Page 43 of Return Ticket

James got to his feet. “Hartridge and I have four more people to interview today. Things ground to a halt last night, with the pea souper.”

“Our killer’s ideal conditions.” Jandicott stood. “I’ll get the wheels turning with checking Victim Two’s dental records.”

James made his way back to his office, but Hartridge was nowhere to be found. He walked down the back way, considering his options, and as he reached the rear exit, Hartridge cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the back of the staircase.

“Hiding?” James couldn’t think of any other reason for his behavior.

“Galbraith was looking for me.” Hartridge grimaced. “Again.”

James’s hand tightened a little on the door handle as he opened up. Whetford had come looking for him. Galbraith had done the same to Hartridge. Neither one of them should be creeping around New Scotland Yard, trying to avoid another detective. He needed to put more thought into his plan, and bring this nonsense to an end.

“Let’s go.” He headed for the Wolseley, with Hartridge right on his heels.

“What did Dr. Jandicott have to say?” Hartridge asked, dodging past him and getting in on the driver’s side.

“That it’s the same attacker.” James handed over the keys and got in the passenger side. He flicked his gaze over at Hartridge’s profile. “Galbraith speak to you?” he asked.

Hartridge shook his head, then shot him a grin. “I hid in your office. Behind the door. Then I took off for the back entrance.”

James nodded.

“Galbraith came into your office, by the way.” Hartridge cleared his throat as James swung back to look at him, and then kept his eyes on the road as they left through the big iron gates of the Yard.

“And did what?” James asked softly.

“Took a hard look at your desk.” Hartridge hunched his shoulders. “I was more concentrating on being invisible, and hoping he didn’t close the door for more privacy, because I was tucked up behind it, but someone else came down the passage and he left. He didn’t touch anything, just looked at the files you had out.”

So Galbraith would have seen the paperwork he’d caught up on since his return from leave, James thought. That was all he’d left out. Slim pickings for Galbraith, if he was looking for something to hang on him.

Whetford might be getting worried about Galbraith’s inability to get Hartridge to be his messenger boy. And he might just suspect that Hartridge had told James what was going on. Especially after he was able to avoid whatever Whetford had in store for them on Sunday.

James would need to watch his own back, now, as well. So the sooner he sorted this out, the better.

And all while he and Hartridge were on the hunt for a monster.

chaptereighteen

The fogfrom the night before was more or less gone in the morning. It held on—a wispy, lacy shawl compared to the thick blanket of the night before—but as Gabriella walked her route, the breeze cleared it, shredding it into nothing and leaving the sky clear and blue.

Even though it was cold, she felt a massive lift at the sight of the sky, and felt better than she had for a while.

Some of that was because Mr. Jaguar had been dealt with on Saturday night. She didn’t realize how nervous he’d made her until the threat of him had been neutralized.

She wondered if whoever his wife hired would manage to track her down, and what she would say to them if they did.

She genuinely didn’t remember which townhouse the man had come out of, but she did remember the general location on the street. It was possible that would be enough of an answer. If she was inclined to give it.

She turned off the main thoroughfare, walking down a quieter road which had a church halfway down it. All the houses and buildings along the way were new, a clear sign this street had been bombed during the war, and she noticed the church roof looked new on one side, and there was some construction going on in the bell tower, with scaffolding and a skip bin sitting in the small car park.

A workman was halfway up the scaffold, theting tingsound of a chisel striking stone clear in the morning air. He turned, arms full of broken bricks, and tossed them down into the skip below, but as the bricks left his hands he gave a shout of pure shock and fear.

His gaze was fixed on the skip below, and Gabriella stopped in her tracks. He lifted his head, caught sight of her, and waved wildly.

She moved toward him, crossing the street and walking into the car park while he clambered down the scaffold.

“There’s a girl in the skip.” He shouted it out as soon as he reached the ground. “I threw bricks onto a girl in the skip.”

He was frantic, beside himself, and he ran toward the skip, tried to look inside it, and when he couldn’t see over the rim, ran back to grab a wooden box which Gabriella guessed the workmen used as a chair when they had a tea break. He set it down and boosted himself up.

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