by K. J. Frost
The thought makes me smile as I go down the steps and get into my car, closing the door and driving it around the corner to Cavendish House. I pull onto the driveway and jump out, leaving the engine running.
Amelie answers the door herself, wearing a business suit consisting of a grey skirt and jacket, with a white blouse underneath. She looks very smart, and she’s going to freeze in my car. “You’ll need a coat. And probably a scarf and hat too.”
“I thought we were going by car,” she says.
“Yes, we are. But my car doesn’t have windows…”
“Seriously?”
I stand to one side and let her see my MG. Her eyes widen and she smiles. “Oh… that’s a very pretty car.”
“Yes. And it still doesn’t have windows.”
“Or a roof,” she points out.
“No.”
She looks up at me. “So what do you do when it rains?”
“Generally speaking, I get wet.”
She giggles. “I’ll fetch a coat then, shall I?”
I go and stand by the car, while she lets herself back into the house, reappearing a few minutes later wearing a dark blue coat, with a matching beret-style hat, and black leather gloves. She looks stunning.
“Will this do?” she asks, giving me a quick twirl as she gets to the bottom of the steps.
“Definitely.” I take her hand and lower her into the car, waiting until she’s swivelled around and tucked her coat in, before closing the door and going around to the driver’s side.
“I should have thought about the coat,” she says, looking over at me and smiling.
“Well, you weren’t to know that I drive one of the most impractical cars on the market,” I reply, reversing out of the driveway.
“No… but I also can’t be sure that you’ll be bringing me home this evening, which means I could end up walking back from the bus stop…” Her voice fades and, for a moment, I wonder why but then I realise, she’s probably afraid.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I spoke to Aunt Dotty this morning and she said she’s not happy about you walking back by yourself. So, if you do have to catch the bus, she’s said you’re to telephone her, and she’ll meet you at the bus stop and walk you home.”
We’ve just reached the end of the road and I take advantage of being stationary, and turn to look at Amelie. It’s impossible not to notice the tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, ignoring the road ahead of me and waiting for her reply.
“Y––you’re both being so kind to me,” she mumbles, just about loud enough for me to hear.
I reach into my inside pocket, pull out my handkerchief and pass it over to her. “We just want you to be safe,” I say quietly, turning right onto Walton Road.
She wipes her eyes. “Thank you. And I’m sorry I keep crying every time we’re together.”
“It’s not every time.”
“It feels like it is,” she remarks. “I’m not normally so weepy, I promise. It’s just, since Beth…”
“Give it time,” I say, trying to sound reassuring.
“Is that how you got over your fiancée? By giving it time?” I’m aware she’s looking at me and I take a second to glance across at her.
“Yes,” I reply. “But the circumstances were very different. Victoria cheated on me with a man who I’d thought was my friend. You losing Beth isn’t the same thing at all. She was snatched away from you by someone else’s deed, not by your own choice. You can’t compare the two situations, Amelie.”
“Did you want her back?” she asks.
“Victoria?”
“Yes.”
I take a breath and check the traffic before turning left onto Hampton Court Way.
“Sorry,” Amelie says, before I have a chance to speak. “I’m intruding again. And I don’t have the right… especially not when I’ve asked you to wait.”
“You’re not intruding,” I reply firmly. “And you do have the right. I don’t mind telling you. I just needed to concentrate on driving for a minute… and to think about my answer.” I turn and smile at her. “It’s not something I’ve ever really talked about before.”
“And you don’t have to now,” she says, turning to face the front of the car again. “Tell me what you’re going to be doing today instead.”
“Amelie… It’s okay.”
She shakes her head. “Just tell me about your day, Rufus…” I can hear the emotion in her voice and decide to do as she says.
“I’m going into the office, and assuming no more disasters have struck, I’ll be collecting my sergeant and going up to London.”
“Why?”
“If you must know, I’ve got to see your guardian.”
“Uncle Gordon?” She turns to face me again. “Why?”
I glance across at her. “Because you told me last night that he and Beth had an argument. I want to know what it was about.”
She sucks in a breath. “So you do think it was connected to her murder,” she whispers.
“No. Not necessarily. But…” I hesitate, and then decide I may as well tell her the truth. “I get the feeling he’s not telling me everything he could. This is a complicated enough case without people keeping things from me… So, I’m going to get to the bottom of what he’s hiding.”
“He’s a good man,” she says firmly.
“I’m sure he is.”
“But you think he’s lied to you?” she asks.
“I didn’t say that. I said I thought he was hiding something. There’s a difference.”
She goes silent and I concentrate on negotiating the traffic over Kingston Bridge. The silence continues as we make our way into the town, but I don’t know what to say that won’t make matters worse.
“What should I do this evening?” she asks as I’m pulling into Canbury Park Road. “How will I know whether you’re available to take me home?”
“I’ll contact you either way. I will do my best, but if I get held up, I’ll call you.”
“And you’ll call, even if you’re going to pick me up?”
“Yes. Just so you know what you’re doing.”
