Page 17

chapter seventeen

James called Dr. Jandicott first thing on Monday morning.

He relaxed a little when the pathologist told him no body had been found after Saturday night’s fog, and he asked if he could come round to discuss the body found in the market garden.

Then he called the Met’s river police, Thames Division, and asked for the boat patrols to keep an eye out for the body of a young woman, gone missing near the docks. He didn’t give any details, just in case someone there had loose lips and connections to the dock workers, and Thames Division promised they’d let him know if they found anything.

“I think I’ve found Catherine Lithlow.” Hartridge knocked on his door and entered. “She’s a patient at St Mary Abbots Hospital on Marloes Rd.” He was more cheerful this morning. It was as if a weight had been lifted.

James knew it was because they had discussed a plan to get them out from under Whetford’s heel yesterday, before the CND march. He wanted to warn him that they still had to implement it, and there was a chance it wouldn’t work, but he let it go.

This wasn’t the place to talk about it, anyway.

“Catherine Lithlow,” he said instead, trying to remember who that was. “The woman with asthma?”

James recalled the pinched, nervous landlady who’d submitted the missing persons report, corroborated by Ms. Lithlow’s boss, that she would never up and leave, especially not without taking her things or giving notice. “Why hasn’t she sent word to her work and landlady?”

“She was hit by a car in the fog. They think she had an asthma attack and stumbled into the road. She was unconscious until yesterday.”

James shook his head. “That’s a story. Well, send a uniform round to confirm it’s her, and then tell them to let her workplace and landlady know.” It felt good to cross a name off their list. “Also, get someone to call Glasgow again, see if they can track down Fiona McTavish’s mother, and find out if she’s seen her.”

“Will do.” Hartridge disappeared.

James got his things together and walked out to the small office Hartridge had next to his own and poked his head in. “While you set the wheels in motion on those two, I’m going across to see Dr. Jandicott. I’ll swing back afterward and we can go interview the last four on our list.”

Hartridge almost seemed his old self as he waved in confirmation, the phone tucked under his chin.

James closed his door, and found Whetford bearing down on him.

He arranged his face into a friendly expression. “Morning, sir.”

“Archer, I thought I told you it was all hands yesterday. That wasn’t a suggestion, it was a direct order.” Whetford’s eyes were red-rimmed, and James wondered for the first time if he was on the drink. He looked terrible.

“I did help yesterday, sir.” James inserted just enough indignation to sound hurt. “I called the front desk to let them know the traffic was too backed up for Hartridge and I to make it to the Yard on time after we followed up on a lead we got on Saturday evening, and so we went to the nearest nick on the march route. Helped out Sergeant Darle in Piccadilly. We were on the line at St. James’ Park.”

“What?” It was the last thing Whetford had expected to hear. “We were expecting you here, man.”

“Sorry, sir, but the march caused so much traffic chaos, we would never have made it back here.” He lifted his shoulders. “They needed us just as much at St. James, sir. Sergeant Darle kitted us up, and we were on duty until after 5 in the evening.”

“And you called this in, you say?” Whetford was left flatfooted, but James didn’t think for a moment that he was appeased. He hadn’t wanted James and Hartridge here because they were needed. He had been trying to set them up for something.

James was even more sure of it now that he was looking Whetford in the eye than before.

“I couldn’t get anyone in the offices, so I called the front desk. They most likely couldn’t get through to anyone to pass it on, either.” He had made sure to ring moments before they left for St. James’ Park. He wanted to be sure no one could ring back and try to reroute them to wherever Whetford and Galbraith had set their trap.

Whetford gave him an icy stare, turned on his heel, and walked away.

James watched him go.

There was no longer any doubt about it. He would have to set things in motion. Implement the plans he’d been making for a while now.

Because if he didn’t, Whetford would get the better of him. And that wasn’t happening.

He made his way to the stairs, and kept a friendly smile on his face as he passed his fellow officers, nodding politely. Wondering which of them was neck-deep in graft.

* * *

When James found Dr. Jandicott, he was sitting at his desk, sipping tea. He took the chair the pathologist offered him.

“You want to know about the body you sent over on Friday?” the pathologist asked. “The one from the Royal Masonic.”

James nodded. “Any similarities to the others?”

Jandicott tipped his head to the side. “Before we get there, why wasn’t she touched? She was found four or five days before I got her, wasn’t she?” He looked around his desk for the paperwork, and flipped open the file. “They have a run of dead bodies at the Royal Masonic?”

“No. There were only two in there. But the pathologist is an alcoholic.” James reached across and tapped the file. “Thank goodness I got to her before he did. If it’s murder, the case would have been in jeopardy, given the state of him.”

