Page 4 of Ticket Out

“Yes, Mr. Greenberg. In a car parked in a loading zone.”

“Bad?”

She gave a tight nod.

“I used to be in the Met,” Mr. Greenberg said suddenly. “When parking control moved out of policing, some of us retired beat coppers were asked to come back to manage the traffic wardens.”

“You were a bobby?” Now he said it, she could see it, plain as day. He wore a suit and tie now, but it was in the way he stood. She could see him helping old ladies across the street without any difficulty.

“Aye. And I know the shock of your first body.”

“I’ll be all right, sir. Thank you for the concern. The bobbies came quickly, and I wasn’t there long.” She looked up sharply in dismay. “I started issuing a ticket, before I noticed the body. I wasn’t supposed to finish it, was I?”

“What? No, girl.” Greenberg shook his head. “The City might want every ha’penny out of the car-driving public it can get, but we aren’t that far gone.”

She nodded, taking a step toward the door in escape.

“Someone’s been on the line from Scotland Yard, said they want to speak to you.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t hide her dismay. “I really just found the body and waited with it until they came.”

“It’s like that sometimes,” Mr. Greenberg said with a shrug. “When there’s nothing else, they go back over the same ground, hoping to find something new. Just tell them what happened again, and hopefully that’ll be the end of it.”

“When do they want me to go in?”

“Now, I think.” Mr. Greenberg checked his watch. “If you don’t have any appointments, I’d get it over with, if I was you.”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“Ask at reception for Detective Sergeant Archer.”

She ducked her head. “Thank you, sir. Good afternoon.”

She escaped out into the afternoon sun onto Kensington Church Court and walked in the direction of Kensington Palace. It was a couple of miles at least to New Scotland Yard from here, and she wondered grumpily if the detective sergeant had considered that when he’d requested her presence.

She was just in time to catch the bus that came to a screeching stop on Kensington High Street, and spent the twenty minute journey to Victoria Embankment trying to settle her nerves.

The bus dropped her close to the entrance, and she looked up at the large red and white brick building. New Scotland Yard made her think of a fortress and she steeled herself to enter.

While she dithered, someone bumped her from behind as they pushed through the door and she forced herself to follow them in.

She was directed to wait for DS Archer on an uncomfortable wooden bench, and passed the time watching the line of people approaching the desk with complaints and reports.

She was so engaged, DS Archer had to clear his throat to get her attention.

“Miss Farnsworth?”

She twisted round and looked up at him. “Yes?”

He seemed to be taken by surprise at the sight of her. “I’m Detective Sergeant Archer. Thank you for coming in. Do you want to follow me?”

She stood and straightened her skirt before walking to the door he held open for her, surprised by his curt manner. Hopefully that meant he wouldn’t keep her long.

He said nothing more, leading her up the stairs and into a narrow office on the second floor.

“Have a seat.” He rounded his desk and waited for her to settle into the hard visitor’s chair.

He was Welsh, she realized. She was getting to know British accents slowly, and she finally recognized the gentle lilt in his voice.

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