Page 80 of Return Ticket

“So does he know it was you? Was that why he came to see you?” She thought there would have been more shouting if that was the case.

“He suspects, but he isn’t sure. And because he isn’t sure, he’s dancing around the actual accusations he wants to make, because they’re confessions of sorts.” James sighed. “He’s still capable of doing damage to both me and Hartridge. But hopefully I’ve given him something else to concentrate on.” He suddenly slammed on the brakes, but they were going so slowly, they stopped almost immediately.

The headlights illuminated a man, waving both his arms.

James pulled over to the side of the road and got out, and Gabriella did the same.

“I hit a van head on,” the man said. “I’m afraid the road is blocked.”

The smell of burned rubber and petrol hung in the air, and that, along with the smog, make Gabriella cough.

James had taken his torch out of the car, and played it across a large sedan, crumpled into the front of a grocer’s truck.

There was no one else around.

“Where’s the truck driver?” James asked.

“Gone to find a telephone,” the man said. “I’m here to stop anyone driving into us.”

James sighed and turned to her, speaking low. “This is going to come under the local nick’s remit, but we’re not getting any further tonight in the car. Are you up for a walk?”

Getting home would probably take an hour on foot, Gabriella guessed, but even that might be safer and quicker than taking the car. “That’s fine.”

They returned to the Wolseley to fetch their things, and by then two coppers had arrived. James spoke to them quietly to one side, and the man who’d hit the truck sidled up beside Gabriella.

“What’s he saying, do you think?” he asked.

“He’s with the Met. Probably professional courtesy,” she said.

“Gotcha.” The man seemed relieved. “Rum conditions, eh? Wish I hadn’t decided to drive.”

Before Gabriella had to find a response to that, James appeared beside her. “Ready?”

She nodded, walking with him into the swirling mist as the conversation behind them faded.

It was eery. Gabriella felt as if she were in some kind of inbetween world. The glow of house lights to her left allowed glimpses of a gate post or a low hedge, and occasionally glinted off the window of a car parked on the street to her right.

James was closed in, saying nothing, and what little she could see of his profile seemed tight and clenched.

“You think tonight’s the night, don’t you?” she asked, and was surprised at how soft her voice sounded. “You think he’s going to hunt another victim.”

He turned to look at her, his expression grim. “Yes.”

To know someone was going to be hurt, but not who or where, was torturous.

“And he’s kept to Kensington and Chelsea, and Hammersmith and Fulham?” That would narrow the where.

James gave a jerky shrug. “That we know of. Teddy Roe told me there was another body he found that looked like a murder, under the rubble in a house near here.” He pulled a notebook out his pocket and shone his torch down on it. Gave a nod. “If tonight is the when, then Harborne Close might be the where.”

“Would it be worth having a look?” she asked.

“More than worth it.” He played his torch light to the right, as if hunting for a street name in that direction. “The address Teddy Roe gave me is the most likely lead I’ve got right now.”

She was about to ask him if he wanted to go straight there when suddenly there was a shriek of brakes and then a scream from up ahead, and they both broke into a run, the light from James’s torch bouncing up and down.

They reached the scene of the accident in less than a minute, and while Gabriella had seen a few pedestrians being hit by a car during the course of her work, there was something about the light from the headlamps spilling over a crumpled body, surrounded by swirling white, that shocked her.

“Teddy Roe?” She realized she knew who the body was, the shock deepening, and she crouched beside him and took his hand.

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