“It was murder,” Jandicott said. “You ask if it was similar? It was near identical. Blow to the back of the head, exactly like the victim found in the rubble.”

He had known it. James got to his feet, walked to the window to look out. “He half-buried her in a ditch.”

“I read the report,” Jandicott said. “He also struck her face. It’s possible she heard him coming up behind her, turned, and he hit her, spun her around, and then delivered the blow to the head.”

“He didn’t strike the others?” James turned, thoughtful.

“I can’t say for certain with the first body, because it was seriously decomposed by the time the victim was found, not to mention damaged by the digger, but he didn’t hit the woman from the bomb site in the face.” Jandicott reached for another file, opened it. “Abrasions on her palms. I think he came up behind her, hit her in the head, and she was conscious enough to throw her hands out as she fell. Then he hit her again, and it was more or less over.”

“So two strikes?” James sat back down. “And two on the market garden woman, too?”

Jandicot nodded. “With her, as I said, it was a hard strike to the face, spinning her around, then a blow to the head to get her down, and a second blow to finish her off.”

“And he’s tried to hide all three bodies. Did a lot better of a job with the first one.” James leaned back in his chair. “He got lucky there, or he’d scoped it out ahead of time and knew about it. A deep hole in that construction site.” He thought back to where they found the body, and realized it would be useful to put up a map and mark where each body had been found, just like Gabriella told him her boss was doing.

He hadn’t seen her for almost a week. He knew that wasn’t a particularly long time, but he missed her. Really missed her.

“Beth Jenkins might be one of our victims,” he told Jandicott. “Her mother provided her dentist’s name for us.” He got out his notebook and neatly wrote the address on a piece of paper and handed it over.

“Which one of the victims do you think she is?”

“The second one.” James hoped for the sake of the fierce-eyed, grieving mother that it wasn’t so, but like her, he didn’t think Beth Jenkins would have taken herself off without a word.

Jandicott gave a nod. “Something to work on, at least. How’re you going with the other two, if Victim One isn’t Sara Parker?”

James shook his head. “There may be one possibility, but I think it’s more likely the father killed her and dumped her in the Thames.”

Jandicott blinked. “Are you being serious?”

James nodded. “If not, the girl ran away because the father’s too loose with his fists. But the way he was acting . . .” He realized he had to clamp down on his temper. “I think he hit her in a rage, and she died. He works down the docks, and I think he threw her in the river to cover his tracks.”

“Well.” Jandicott seemed flummoxed. “If she comes in, I’ll let you know.”

James got to his feet. “Hartridge and I have four more people to interview today. Things ground to a halt last night, with the pea souper.”

“Our killer’s ideal conditions.” Jandicott stood. “I’ll get the wheels turning with checking Victim Two’s dental records.”

James made his way back to his office, but Hartridge was nowhere to be found. He walked down the back way, considering his options, and as he reached the rear exit, Hartridge cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the back of the staircase.

“Hiding?” James couldn’t think of any other reason for his behavior.

“Galbraith was looking for me.” Hartridge grimaced. “Again.”

James’s hand tightened a little on the door handle as he opened up. Whetford had come looking for him. Galbraith had done the same to Hartridge. Neither one of them should be creeping around New Scotland Yard, trying to avoid another detective. He needed to put more thought into his plan, and bring this nonsense to an end.

“Let’s go.” He headed for the Wolseley, with Hartridge right on his heels.

“What did Dr. Jandicott have to say?” Hartridge asked, dodging past him and getting in on the driver’s side.

“That it’s the same attacker.” James handed over the keys and got in the passenger side. He flicked his gaze over at Hartridge’s profile. “Galbraith speak to you?” he asked.

Hartridge shook his head, then shot him a grin. “I hid in your office. Behind the door. Then I took off for the back entrance.”

James nodded.

“Galbraith came into your office, by the way.” Hartridge cleared his throat as James swung back to look at him, and then kept his eyes on the road as they left through the big iron gates of the Yard.

“And did what?” James asked softly.

“Took a hard look at your desk.” Hartridge hunched his shoulders. “I was more concentrating on being invisible, and hoping he didn’t close the door for more privacy, because I was tucked up behind it, but someone else came down the passage and he left. He didn’t touch anything, just looked at the files you had out.”

So Galbraith would have seen the paperwork he’d caught up on since his return from leave, James thought. That was all he’d left out. Slim pickings for Galbraith, if he was looking for something to hang on him.

Whetford might be getting worried about Galbraith’s inability to get Hartridge to be his messenger boy. And he might just suspect that Hartridge had told James what was going on. Especially after he was able to avoid whatever Whetford had in store for them on Sunday.

James would need to watch his own back, now, as well. So the sooner he sorted this out, the better.

And all while he and Hartridge were on the hunt for a monster.