Page 3 of Return Ticket

He was young. Maybe even younger than she was, but he had a ponderous, deliberate way about him.

He more than hit the height requirement for the police force, standing at least six foot four, and she wondered whether his size led to the careful way he had, although James, her boyfriend, was almost as tall and muscular, and he moved with a kind of fluid grace.

Evans checked for traffic and then crossed over to her, his eyes going to the boys. “Trouble?” he asked.

“We found a body,” Boy One said. Then he glanced at Billie and Boy Three, as if suddenly wondering if he should have spoken up.

“These boys were playing in the rubble down the alley and they found a body. I’ve checked. They aren’t mistaken.” She grimaced at the thought of what she’d found.

“Bad?” Constable Evans asked.

“Bad,” she agreed. “She’s been there for a while.”

Evans thought about it. “I should stay at the scene. Can you go to the station, let the station commander know?” he asked.

She gave a nod. “The boys can show you where she is.”

Her words seemed to both thrill and horrify the boys, but they danced away, impatient for Evans to follow them.

It was the shoe, Gabriella thought with a shiver as she walked toward the Chelsea nick. That’s why she felt as if she was floating a little bit above herself.

She had found the body of a young woman just a few months ago, and in a macabre mirror of the scene, Patty’s shoe had come off and lain a little way from her foot, just like the woman in the rubble.

She had never wanted to see anything like that again, but now she had.

She gritted her teeth, and walked a little faster.

chaptertwo

James was waitingfor her when she got back to the Metropolitan traffic warden center.

He was leaning against the wall, head turned her way to watch her approach.

Her heart did a little leap in her chest.

She hadn’t seen him for two weeks, although he’d told her he was coming back from his trip to Cardiff yesterday, which was a Sunday.

He looked tired.

She came to a stop in front of him and wished they weren’t out on the street, in front of her work, or she would have stepped into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.

He studied her face. “Go get out of your uniform, and we can go somewhere for tea.”

His Welsh accent was a little stronger than usual, the two weeks in Wales giving back what he’d lost after a year in London.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said, biting back what she really wanted to say, and slipped past him, up the steps. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the cool, slightly musty smelling entrance.

The passage echoed to the sound of her hard-soled shoes on the linoleum as she made her way to her boss’s office. Mr. Greenberg would want to know that one of his wardens had encountered a dead body on the beat.

He probably already knew, but she had a feeling he would expect her to tell him herself.

He was in his office, with the door open. “Miss Farnsworth.” He looked up as she knocked lightly, and gestured her in.

“Afternoon, Mr. Greenberg. Did the Chelsea nick tell you about the body?”

Mr. Greenberg got to his feet. “The body?”

They obviously hadn’t had time yet. Or Mr. Greenberg didn’t have a friend there.