by K. J. Frost
“Only if he’s a very calculating and clinical person, I’d say.”
“So, not a mad man then?” Thompson suggests.
I shake my head as another thought occurs to me and I push myself slowly off the wall. “He was the one who first suggested Gordon Templeton as a suspect… and he was very keen for me to take a look at Keith Johnson too. He was deflecting attention away from himself all the way through.”
Thompson holds up his hands. “Wait a minute,” he says. “You’ve got no evidence. Just because he got a few things wrong tonight and made a couple of daft, unfounded suggestions as to possible suspects, doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. He’s one of us, Rufus.”
“I know… even if he does live in the same road as one of the victims, and failed to tell me that.”
Thompson’s eyes widen. “Even so,” he says reasonably. “We still need evidence.”
“We need to be able to tie him in with an RAF uniform.” I’m thinking out loud.
“Well, I can’t see how we can do that. If it was a police uniform, that would be a whole different matter,” he replies.
“Exactly. But, if you remember, he told us that the station commander from the RAF explained to him that one of the ways to get hold of a uniform would be to borrow one…”
“Yes, but from whom?”
I take off my hat and run my fingers through my hair. “Do we know anything about his family?”
Thompson shakes his head. “I don’t. He’s been at Kingston for years, but only transferred into CID about six or seven months ago, I think. And he keeps himself to himself.”
The last thing I want to do is to start asking questions at the station about Ellis’s background. Apart from the fact that he’ll almost certainly get to hear about it, I can’t be sure as to the accuracy of anything I’ll be told. Anyone with an axe to grind could easily lie, just to cause trouble.
I put my hat back on. “I’ve got an idea,” I say slowly, mulling it over while I talk. “I think I know how to get the evidence we need – assuming it’s there – but it’ll be unorthodox.”
Thompson smiles, looking me up and down. “Well, I always thought that was your middle name. You may as well live up to it.”
Chapter Nineteen
I’ve taken too many risks.
I’ve spent the day wondering if I should flee before anyone realises it was me. I don’t think they’ve worked it out yet, but it’s only a matter of time now…
I could take the uniform with me, I suppose, and start again in a different town. I’ve probably got enough money saved up to get away, maybe to somewhere like Birmingham, Leeds, or Manchester. Somewhere big enough to hide, where nobody knows me.
As I get ready for another evening at the pub, I look in the mirror and adjust my glasses. I’m sure the opportunities would be endless in a big city. Maybe even enough for one a night… Just the thought makes me smile with anticipation.
*****
It’s been a very difficult day, not helped by a distinct lack of sleep. I don’t think any of us got to our beds before three o’clock this morning, and we’ve spent today following up on enquiries.
I had another interview with Chief Superintendent Meredith this afternoon, to ask for some additional men. I lied, and told him that I’d had a personal emergency, and that Ellis had been answering a call of nature when the murderer had struck, and that we should try and cover such eventualities. He agreed without hesitation, giving me a free hand. I didn’t explain about my suspicions surrounding Ellis, because I know he’d want to do things by the book and suspend him from duty while we investigate, and I’m not sure we’d get very far going down that road.
So, at the moment, only Thompson and myself are aware of my speculations, but even so, we have to appear to be pursuing the case in a normal fashion, so I’ve had Ellis and Tooley undertaking house-to-house enquiries with a couple of other officers, and writing up all the interview statements, after which Thompson comes into my room.
“I meant to say earlier,” he comments. “It’s much better to see you in your suit again. It was a shock to the system to see you in your casual clothes last night… although I have to admit that, even casually dressed, you’re a lot smarter than most people I know.”
“That’s because you don’t know any smart people,” I reply, smiling up at him. “Is everyone ready?” I nod towards the main office where he’s supposed to have gathered them all together.
“Yes, sir,” he replies.
For a moment, I’m tempted to tell him not to call me ‘sir’, but we can deal with that later. At present, we’ve got more important things to worry about. We go out into the office together, where we’re greeted by a group of men, some in uniform, some not. They’ve all volunteered for additional duty tonight and, although I know this is just for show, I appreciate their efforts.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” I say, as a means of quietening their chatter. They turn to face me. “I’m sure you’re all aware that there was another murder last night,” I announce, “as a result of which we’re doubling up the surveillance, ensuring that at no time will any of the local public houses be unmanned, regardless of emergencies, or calls of nature… or anything else, for that matter.” There’s a general nodding of heads and muttering of approval. “Sergeant Thompson will let you know which pub you’ll be stationed in, you’ll work in pairs and if for any reason, you need to leave the premises, you’re to notify the man you’re with, and Sergeant Tooley, who’ll be here as usual.”
I nod to Thompson, who steps forward and runs through the list of names, allocating them to various public houses, while I look on.
“You’ve put me with Thompson?” Ellis says, coming over to me.
“Yes. The Fox is closed at the moment, after what happened, so you might as well go to The Plough.
His eyes narrow. “You’re blaming me for this, aren’t you?”