I park in an available space outside the factory and quickly get out of the car before she can. With the second part of our journey having been spent in silence, I want to clear the air.
By the time I get to her door, she’s already starting to climb out and I take her hand.
“Amelie,” I say, keeping hold of her. She looks up at me, her eyes filled with sadness. “I’m sorry I have to question your uncle, but that’s how this job works sometimes.”
She looks surprised by my remark. “I know,” she replies. “I do understand.”
“And I will explain to you about Victoria, if you want me to.”
“Not now,” she says.
“Is there a reason for that?”
“Yes… I don’t want to be late for work.” Her voice is a little stiff.
“Okay. Is there an honest reason?” I stare at her and she looks confused. “It’s part of the job,” I explain. “I usually know when people aren’t telling me the truth… and you’re not.”
“I am going to be late for work,” she says, moving from one foot to the other.
“That’s as maybe, but that’s not the reason you don’t want me to tell you about Victoria, is it?”
She looks down, focusing on the button of my coat. “No,” she mumbles.
“Then what is it?”
She pauses, blinks a few times and looks up at me, her amber eyes filled with tears. “I—I suppose I’m afraid of what you might tell me.”
“You have nothing to be afraid of, I promise.”
“You were engaged to her, Rufus,” she cries. “That had to have counted for something.”
“Yes, it did – at the time – until she betrayed me and I realised I didn’t want to be with her any longer. I ended our relationship the day after I found out what she’d done.” I move closer, until we’re
almost touching.
“The day after?” she murmurs.
“Yes. I was too angry to do it at the time.”
“And you really didn’t want to try again?”
“No.”
“No second chances?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Don’t you believe in them?”
“Second chances? Yes, I believe in them. But not for her. She wasn’t worth it.”
A slow smile crosses her lips and she rests her hand on my arm, then leans up and whispers, “Thank you for telling me,” before breaking free and running off towards the entrance to the offices.
I watch her until she’s safely inside, then I get back into the car, and drive to London Road.
“I’ve been in contact with the local RAF station,” Ellis says on my arrival in the CID office.
“Good morning to you too,” I reply, slightly more jovially than usual – a result of Amelie’s farewell gesture, no doubt.
He tilts his head to one side, then shakes it and continues, “The station commander was very helpful.”
“And?” I decide my good mood is wasted on Ellis.
“In most circumstances, when a pilot is killed, there isn’t much of a uniform left,” he replies. “But when there is, and a body is recovered, the pilot is usually buried in it. He said that, very occasionally, a uniform might be retained by, or returned to a family, but his suggestion was that either we’re looking for a genuine RAF officer, or that someone might have borrowed a uniform.”
“Well, we never actually ruled out that our culprit may be a genuine RAF officer… but borrowed?” I query.
“Yes.” He shakes his head again. “It’s not very likely though, is it, sir. I mean… surely a serving officer would need his uniform, wouldn’t he? And besides, if it was borrowed, how on earth would we begin to know where to look?”
“By finding all the serving RAF officers in the area, I suppose,” Thompson puts in from his desk opposite Ellis’s. “We can kill two birds with one stone that way, and we might discover the genuine article, or someone who’s got a uniform that a third party is making use of.”
“That would take forever,” Ellis remarks.
“No…” I reply. “It’d take a while, but not forever.”
“And you don’t think we’re stretched enough already?” Ellis asks.
I stare at him for a moment. “Yes. But if it means catching this bastard, then we’ll stretch ourselves as far as we have to.” My good mood is now completely lost. He falls silent, and I turn to Thompson. “Ellis and I are going up to London,” I explain. “I want to follow up on a lead that Miss Cooper gave me last night.”
“Right,” he says. “I’m still looking into Mr Johnson’s background, but when I’ve finished that, I’ll start work on the RAF angle.”
“Excellent.” I never thought I’d say this, but I’m relieved to have Thompson on board, especially as Ellis has developed an attitude over his workload all of a sudden.
I had some paperwork to catch up with, so it was nearly noon by the time we left and I’d like to say that I took advantage of the car journey up to London to give Ellis a pep talk, or a dressing down. To be honest, I wasn’t not sure which was required; whether he was feeling put out by Thompson’s arrival on our team, or whether he was genuinely tired from the extra work. The thing is, I still don’t know, because I actually spent the time thinking about Amelie, and my conversation with her this morning. At the risk of reading too much into the situation, I’m erring towards thinking that she was upset by the idea that I was once engaged to Victoria. Obviously, I don’t want her to be upset, but the fact that she might care enough to even be interested in my past gives me cause to hope like I’ve never dared hope before. It also makes me resolve that, once this case is over, I’m going to spend as much time as I can with her, reassuring her and showing her that she has nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
We drive to Templeton’s office, but an enquiry at the main desk informs me that he’s not here yet. He’s expected later this afternoon, evidently, so I decide we’ll call for him at his flat, rather than waiting.
