Page 3

chapter three

Detective Constable Hartridge looked very relieved to see James.

If James had wondered how things had been in his absence from New Scotland Yard, he thought he could tell by the enthusiastic greeting.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you yesterday, sir,” Hartridge said. “DI Whetford had me checking into something for him, and it took me out of the office.”

As he explained, the enthusiasm died, replaced by a nervous demeanor. Hartridge seemed worried about what he’d been asked to do.

James realized he and Hartridge would need to talk at some point about Whetford, and how dirty he was, but here in the office, a floor down from Whetford himself, was not the place.

The feeling he’d had yesterday when he’d come into the office after his break had been telling. He had felt depressed. Had wondered what he was doing here, with a boss as bent as Whetford directing him.

He’d left early, gone straight to find Gabriella, and had been on the verge of telling her he wanted to pack up his life in London and go back to Cardiff.

He hadn’t, though.

Seeing her, spending time with her, had given him pause. It was way more complicated now that he’d met her.

He would have to think through his options carefully.

“Anything I need to be read in on?” he asked to fill in the silence.

Hartridge hesitated, then seemed to shake off his mood. “No, sir.”

“What do we have pending, then?” James had come back to the Yard after his dinner with Gabriella, hot and restless, and had finished up all the paperwork he’d found on his desk.

“No active cases,” Hartridge said.

“What about the body found in Chelsea yesterday?” he asked. “Who’s been assigned to that?”

Hartridge frowned. “Body? I didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Some boys found a woman in the rubble of that old building that was bombed in the war. Chelsea is Miss Farnsworth’s route, and the boys approached her to help.”

“Miss Farnsworth?” Hartridge’s eyes widened momentarily. “That’s how you know about it?”

James nodded. “She saw the body. Says it was half buried under the rubble.”

“Like that woman a month or so ago,” Hartridge saw the connection right away. “The one the pathologist said he couldn’t determine cause of death, because the bulldozer that uncovered her had inflicted too much damage.”

James was glad Hartridge was on the same page. “Yes, at least on the surface, it seems similar. I’d like to have a look at the body, see if there are any other reasons to link the two deaths.”

“Dr. Jandicott was never happy about that death. Couldn’t prove suspicious death, but I got the impression he was suspicious.” Hartridge moved to the filing cabinet, pulled out the file. “He insisted on keeping her in cold storage until someone claimed her.”

“Well, let’s go see if he’s had a chance to look at the new body.” James had a strong need to get out, far away from Whetford.

Hartridge grabbed his coat and tucked the file under his arm.

It was a bad sign, how eager they were to escape, James thought as they took the stairs down. That wasn’t what he’d thought his working life would be like when he joined the Met.

But at least they had a puzzle to solve.

That helped.

* * *

“How did you know about this?” Dr. Jandicott pulled the sheet back on the woman lying between them, face somber. “There were no detectives called to the scene.”

“I know the traffic warden who was there when the body was found. The way it was described to me, it sounded similar to the other one we got last month. The woman found under the rubble of that building site near Hyde Park.” James stared down at the body. The skin looked like one big bruise, and the woman’s face was swollen.

The smell was indescribable.

Hartridge made a sound beside him, and then ran from the room, and both he and Jandicott turned to watch the constable push through the doors before they turned back to the victim.

Jandicott flicked him a look. “It was the first thing I thought about, too.” He gently turned the woman’s head. “See here, she received a killing blow to the back of the skull.”

“Could she have fallen backward and hit her head accidentally?” James asked.

“No unless she fell back precisely onto the head of a hammer,” Jandicott said, tone grim. “See here? That circular indentation is a hammer head, or I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

“But that wasn’t the case with the other death?” James remembered there was damage to the body, but he couldn’t remember all the details.

“A ruddy great digger scooped her up, and then the bucket came down on her skull. Crushed it to bits. I couldn’t tell what happened to her from what we were able to salvage from that scene.” Jandicott sounded disgusted. “But the whole thing was suspicious. We couldn’t identify the body, but we found a missing person’s report that seems to match the height and hair color of the victim, as well as the fact that she lives near where the body was found. The family of Sara Parker says she went missing coming home from work on a night with a particularly bad fog. They’re desperate to find her, and they don’t want to believe the body we’ve got is Sara. I can’t say, either way, because of the state of the remains. We could have identified her on her dental records, if the skull hadn’t been crushed.”

“How long from when Sara Parker went missing to the body being found?” James asked.

“Three weeks. And the body had been lying there about that long,” Jandicott said. “She was probably killed that same night, if it’s Sara Parker.”

“So he sneaks up on them in the dark, and hits them in the back of the head with a hammer?” James wondered out loud.

“Again, if the cases are linked.” Jandicott gently pulled the sheet up again.

“You think they are,” James said.

“I have a suspicion. Suspicions are not facts.”

“True.” James felt a hard-edged determination rise up in him. “I’ll have to go find some then.”

“Well, this woman here was definitely murdered, about a week ago by the state of the body, and the case is as yet unassigned.”

James gave a slow nod. “Put me down on the paperwork—if there’s a problem with it, I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Jandicott looked satisfied. “First piece of business, you need to find out who she is. There was no handbag found at the scene. No identification at all.”

“At least we have an intact body this time. It’ll make it much easier.” James looked down at the shroud. “I’ll see who’s been reported missing, so you don’t have to send the dental records out to all and sundry.”

“You said you know the traffic warden who discovered the body. I saw her name on the report. She’s the one who was caught up in that ugly case a few months ago?” Jandicott eyed him with interest as he made for the door. “The Australian girl?”

“Yes, she told me about it. That’s how I made the connection with the other case.” James paused at the door. “She said the body was half-buried under the rubble, just on the other side of the heap.”

“It would have been difficult for someone to carry a body up that heap of broken bricks and timber,” Jandicott said. “They probably got to the top and dropped her over the other side, rather than risk falling on the downward slope. Then they probably unbalanced some of the rubbish on the top and let it fall on her. Basically as minimum an effort as possible.”

“Still, you’d need some strength to carry a body up shifting rubble, wouldn’t you?” He hadn’t thought of that angle until now, but they weren’t looking for a small man.

“You’d need muscle,” Jandicott agreed. “And there’s no way he could have used a wheelbarrow or anything like that up that steep slope of debris. The only way would have been to carry her, either in his arms or over his shoulder.”

“I need to go look at the scene,” James said. He gave a farewell nod to Jandicott and went out to look for Hartridge.

Whetford wouldn’t care if James assigned this case to himself, James decided. Whetford only cared if he was inconvenienced. He was so divorced from the day to day functions of the office, he probably wouldn’t notice the assignment hadn’t gone through the usual channels.

As James reached the door and saw Hartridge outside, sitting on a bench across the road, he wondered what Whetford had got Hartridge to do.

Whatever it was, it had taken some of the shine off his constable, and James didn’t like that.

He didn’t like it at all.