Page 42 of Return Ticket

James was even more sure of it now that he was looking Whetford in the eye than before.

“I couldn’t get anyone in the offices, so I called the front desk. They most likely couldn’t get through to anyone to pass it on, either.” He had made sure to ring moments before they left for St. James’ Park. He wanted to be sure no one could ring back and try to reroute them to wherever Whetford and Galbraith had set their trap.

Whetford gave him an icy stare, turned on his heel, and walked away.

James watched him go.

There was no longer any doubt about it. He would have to set things in motion. Implement the plans he’d been making for a while now.

Because if he didn’t, Whetford would get the better of him. And that wasn’t happening.

He made his way to the stairs, and kept a friendly smile on his face as he passed his fellow officers, nodding politely. Wondering which of them was neck-deep in graft.

* * *

When James found Dr. Jandicott, he was sitting at his desk, sipping tea. He took the chair the pathologist offered him.

“You want to know about the body you sent over on Friday?” the pathologist asked. “The one from the Royal Masonic.”

James nodded. “Any similarities to the others?”

Jandicott tipped his head to the side. “Before we get there, why wasn’t she touched? She was found four or five days before I got her, wasn’t she?” He looked around his desk for the paperwork, and flipped open the file. “They have a run of dead bodies at the Royal Masonic?”

“No. There were only two in there. But the pathologist is an alcoholic.” James reached across and tapped the file. “Thank goodness I got to her before he did. If it’s murder, the case would have been in jeopardy, given the state of him.”

“It was murder,” Jandicott said. “You ask if it was similar? It was near identical. Blow to the back of the head, exactly like the victim found in the rubble.”

He had known it. James got to his feet, walked to the window to look out. “He half-buried her in a ditch.”

“I read the report,” Jandicott said. “He also struck her face. It’s possible she heard him coming up behind her, turned, and he hit her, spun her around, and then delivered the blow to the head.”

“He didn’t strike the others?” James turned, thoughtful.

“I can’t say for certain with the first body, because it was seriously decomposed by the time the victim was found, not to mention damaged by the digger, but he didn’t hit the woman from the bomb site in the face.” Jandicott reached for another file, opened it. “Abrasions on her palms. I think he came up behind her, hit her in the head, and she was conscious enough to throw her hands out as she fell. Then he hit her again, and it was more or less over.”

“So two strikes?” James sat back down. “And two on the market garden woman, too?”

Jandicot nodded. “With her, as I said, it was a hard strike to the face, spinning her around, then a blow to the head to get her down, and a second blow to finish her off.”

“And he’s tried to hide all three bodies. Did a lot better of a job with the first one.” James leaned back in his chair. “He got lucky there, or he’d scoped it out ahead of time and knew about it. A deep hole in that construction site.” He thought back to where they found the body, and realized it would be useful to put up a map and mark where each body had been found, just like Gabriella told him her boss was doing.

He hadn’t seen her for almost a week. He knew that wasn’t a particularly long time, but he missed her. Really missed her.

“Beth Jenkins might be one of our victims,” he told Jandicott. “Her mother provided her dentist’s name for us.” He got out his notebook and neatly wrote the address on a piece of paper and handed it over.

“Which one of the victims do you think she is?”

“The second one.” James hoped for the sake of the fierce-eyed, grieving mother that it wasn’t so, but like her, he didn’t think Beth Jenkins would have taken herself off without a word.

Jandicott gave a nod. “Something to work on, at least. How’re you going with the other two, if Victim One isn’t Sara Parker?”

James shook his head. “There may be one possibility, but I think it’s more likely the father killed her and dumped her in the Thames.”

Jandicott blinked. “Are you being serious?”

James nodded. “If not, the girl ran away because the father’s too loose with his fists. But the way he was acting . . .” He realized he had to clamp down on his temper. “I think he hit her in a rage, and she died. He works down the docks, and I think he threw her in the river to cover his tracks.”

“Well.” Jandicott seemed flummoxed. “If she comes in, I’ll let you know.”

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