We leave the car where it is and walk the short distance to the familiar mansion block, where I lead Ellis up to the third floor. I knock twice on Templeton’s door and it takes but a few moments for him to answer, in person this time, and fully clothed, thankfully, wearing a shirt, tie and formal grey trousers.
“May we come in?” I ask, not standing on ceremony.
“What now?” He sounds exasperated, but holds the door open to allow us entry.
“I’ve got some more questions, I’m afraid.” I’ve already decided I’m not going to hold back this time. I need answers and I’m going to get them.
“More?” He leads the way into his living room, where Miss Foster is sitting on one of the chairs, a magazine on her lap. I notice some paperwork scattered over the dining table, and Templeton goes over and gathers it up, putting it into a briefcase, which he closes and puts on the floor.
“I’d rather speak to you alone,” I say as he turns around to face us.
“Excuse me?” His face reddens with anger.
“I think you heard me,” I reply.
He opens his mouth as though to object, then closes it, his eyes narrowing, before he turns to Miss Foster and says, “Would you leave us please, my dear?”
She stares at him for a moment, then gets up, placing her magazine gently on the coffee table. Her pale blue dress is skin tight and she straightens it, smoothing it over her hips, and then takes her time walking silently from the room, I presume to ensure that we’re all watching her. I glance at Templeton, who’s entranced by his lover’s display, and then look down at Ellis. His mouth is open and he’s staring, wide-eyed, so distracted that I have to nudge him to get his attention.
“What do you want?” Templeton says once she’s gone, coming over and standing in front of the fireplace, not sitting, or offering us a seat either.
“As I said, I’ve got some questions,” I reply. “But firstly, I should probably inform you that Miss Cooper was followed home from her place of work yesterday.”
He pales noticeably and steps towards me. “Followed?” he whispers. “Is—Is she alright?”
“Yes. She’s fine. Shaken up and a bit scared, but I think that’s understandable.”
“Who followed her?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Was it the same man who’s responsible for these killings?”
“I’ve just said, I don’t know.” My tone leaves him in no doubt that his question was a little stupid.
He nods. “You’ve seen her, I take it?”
“Yes. She telephoned me last night and I went to your house to make sure she was alright.”
“I see.” He pauses for a moment. “Thank you for that.” His voice softens as he sits down on the sofa. “Please, gentlemen… take a seat.” He motions to the chairs and Ellis and I take one each. “Why didn’t she telephone me last night?” he asks, glancing at Ellis as he pulls his notebook from his pocket and starts writing.
I sit forward, because I know it makes me seem even larger and taller than I am. “Because she didn’t want to worry you,” I explain.
“Worry me?” He blurts out the words, evidently surprised.
“Yes. She said you’ve been preoccupied.”
He looks me in the eye. “Well, that’s hardly surprising, being as my daughter has just been murdered.”
I wait, just for a couple of seconds. “Yes… Except Miss Cooper says your preoccupation pre-dates Miss Templeton’s murder…” I watch his reaction, which is non-existent, forcing me to continue, “I understand you had an argument with Miss Templeton not long before she died.”
He lets his head drop into his hands and groans.
“I know you told me the other day that your family were unaware of Miss Foster’s existence, but did your daughter in fact discover that you have a lover?” I press home my advantage.
Templeto
n’s head shoots up. “No… No. It was nothing like that.”
“Did she find out something else about you then?”
He lets his head fall back now, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh God,” he murmurs. “I knew it’d come out eventually.”
“What?” I ask him.
“I’m ruined.” He rocks forward and holds his head in his hands again, a picture of despair. I give him a moment, and then he looks up at me. “I may as well tell you,” he says. “You’re smart enough to find it out for yourself, and I’d rather you heard the truth…”
I can see how distressed Templeton is and I turn to Ellis. “No notes,” I say to him instinctively.
“Sir?” he queries.
“No notes.” He hesitates, then shrugs and folds his notebook closed, letting it rest on his knee.
Templeton nods his gratitude to me, then sits back in his chair. “Beth and Amelie were very close,” he says, a little randomly. “They were just like sisters, really.”
“I know. I’m aware of that.” I’m not sure why he’s telling me this.
“Well, Beth was going through my desk, about ten days before she was killed,” he says, finding his voice and spitting out words. “She was looking for a postage stamp, I believe. Anyway, she came across a letter from Peter Cooper… Amelie’s father. I’d been reading it over sometime during the previous weekend and thought I’d locked it away, but the maid had come in with some emergency or other, to do with my wife – which wasn’t an emergency at all, of course – and I must have just shoved it back in the drawer and forgotten about it. In the course of her search, Beth found it and when I came home from London, she confronted me…” He falls silent and closes his eyes, as though picturing the scene in his mind.
“What was in the letter?” This is yet another occasion when I’m forced to feel the full insensitivity of my job.
He opens his eyes again. “Everyone has always thought that we took Amelie in out of respect for Peter,” he says, not really answering me, “because we were such old friends… and in a way, that’s true. But there’s another reason, which is that, in the last war, something… something awful happened.”