The Distant Dead by Lesley Thomson (most difficult books to read .txt) 📗

be a pen pusher, expediting files for a boss he respected.

Wolsey Banks was the best coroner in the country. He’d fought in the Dardanelles in 1915, which made him an Eden man: Churchill is a jackass. Like Northcote, Banks was scrupulously fair to his deceased. Banks treated police officers with respect, unusual for his profession. Yes, right enough, Cotton reflected as he munched on the biscuit, he’d give a lot to see out his days working for Banks.

‘You don’t look in the pink, George.’ Cameron had stopped talking and was scrutinizing him. ‘You still on that prostitute’s murder?’

‘We have no fingerprints, no witnesses, no suspects.’ Cotton didn’t mention Northcote’s lighter that led them nowhere except up the creek. ‘She wasn’t a prostitute.’

Cotton had to keep scotching the rumour; no wonder that Maple’s brother Vernon Greenhill lost his rag.

‘I beg to differ, George.’ Aleck Northcote stood in the doorway. ‘Why else was she there?’ He waved away Tither’s signalled offer of tea. ‘Thank you, Constable, but I have to be in Hackney within the hour.’

‘Could we have a quick word, Aleck?’ Cotton went out to the yard with Northcote. Alberta Porter was waiting by the open driver’s door. Cotton felt for her, standing in the cold, and, fleetingly, entertained the notion she and Aleck were lovers. He dismissed it – if Northcote was unfaithful, it was only to his work.

‘What can I do for you, Cotton?’ Gathering up the skirts of his coat, Northcote climbed into the Daimler and when Porter closed the door, he wound down the window a few inches.

Cotton felt almost worse than when he told the Greenhills Maple had been murdered, at least that was his job. Never had he had to draw attention to a senior colleague’s mistake, especially Northcote, famed for never making one. Cotton braced himself to be ticked off for giving the game away about the lighter to Northcote’s assistant when he telephoned his office.

He skirted the issue. ‘In your report you said Maple Greenhill’s vaginal passage showed evidence of frequent sexual intercourse typical of the average prostitute. Yet the Greenhill family swear blind Maple never went with men like that. Her brother was ready to clout me for hinting it. I just wanted to check if you were correct about that.’

‘A man has to defend his sister’s honour.’ Northcote unknowingly echoed Shepherd. ‘In that girl’s case, I’m afraid the bird had long flown. As I say, the corpse is my bible, it renders unto me facts and facts alone. I have to dash, George, another Annie awaits. Shrapnel casualty while up to tricks in a shelter by the Homerton Hospital.’

‘Maple’s mother says not—’ Cotton felt angry that Northcote had to call every dead woman ‘Annie’.

‘Horrible though it is to hear that the fair sex transgresses, I can assure you it is no mistake. Your victim indulged in sexual activity up until the last minutes of her life.’ Northcote was also famed for disliking his opinions challenged, it was a brave man who took him on. ‘Mothers believe their most delinquent child is a saint. Julia would forgive Giles the most heinous crime. However, I admire your faith in human nature.’

‘All the same—’

‘I cannot alter my findings to suit your theory, I expect you to understand that, Inspector Cotton.’ A warning that the conversation was over.

‘Could the striations you describe have come from the same partner?’ As Maple’s defender, Cotton ignored the warning and said, leaning on the Daimler’s roof, ‘Vernon Greenhill says his sister was engaged, we found a ring. A cheap trinket, but the jewellery box will give us a lead.’

‘That’s more your area, sir.’ Northcote gave a wintry smile.

As the car began to roll forward, Cotton kept pace. At the turn out of the gate he thrust his hand through the gap in the window.

‘You left this.’ He passed Northcote the lighter.

‘What the devil… Where did…?’ Northcote braked. Cotton saw truth dawn. ‘Damnation, I must have left—’

‘Call for you, George.’ PC Cameron was waving from across the yard. Tipping his hat at the car, Cotton hastened away into the mortuary.

‘Sir. You’ll never guess.’ Shepherd always shouted into the telephone.

‘I’m expecting not to try.’ Cotton tapped on Cameron’s desk with the brim of his hat. After his hash of telling Northcote, whatever Shepherd had to say it had better be good.

‘A ticket.’

‘A ticket?’ Cotton stood in front of the fire.

‘A mending ticket for Maple’s coat.’ Shepherd’s excitement recalled Cotton’s own, now long gone. ‘It has the tailor’s address on the back.’

*

‘It’s a tailor’s mending ticket.’ Shepherd was panting, he’d run up the stairs. The lad should do physical jerks, he wasn’t fit. ‘It was in Maple’s coat.’

‘Bright’s Tailoring, Chiswick High Road.’ Taking the card from Shepherd, Cotton flipped it over. ‘What’s this say?’

‘I can’t tell. It’s not Greenhill. Could that be a J? The letter looks like an M.’ Shepherd was fired up with success.

‘We searched her coat, how did we miss it?’ Cotton didn’t dare hope they were on to something.

‘It had been stuffed into a pocket lining, had almost reached the hem. I know where this tailor is, near Turnham Green Station where my nan had a flower stall next to the Standard seller. That’s until the war stopped her.’ The cat with the cream, Shepherd was gabbling.

‘Shepherd, this is excellent police work, we’ll make a Robert Fabian of you yet.’ Cotton put Northcote and his ruddy lighter behind him. The case was looking up.

Chapter Fifteen

2019

Jackie

‘Eleven fifteen and no stalker calls today so far.’ Jackie handed Bev her coffee.

‘The thing about stalkers is they don’t stop.’ Bev was grim.

‘Is she here?’ The door flew open and crashed against a filing cabinet. A man, tall, gaunt, overcoat buttoned to his chin, slammed it shut behind him and stalked past the photocopier, barging into Stella’s room.

‘No, she isn’t.’ Jackie came around her desk.

‘That’s her coat.’

‘She didn’t take it with her.’ Beverly was on her feet.

A distant siren grew louder. Whoop-whooping as it stopped and then started again.