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‘She was separated.’

‘Yes, I know that, but we believe she had a male friend.’

‘She did have a significant other, yes. He lived in the south.’

‘The south?’

‘South of the river. He wasn’t married and that attracted Rosemary because her husband wasn’t much of a provider. . but her enthusiasm seemed to wane.’

‘Really. .? That is interesting.’

‘So it appeared. Initially, she was very enthusiastic about this fella, but then she seemed preoccupied, as if good living came at an unexpected price, as if she was worried about what she had got herself into.’

‘Did she elaborate?’

‘Not to me, but she might have taken Rachel Pontefract into her confidence.’

‘We’ll find out, I dare say. Did she mention a name?’

‘Again, not to me, but her worry. . and it might have been fear she was experiencing. . it seemed genuine. It was about that time that she disappeared.’

‘Did you tell the police that?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No. I was never asked, none of us were, she was a missing person, so there was no investigation.’

‘Of course, we would only investigate missing children.’

‘Why the interest now, may we know?’ Mrs Maas glanced at Sandra Winthrop and then at Vicary.

‘Yes. . her body has been found. There has been a partial press release about a body found on Hampstead Heath.’

‘Oh. . I saw that.’

‘All London did.’ Mrs Maas sighed. ‘But she was unidentified.’

‘She has now been identified. Her next of kin have been informed and we will be making another press release in which we will name her and ask for information. If you could let me have Mrs Pontefract’s contact details?’

‘Of course,’ Mrs Maas replied with a shaking voice.

Frank Brunnie travelled to Kilburn police station. He entered by the main public entrance and went to the enquiry desk, where he showed his ID to the duty constable and asked for DC Meadows. Two minutes later he and Meadows were walking down the CID corridor towards the detective constable’s room. Upon entering the rectangular room, Brunnie noticed that it was crowded with desks, some occupied, others vacant, but all appeared to be in use. Meadows led Brunnie down to the far corner of the room and sat at a desk, and then pointed to the opposite desk. ‘Take that seat, please, that guy’s in Tenerife right now.’

‘That’s a coincidence.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, my detective sergeant is due back from there soon — tomorrow, possibly.’ Brunnie sank into the chair. ‘He says it makes sense to go to Tenerife at this time of the year.’

‘That I can readily go along with, Tenerife and the Med are too damned hot in the summer, but January and February, well, they’re pleasant months to go south of the fiftieth parallel. I learned the hard way — went to Crete in June once a few years ago, spent the days aching for the night to come, then you only had mosquitoes to deal with. . but the temperature became bearable. So, what brings New Scotland Yard to our little hole?’

‘J.J. Dunwoodie.’

‘Oh, you have an interest?’

‘Well. .’ Brunnie glanced round the office. Neat and functional, he thought. ‘Well, yes and no. What I mean by that is that we have little or no interest in him, but more with his employer.’

‘WLM Rents?’

‘Yes.’ Brunnie paused. ‘And I fear I may be responsible for the attack on him.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. If you tell me what happened, I’ll tell you why I may be responsible.’

‘Simply, the poor lad got duffed up. I mean, well duffed up. . well and truly rolled.’

‘Yes, I visited the hospital. You have him under police protection.’

‘Yes.’ Meadows opened a case file. ‘We have a witness to the incident. Too frightened to talk, certainly too frightened to give a statement or go into the witness box, and she also seemed to have something to hide. I mean, this is Kilburn, if it breathes it’s probably known to the police.’

‘Oh, I thought it was getting gentrified, that’s what WLM Rents are pursuing — extending the concept of Maida Vale and Hampstead to include Kilburn.’

‘If that’s the case, then take it from me, they still have a long way to go. In the evenings the streets round here are still full of urinating Irish women or brawling Irish men.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Anyway, the witness, a young black female, saw Dunwoodie being bundled into an alley at the end of his working day yesterday. It was dark by then, and two huge geezers set on little J.J. Dunwoodie.’

‘I see.’

‘They proceeded to give him a right hiding and this wench, the witness, was watching as the turn went down. She was a few feet away, hiding behind a wheelie bin. She was skip-dipping, looking for food. The supermarket dumps all its goods that are past the sell-by date into the wheelie bins in that alley.’

‘Yes. .’

‘If they can, they give it to hostels and the Salvation Army and such like, but they have to do that before midnight of the sell-by date — just one day beyond the sell-by date and it goes into the skip. It’s still perfectly edible, but in these claim-culture days no chances are taken. Such a waste, it annoys me.’

‘Yes,’ Brunnie said again. ‘Just twelve hours flying time to Ethiopia, where folk are starving, and we chuck food out, and do so in massive quantities. Madness.’

‘So that’s what our witness was doing — living a feral existence, tearing into packets of teacakes she had found in the skip, when she saw Dunwoodie getting kicked. In the gloom she was well camouflaged — she is black, like I said, Afro Caribbean — and had on dark clothing: shoes, trousers, jacket, hat. . all dark. She shrank into the shadows and waited till they had finished, and then she phoned us.’

Brunnie smiled. He enjoyed Meadows’ dry sense of humour.

‘Anyway, she is crouching there frozen with fear, and when it seems safe, she phones us. Good lass. . good for her. . anyone else would have scarpered, just melted into the night and left him to die, or left him for someone else to find, whichever happened sooner. We got there with the paramedics and they put him straight into the ambulance and took him to the Westminster Hospital. We spoke to the witness and she said she heard one of the attackers say, “That’s it. He’s dead”.’ Meadows consulted the case file. ‘And the second attacker she heard say, “We’d better make sure”, to which the first attacker said, “He’s dead I tell you, no one could survive that. I’ve done this before, Rusher, so have you”, to which the first attacker, one “Rusher”, said, “The boss was clear, he wants him chilled”, to which the second attacker apparently said, “He’s chilled, let’s get off the pitch. We have to get well clear.”’

‘Hence the protection?’

Meadows nodded. ‘Hence the protection. This was no random attack. We’ll wait until he wakes up and then see what he can tell us. So where does New Scotland Yard fit in?’

‘In respect of his boss, who gives his name as William Pilcher. We have good reason to believe William Pilcher is involved with the murder of the woman whose body was found in a shallow grave on Hampstead Heath.’

‘Interesting. . I read the report in the Evening Standard; heard about it on Radio London as well.’

‘So we want to talk to him a bit more. He lives in a pile in Virginia Water. . some pile. . I mean, a serious pile.’

‘Virginia Water? It would be very handsome; only big money camps in Virginia Water.’

‘We visited, and believe me, one copper to another, he had “nasty” written all over him.’

‘I know what you mean, squire, I well know what you mean.’

‘He hummed of suspicion. . reeked like you wouldn’t believe. . or maybe you would believe. Ran a trace but we have no record of him, not by the handle he gave.’

‘I see.’

‘So. .’ Brunnie shuffled in his chair, leaning forward with hunched shoulders, ‘this is where it gets uncomfortable. .’