Page 14 of Ticket Out

“Where did you come from?” She didn’t like how breathless she sounded.

“Back door,” Solomon said. “Uncle Eric gave me a key to the garden entrance that lets out in the alley.” He tossed the key in the air, caught it with a flourish. “Now, what was that about?”

His voice was steady, calm, but Gabriella could see his eyes were hard again. Impenetrable.

“Mr. Higgins is a bitter, unpleasant old man,” she said. “He isn’t a patch on your uncle, and he knows it.”

Solomon inclined his head. “He’s on the ground floor?”

“Yes, he’s got the only ground floor flat, with a little garden on the side.”

She walked toward the stairs, waited with her foot on the first one, expecting Solomon to join her. “You coming up?”

He shook his head. “Just remembered, I’ve got things to do.” He gave a wave and disappeared back into the shadows, and she heard the back door open and close softly. It led into a small courtyard with a shared washing line and a few pots of rhododendrons, then out through a high wooden door into the back alley. Which would be a handy way to come and go without being seen.

As she climbed the two flights of stairs to her bedsit, she gnawed at her lip.

Mr. Higgins had chosen the wrong moment, and the wrong man, to vent his bigotry on.

Solomon would not let it lie.

chapterseven

“The killing blowwas this stab wound to the chest.” Dr. Jandicott pulled back the sheet over the victim and showed James the neat incision. “Nicked an artery and he bled out internally. The cut to the scalp bled a lot, but it wasn’t fatal.”

“You have a name for him yet, Archer?” Detective Inspector Whetford asked. “When was he found? Tuesday? It’s already Thursday.”

James shook his head, wondering why Whetford had insisted on attending the post mortem. He’d had no interest in the case until now. “I’ve got an appointment later to look into the paperwork for the company that owns the car he was found in, but there’s been no missing person report come in fitting his description. We might have to go to the press with it.”

Whetford grimaced. “All right. Try the other avenues first, then talk to the media liaison officer about a press release. Maybe use the police artist to draw a picture of him, rather than put the lad’s post mortem picture out.”

“Yes, sir.” James agreed with that.

“And the murder weapon? Did you find that, at least?”

“Under the car seat,” James said. “A stiletto knife, which Dr. Jandicott confirms fits the wound.”

“That’s right.” Jandicott pulled the sheet back up. “Perfect match.”

“Any dabs on the handle?” Whetford asked.

“Wiped clean.” James hadn’t expected anything else.

“I had his blood tested for alcohol or drugs.” Jandicott picked up a clipboard with some notes attached. “He’d had a pint earlier in the evening of his death, but otherwise, nothing. He’d had fish and chips for his dinner.”

“Like half of London, then,” Whetford said. “A pint down the pub, then a fish supper.”

“That’s about the size of it, sir.” James knew the longer this languished, the harder it would be to solve. “If that’s all of it, Doctor, I’ll be off to check the company records.”

He walked out with Whetford.

“You good to keep going with this on your own?” Whetford paused at the top of the stairs and drew out a cigarette.

James shook his head as Whetford offered him one. “That’s fine, sir.”

“Good. I’m still involved in this other thing. If you need a few more hands, let me know and I’ll see if there are any constables available for the leg work.” He blew out a stream of smoke and strode off.

James watched him go.

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