“No.” I reply. “It was just one of those things. It could have happened to any of us.” I nod around the room.
“And where are you going to be?” he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“I’m going to move from pub to pub, making sure everything’s running smoothly,” I explain.
Ellis nods his head slowly, studying me. I’m just wondering if he’s going to say anything else, when Thompson finishes handing out the duties and turns back to me.
“Right,” I say, raising my voice, and Ellis moves away, standing with the other men again. “You can all go home now. Get something to eat and change your clothes. Make sure you get to your posts in time, and remember to keep your eyes open.”
They nod and talk among themselves as they disperse.
Thompson remains behind and, once we’re sure we’re alone, we both sag slightly.
“That felt a bit phoney,” he says. “We both know nothing’s going to happen.”
“Well, I’ll stake my pension it won’t,” I tell him and he smiles and turns to leave. “Fancy a drink?”
“A drink?”
“Just a small one.”
He shrugs. “Don’t mind if I do.” I lead the way back to my office, sitting down and opening the bottom drawer of the desk, and pulling out a brand new bottle of single malt whisky and two crystal glasses.
I look up as I’m opening the bottle to find Thompson smiling across the desk at me. “You never could slum it, could you?” he says.
“No.”
I pour us both a small measure of whisky and hand one across to him.
“What are we drinking to?” he asks.
“Clearing the air?” I suggest.
He hesitates and lowers his glass again. “What does that mean?”
“It means I want to clear the air between us… and apologise.”
“I thought we already had… cleared the air, that is. And what have you got to apologise for?”
“I feel bad for the way I behaved when I first arrived here,” I explain, putting my glass down on the desk, resting my elbows on
its surface and looking across at him. “It was childish.”
“Not really. And I don’t blame you. What I did was wrong… unforgivable.” He takes a sip of whisky. “It wasn’t my finest hour, Rufus, but I promise you, if she’d told me her name before we went to bed, even I might have been able to put two and two together and wonder whether she was your Victoria. I might have thought to ask the question, anyway.”
“You didn’t know her name?” I’m surprised by that revelation.
“No.” He shakes his head and looks down at the paperwork on my desk. “As I said, it wasn’t my finest hour. She only told me who she was after you’d walked away, at which point your attitude made perfect sense. Up until then I was wondering what the hell you were doing there and why you were getting so hot under the collar. Afterwards…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. He looks up for a second, then takes another drink, putting the glass down on the desk. “We met in a bar,” he explains. “And I thought she was just beautiful.”
“Well, she was.” It’s true. Victoria was very beautiful – albeit in a sterile, superficial kind of way.
“I bought her a drink,” he continues, “although we’d both had a few by then already. And then she invited me back to her place.” He shrugs, almost to himself. “As far as I was concerned, I couldn’t see any harm in it. She was single; I was single. Why not? We were ripping each other’s clothes off before she’d even closed the front door…”
I hold my hand up. “I’m not sure I need that much information.”
“Sorry.” He falls silent for a moment. “Anyway… we made it to the bedroom, and we’d just finished when there was a knocking on the door. I told her to leave it, but she insisted on answering, wearing that almost transparent nightgown… and then I heard your voice. I thought you’d come to find me for some reason – that maybe something had happened at work. It didn’t even dawn on me that you’d have had no way of knowing where I was. And that’s why I appeared in the hallway.”
“Half dressed, if I remember rightly.”
“Yes.” He leans forward. “I swear to you,” he says, his voice suddenly more serious and filled with emotion. “I swear on my son’s life that I had no idea who she was, Rufus. You’d never actually introduced me to her, so I had no way of knowing, did I?”
I can’t deny the accuracy of that. “But the thing is, even if you didn’t know she was engaged to me, you must have known she was engaged to someone. She was wearing a ring.”
“No she wasn’t,” he says defensively.
“She wasn’t?”
“No.”
I feel like a bit of an idiot now, having blamed him for so long, when it seems Victoria must have taken her ring off. She certainly went out of her way to deceive me… well, both of us, I suppose.
“So… how is she?” I don’t really care, if I’m being honest, but it seems polite to ask.
“How the hell should I know?” Thompson replies, picking up his glass and draining it.
“Because you’re married to her?” I feel like I’m stating the obvious, but the confused expression on his face doesn’t alter, and I start to wonder.
“Oh no, I’m not,” he says. “Christ… There’s no way I’d have married her. Once she told me who she was, I put my clothes on and got out of there, and I didn’t look back.” He pauses. “I didn’t even speak to her. Part of me wanted to call her all kinds of names, because I thought she was a bitch for doing that to you, and I still do… but then my behaviour wasn’t a great deal better, so who was I to start hurling insults?”
“So, if you’re not married to Victoria, who are you married to?”
“Julia,” he replies simply, a smile spreading across his face. “I met her about six weeks after you left for London. It was a bit of a whirlwind…” his voice fades.
“How much of a whirlwind?”
