Page 39

chapter thirty-nine

Gabriella felt James hands on her shoulders as they walked into her flat, and then glanced back at him as he helped her out of her coat and hung it on the rack.

“You’re quiet.”

He’d said hardly anything on the short drive from Ruby’s, and she was pleased that he took off his own coat and hung it beside hers.

He was at least planning to stay for a bit.

“I’m sorry I forgot about Tanner after everything that happened at Somerville’s mansion. I should have realized he might be waiting for you to come home.” His hands flexed.

“You can’t remember everything. Be responsible for everything,” she said. “It was up to me to think of it, and it didn’t cross my mind until it was time to leave the hospital.”

He glanced down at her leg, but she was wearing trousers and the bandage was hidden. “I noticed you limping.”

“I have a new dislike of Cupid,” she said. “But my shin is only bruised, and I’ll be fine soon enough.”

“And what about Tanner? He frightened you.” James’s mouth was a hard line.

“Yes.” When he’d pressed her up against the doorjamb, she had never been more frightened, except when Blythe had started running after her. “Then Blythe showed up to snatch the prize in that contest, so I don’t feel so upset about Tanner anymore. Not that he doesn’t deserve the full charges.”

James studied her. “You’re making light of it.”

“It’s the only way to get through it.” She shrugged. “I’m safe, and they’re both facing charges. Will I be nervous coming out of my bathroom again? Yes. Will I flinch when I see a black Mercedes or a green Jaguar? Yes, again. And I don’t think I’ll ever walk on my own in a thick fog, let alone look at a wheelbarrow the same way.”

“I don’t like that any of this happened to you.” He didn’t get any closer to her, as if his presence alone was the cause of her troubles.

“I don’t, either. But that’s not on you. Tanner and both the Fitzgeralds would have come after me, whether I knew you or not, and having you in my life helped me significantly where that was concerned. How quickly would the Met have been on the case if I’d gone to them as a private citizen, and you hadn’t been involved? If you hadn’t been on the receiving end of his nonsense? My guess is they wouldn’t have done anything about it. That’s why he’s so surprised to be suffering consequences now. Because he’s surely done this before and gotten away with it. The way he spoke to me, the logic he used, tells me he’s used to operating this way. His victims have no doubt complained and my guess is the Met just looked the other way.” She was breathing hard by the end of her little speech. She hadn’t realized until now how angry that made her. Tanner had been allowed to behave like he had for long enough he thought he was untouchable. James had put an end to that.

“You look angry,” James said with interest.

“Yes.” She almost said sì . Like her grandmother would.

“Very Italian.” He gave a slow smile.

She took a step forward and grabbed hold of his shirt. “And here you are, all English stiff upper lip. I thought you were a Welshman?”

He tucked her hair behind her ears, eyes laughing. “You want me to sing?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, and went up on tiptoe, lips hovering just short of his own. “I want you to sing.”

* * *

The sky was clear but it was almost winter-cold at the building site.

The press shivered in a huddle, looking like they wished they were anywhere else.

Dr. Jandicott came out of the tent they’d set up to shield the body from view, and gave James and Detective Superintendent Halberd a nod, carrying the last of Iris Johnson’s bones, all wrapped up, to the big black car he’d arrived in.

His appearance had energized the journalists, and they all moved a little closer.

“It seems as if the final remains of Iris Johnson have been recovered.” Detective Superintendent Halberd addressed them, his voice cutting across the whistle of the wind. “Thanks to the fine work of DS Archer and his team, we can now assign these terrible deeds to London’s history. Harold Blythe is under lock and key, and he will hang for his crimes if he’s found guilty.”

Halberd’s tone made it clear there was no doubt about that.

The press exploded into a rowdy crow-fight, shouting questions over each other.

Neither James nor Halberd responded, and eventually they settled down and took turns.

When they left, some running for their cars to beat their competitors to the front page scoop, Halberd rocked back on his heels.

