I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Has something happened already?” he asks, looking surprised.

  “No. It’s nothing like that. Miss Cooper was followed home from work,” I explain.

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine,” he says, settling into his seat a little complacently.

  “I won’t be long. Just keep your eyes open and remember what to do if you see anything. I’ve just given Tooley’s number to the landlord, so get him to help, if something happens.”

  He nods and, with a little reluctance, I leave the pub, running back the way I’ve just come, and getting to Cavendish House in a little over five minutes. I knock on the door, and take a few seconds to catch my breath before it’s opened by Sarah, who
lets me in without a query.

  “She’s in the drawing room,” she says and leads me straight there, opening the door, taking my hat and coat, and letting me in all at the same time. Amelie looks up from her seat on the sofa, as soon as I enter.

  “Oh… thank God,” she says, getting up. “I know we said we wouldn’t see each other… and I suppose we’re not really, but I didn’t know what else to do, Rufus. I’m sorry for disturbing you… your aunt said you were working and I told her not to worry you, but I’ve been so scared, I—”

  I go over and stand in front of her. “Stop,” I say quietly, interrupting her flow. She looks up into my eyes, hers filled with tears. “I’m here.” I take her hand and sit her back down again, taking a seat beside her. “Tell me what happened.”

  She looks up at me again and swallows down her tears. “I was so scared,” she repeats.

  “I know.” I move a little closer, hoping to put her at ease. “Tell me.”

  “I—I had to work late,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Mr Pickford wanted me to finish something off.”

  “Right…”

  “And when I came out, which was just before six o’clock, I discovered the tyres on my bike had been slashed.”

  I feel my whole body stiffen, but try desperately not to let her notice. “So what did you do?”

  “I didn’t have enough money on me for the bus fare,” she says, “and I needed to get the bike home to get it repaired, so I decided to walk it back. It’s only three miles or so…”

  Part of me wants to yell at her that her decision was about the stupidest one she could have taken. The other part just wants to hold her and never let her go. I don’t do the former, because she’s upset enough already, and I don’t do the latter because I agreed to wait, and besides, I know I can only catch whoever’s doing this if I remain professional, and don’t let my feelings for her get in the way – however hard that might be.

  “I’d got about half way back, on the Hampton Court Road, when I realised there was someone behind me. I wasn’t sure if they were following me or not, so I slowed down, and so did they. I sped up, and they did too. So I stopped completely, and he ran off.”