“No, you won’t.”
“Really,” said the vicar, putting a sandwich back on the plate, jam or bloater paste, it was difficult to tell which. “Really, I think this is less than appropriate.”
“You’ve no business here.”
“That’s not true, sir, I’m afraid.”
“You should be out after the bastard ’as done this, not coming round here worrying the life out of the woman. What in God’s name d’you think you’re playing at, round here worrying the life out of her now?”
“If I might suggest…” attempted the vicar.
“You can keep your bloody nose out of it an’ all!”
“I merely…”
“I should think we’ve had enough of your claptrap for one day.”
“Take it easy now,” said Lynn, moving so as to place herself between them.
At the far side of the room, the dumpy girl with red cheeks pulled open a door seeking a way out and a broom toppled forward from the cupboard and struck her on the side of the face.
Olive Peters held the framed photograph of her daughter and herself tighter, cradling it to her chest.
“Rejoice that she’s gone to a better place! Shoveled underneath that sodding ground, that’s where she is.” He raised the walking stick towards the ceiling. “You must think we’re all bloody soft!”
“Give me the stick,” said Lynn Kellogg.
“Will I, hell as like!”
“Yes,” said Lynn firmly. “You will.”
Never taking her eyes off his, she held out her hand and kept it there until he put the stick, with slow care, between her fingers.
“I know what you’re thinking, Graham,” said Resnick.
They were on their way down to the incident room, snarled up in the first flow of homegoing traffic. Millington had been wondering what his wife had bought for supper and what his chances were of finding out before it was dried up or cold or both.
“Len Lawrence gets the chance to get his boots under the super’s desk for as long as this takes. Why haven’t you been treated the same? Senior sergeant in terms of years, experience, surely you ought to be in my office, getting the feel of things, establishing yourself? Something along those lines?”
“Something like that, sir.”
“There’s another way of looking at it,” Resnick continued.
Isn’t there bloody always! thought Millington. Driving over in Resnick’s car, that was practically the only time he hadn’t been thinking about it since the teams had been announced.
“If we get a good result here…”
“Us and all the rest,” said Millington.
“…that might end up looking more impressive on your record than a week shuffling bits of paper across the surface of my desk.”
And it might not, Millington thought. We might not. Resnick applied the brakes too sharply as a youth on a skateboard swerved out in front of him. Both Resnick and Milhington were thrown forwards against their seat belts as the engine cut out.
Immediately horns sounded behind them.
“Those things should’ve been broken up and burned the first time round,” said Millington savagely.
“In a hurry to get home,” said Resnick, turning the key in the ignition.
“Can’t wait to spend his social security.”
In the end it was the girl with plump cheeks and now a strip of plaster over her right eye. Lynn had offered her a lift back into the city; too late to be worth going back to the office, she was meeting her boyfriend in the Pizzaland on the Market Square.
Lynn sat there with her, toying with a coffee while the girl drank Diet Pepsi and complained about not losing weight.
“Trouble is Darren likes to eat here of an evening, but I only ever have the vegetarian. Thin and crispy, not the deep pan. And the salad. Darren gets through a double portion of garlic bread as well as most of a regular pizza and he never puts on a pound.” She looked at the door as if she couldn’t wait for him to arrive. “I even went to aerobics for a couple of months but all that happened was I got short of breath.”
“Don’t worry,” Lynn reassured her. “It’s more difficult for us than it is for men.”
“But don’t you wish you weren’t so big?” asked the girl, leaning back to get a better look at her. “I bet you do.”
Lynn shook her head. “In my job it’s useful.”
“I don’t know how you can,” the girl said, thoughtfully.
“Do what I do?”
“Not want to lose weight.”
“I suppose I never think about it.”
“What about your feller? You have got one, a bloke?”
“He doesn’t seem to think about it either,” Lynn said. Probably, she carried on the thought, because he’s too busy thinking about his lightweight bike to notice.
“You’re lucky. Ever since I met Darren…”
“How did you meet him?”
“You’ll never guess,” the girl said, her cheeks growing redder than ever, “but I met him through the paper. Sort of, you know, a blind date. It was Shirley’s idea. We put it in together, two girls want to meet two smart fellers who’ll show them a good time. It was Shirley’s idea. She used to do it all the time.”
Rachel made a final note in her work diary and closed her eyes. Only for a moment. It wasn’t until her colleague touched her lightly on the shoulder that she realized she had fallen asleep.
“You all right?”
“Fine,” Rachel said, yawning and smiling self-consciously at the same time. “Nothing a few good nights wouldn’t cure.”
“Better get off home then. It’s way past any sort of time.”
“Isn’t it always?”
“Goes with the job.”
Rachel nodded, stood up and stretched, started collecting things together. “Carole,” she said suddenly.
“Mm?”
“That spare room at your place?”
“Yes?”
“Is it still empty?”
Twenty
The principal item at the morning briefing was a confirmation from forensic: analysis of semen deposited at the scene of both crimes yielded a positive comparison. Male pubic hair found on the body of Shirley Peters and in Mary Sheppard’s bed was also of the same type. Skin samples from beneath Shirley Peter’s fingernails were not a conclusive match with those taken from Mary Sheppard. A small number of wool fibers removed from the carpet of the room in which Shirley Peters was found as well as from the settee neither matched each other nor anything connected with Mary Sheppard.
“The assumption we are working on, therefore,” said Skelton, “is that both murders were the work of the same man.”
“Bloody brilliant!” said Colin Rich to no one in particular.
“What about the different MO?” asked Grafton.
“Forensic evidence and now the apparent link through personal columns, which seems to have been confirmed by a member of Inspector Resnick’s team, seem more important. But not conclusive.”
“As long as we’re aware of the dangers of tunneling our vision too soon,” put in Tom Parker, “that’s the line we’re taking. We’re looking for one man.”
The names and addresses of female advertisers were being entered on the computer and each would be contacted and, as far as possible, a list of those from whom they had received replies would be taken and accessed. These names would be crosschecked and then matched with the criminal records file; any who were known, for whatever reason, would be seen first-in addition to men who had, for one reason or another, aroused suspicion in the women they had eventually met.
“How about the letters, sir?” Andy Hunt looked up at the superintendent, pen resting on the almost full page of his notebook.
“In what regard?”
“Well, we’ve all seen copies of those that Charlie found in the Sheppard house…”
“Good old bloody Charlie!” said Colin Rich with quiet scorn.
“…and we’d probably all agree that some of them seem a sight more chancey than others.”
“It’s not always the ones as come out and say it,” said Tom Parker.
“That whining bugger,” said Grafton. “What’s his name? Minors?”
“Myers,” corrected Resnick.