Page 69 of Return Ticket

But after they went to look through Tanner’s office, they had three visits connected to the current case lined up. First, a meet-up at a library with the ladies who were friends with Hatty Clark, the missing wife of Larry Clark, which Hartridge had set up through the librarian, and then they had the names and addresses of the two victims during the Blitz who might be survivors of their killer’s first attempts at attacking women. James hoped they still lived at the addresses they’d given during the war.

And they had also put in a request to the Air Force to get back to them about the origin of the glove that had been recovered from one of the scenes, and were waiting to find out if any fingerprints on the evidence the police had gathered back then were a match to a current, known offender.

“As long as you keep me informed, Archer. A briefing once a day, no exceptions.” Whetford’s gaze flicked away from him.

He would know how difficult that would be for James, given the negligible time he spent in the office.

“Certainly, sir.” James stepped out into the corridor with him, and closed his door. Hartridge was lurking just inside his own office, unwilling to make himself known. James couldn’t blame him.

He pretended Hartridge wasn’t there. “Are you off to speak to the Commissioner now?”

“Yes. And I mean it, Archer. Daily updates.” Whetford walked to the staircase and disappeared.

James looked after him, and wondered if it was stress, or whether his boss was hitting the bottle. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good on him.

“We off to Tanner’s office?” Hartridge asked, finally stepping out into the corridor.

“Yes. Let’s see if we can find whatever it was he was after last night.”

chaptertwenty-seven

Gabriella started her route late.

Mr. Greenberg had insisted they go and lay a formal complaint at the closest police station to where she was attacked, although she had told him about the incident the night before, and that James was following up.

“I am adding my weight to it, then,” he said. “These are separate incidences and they warrant separate charges.”

She’d meekly agreed and gone along. Now that she was on her new route, she realized how much she appreciated Mr. Greenberg making sure she was in a completely different section of Kensington. Mr. Mercedes may still be on the loose, but he had no way of tracking her down.

She walked along a tree-lined street of mansions that butted up against Holland Park, and then slowed in surprise when she turned left to go up the side of the park and saw the cyclist who had nearly run her down yesterday half-in and half-out of a telephone box. He was holding onto his bike with one hand, awkwardly keeping the door open so he could hold the phone with the other.

He turned his head slightly, saw her through the dusty window pane of the door, and quickly looked away.

She frowned as she got closer.

Maybe he thought she was going to confront him?

She walked past him, and he had his back firmly turned, murmuring into the receiver too softly for her to hear the conversation, despite the open door.

For some reason, she didn’t like the idea of him being behind her, so she crossed the road, saw a car parked in a way that partially blocked a driveway, and stopped to write out an FPN.

As she affixed the fine to the windscreen, she saw the cyclist riding away, toward a footpath set between two houses that led into the park, and felt a quick sense of relief.

Ten minutes later, she was halfway down the long, eastern side of the park, when she caught sight of the black Mercedes.

It was coming towards her.

The man from the night before was behind the wheel, and his eyes narrowed the moment he saw her.

He pulled the Mercedes to a halt, double parking on the other side of the street to where she stood.

There was nowhere to run. To her back was the tall, black metal railings of the park fence. To her right and left, the long street that ran down the east side of the park.

At least going right would head her back down to Kensington High Street, and from there, to her headquarters. To safety.

If she was going to run, it would have to be now, she decided, as the Mercedes engine shut off.

She turned right and ran down the street. She heard the man swear, and then the car door slammed shut.

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