“This is what I like, Archer,” he said. “You kept this low key enough those hyenas never had so much as a sniff of the story while you were investigating, and then we could come out with a fully solved case when the villain was already behind bars. Very good look for the Met.” He clapped a hand on James’s shoulder.

Hartridge stood a little way away with Iris Johnson’s family, and as soon as the press left, he walked them over to the place where the builders had uncovered her remains, just the day before.

“You happy with your bagman?” Halberd asked, eyeing Hartridge and the weeping mother, sister and her husband who were all that was left of Iris’s family.

“Very, sir.” James glanced at him, sure he was hearing an offer for someone else in that tone. He shut it down immediately. “DC Hartridge’s help on this case was absolutely invaluable. As it was for that affair in the summer.”

“Good, good.” Halberd settled back down. “And Whetford?”

James froze. “DI Whetford, sir?” What was he being asked here?

“He seem alright to you?” Halberd didn’t look at him, his gaze settled into the middle distance.

“He seems a little animated by some old case of his that was reopened,” James said carefully. “Otherwise, he lets me get on with my job, which I like.”

“Yes, that’s a good strategy with a go-getter like you, Archer.” Halberd nodded sagely. “I heard about the Pollock case. Bad business that, and it’s good to hear there’s some movement.”

“The lab is definitely more advanced now than it was then,” James said, knowing full well the new evidence was nothing to do with scientific progress.

“Very true.” Halberd sounded thoughtful. “That’s a good line to feed the press, actually. I got a couple of press requests just this morning, although I’m not sure how the vultures heard about it. The Met leaks like a sieve.”

“I think the case being reopened is quite widely known,” James agreed.

“Can’t be helped.” Halberd clapped him on the shoulder again. “Job well done, Archer. Keep it up.” He walked away, and his driver got out of his car and went to open the rear door for him.

James stood quietly for a moment.

It sounded like Whetford was not in a good place. Not if Halberd was asking questions about him.

Hopefully that meant the games he and Galbraith were trying to play with Hartridge and himself would stop.

Hartridge was shepherding the Johnson family back to the car the Met had arranged for them, and he could see they were thanking him for his and the Met’s kindness.

Iris Johnson’s body had lain beneath the rubble and then the ground for nearly twenty years, and it was fitting that her body was found by the building site crew now, with the belongings Blythe had taken from her so recently in their custody.

They could lay her to rest.

Even though the last few days had been a blur of activity, he walked with a loose-limbed stride over to Hartridge, who was standing next to the Wolseley, watching the Johnsons drive away.

He only needed to think of Gabriella, warm beneath him, skin so smooth he couldn’t get enough of touching her, and his mood improved.

“Halberd seemed like he had a lot to say,” Hartridge said as James came to stand beside him.

“He made a few comments about Whetford,” James said.

Hartridge looked over at him sharply. “About?”

“Nothing specific. Like he was testing the waters. Like Whetford is on the out.” James wondered how much Halberd was compromised. He didn’t doubt that he was.

“And?” Hartridge asked.

“And he’s got reporters asking him about the reopened case. He sounded unhappy.”

“How did the press find out about it?” Hartridge wondered.

James was silent.

Hartridge turned. Stared. “You?”

James shot him a grin. “It’s a triumph for the Met. Reopening an unsolved case and finding good evidence to convict.”

Hartridge frowned. “It sounded like Whetford was unhappy about it, though. Galbraith certainly looked unhappy.”

“Maybe it wasn’t solved because someone didn’t want it solved,” James said. “Maybe Whetford made some promises about keeping that case cold, and now, whoopsie, it’s heating up.”

“In the archives,” Hartridge breathed. “You . . .” He trailed off, speechless. “That’s why you haven’t sent the letter to the Commissioner about what he’s up to. You decided to do this instead?”

“I think Whetford might be too busy covering his arse, or watching his back, to worry about either you or me for a while.” James shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “Come on, let’s get back to the office. It’s freezing out here.”

“I thought you seemed happier,” Hartridge said. “Now I understand why.”

James laughed as he slid into the car. “Sure,” he said. “That’s probably the reason.”