“We were married within four months,” he admits.
“And was there a reason for that?” I ask, smirking.
“No,” he says. “That was five years ago, and Christopher’s only just turned two. There were no shotguns involved. We just wanted to be married, that’s all.”
I hold up my hands in apology. “So… you’ve got a son?” I ask.
He grins. “Yes. He’s perfect. Well, he’s perfect when he’s asleep, anyway.” We both chuckle and Thompson leans a little further forward and lowers his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but Julia’s just found out she’s expecting again.”
“Congratulations,” I say, with complete sincerity.
“It’s early days,” he continues, sitting back a little, “so we’re keeping it quiet for a while.”
“Your secret’s safe.”
He focuses on me for a moment, then asks, “What on earth made you think I was married to Victoria?”
I smile. “Styles told me you’d got married over five years ago, and I didn’t think you’d have met someone and convinced them to marry you that quickly. I just assumed it had to be her.”
His own smile widens. “I’m a fast mover, Rufus… you know that.”
“Yes. I do.”
There’s a moment’s silence, which he breaks, saying, “I really am sorry about what happened. If I’d known…”
I hold up my hands again, to stop him talking this time.
“I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt, because it did,” I tell him. “And… and I’m not sure whose betrayal hurt more – yours or hers. But knowing that you had no idea who she was makes a lot of difference. It means you didn’t betray me, at least.”
“Well, I did. But not intentionally.”
I decide to be honest with him. I’ve told Amelie, so I may as well tell him, being as he was directly involved. “The reason it hurt so much was… well, it was because I thought we were waiting for our wedding night.”
He shakes his head very slowly. “In that case,” he says after a moment’s pause, “I think you should be grateful to me.”
“I should?”
“Yes. You’d have been very disappointed.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t have been her first,” he says quietly.
“No. You got there before me.”
He shakes his head again. “No. I wasn’t her first either.” He falls silent, letting me take that on board.
“Dear God,” I murmur, finishing my whisky in one gulp. “I wasted so many years regretting her…”
“She wasn’t worth a single moment’s regret,” he says.
I look over at him. “I’ve spent the same amount of time hating you,” I admit.
“Well, that really was wasted time,” he replies, a cocky smile forming on his lips. “Because everyone knows how lovable I am.”
“Only in your own dreams,” I reply and he smirks.
He looks up at the clock above my head. “I suppose I’d better be going,” he says, getting to his feet. “Thanks for the drink.” He pauses, then adds, “Tonight’s going to be tough.”
“I know.” I get up and move closer to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let him out of your sight, Harry. And… watch yourself.”
“I will,” he says. “And, whatever you’ve got planned, make sure you get everything we need, won’t you? I don’t think I could do this twice.”
I nod and he smiles, and then leaves.
I wait two hours then close up the office, put on my coat and hat and go out to my car, driving over to Molesey, to Beauchamp Road, where I drive straight past Amelie’s darkened house, and continue on my way to number twenty-six. I park outside the small detached property, and walk up the narrow path to the front door, knocking gently.
I wait a few moments and then the door is opened, just a crack.
“Yes?” An older woman peers at me, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, requiring her to squint.
“Hello,” I say, getting out my warrant card. “You don’t know me. I work with your son.”
“Kenneth?” she sa
ys.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m his boss.” She smiles and opens the door a little wider. “Do you think I could come inside?” I ask, looking around. “It’s easier, with the blackout and everything.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she replies and opens the door, stepping to one side to let me in. My nostrils are immediately accosted by the pungent smell of over-cooked cabbage, but I swallow that down and watch her close the door, pulling the blackout material across before she switches on the light. Now I can see her properly, I wish I’d stayed outside. She’s probably a few years younger than my own mother, but she’s worn a lot less well. Her hair is silver grey, her clothes are unkempt, her slippers worn, with a hole in one toe.
“So, Mrs Ellis,” I say, desperate to get to the point, get what I came for, and get out of here. “About your son…”
“He’s not here,” she says. “He came back earlier, had his supper and went out again.” It strikes me as odd that she’s not concerned about him. Most mothers of young policemen would be frantic with fear if their son’s boss arrived unannounced on their doorstep. She seems more intent on moaning. I get the feeling she’s good at it too. “He’s been doing that a lot lately, but then I suppose you’d know all about that…”
“Yes, I would. And I’m sorry. It’s this case, you see…”
“No need to apologise,” she says, distantly. “Makes no difference to me where he is.”
I ignore her comment. “The thing is, your son brought something home with him and I need to find it and take it to him.” It’s a thin excuse, but I find with people like Mrs Ellis, the less elaborate the story, the better. They have too much imagination anyway. It’s much better to let them dream up all kinds of intricate details than to invent them myself.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I’m afraid I can’t say,” I reply, conspiratorially. “It’s classified.”
She hesitates, then nods her head, knowingly. “I see. Well, he’ll probably have put it in his bedroom. I’ll take you, shall I?”