The Bee's Kiss(52)

‘Sit down, Ralph. Put your stuff here,’ said Joe, clearing a space. ‘Good Lord, man! It’s only seven thirty. Cup of tea?’ He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a young officer appeared at the door.

‘Usual, sir? Times two?’

‘Thanks, Charlie. Mugs’ll do.’

‘Good day in Surrey, sir?’ Cottingham’s query was polite, expecting no more than a brief response.

‘Excellent. One or two people I need to follow up on. One’s booked in for nine this morning – the Donovan you tracked down. Will you sit in on the interview?’

‘Delighted, sir. And while we’ve got him down there we can get his prints.’

‘Ah! You’ve got something back from Forensics to match them with? Already?’

Cottingham’s moustache was now demonstrating puzzlement. ‘Yes. Already. Look, sir . . . is there anything you want to tell me about this case? Or are you just going to leave me with my shirt tail flapping in the breeze and say nothing?’

‘What’s your problem, Ralph?’

‘Well, I never thought you’d hear me say it but – speed and efficiency! I ask for something and the reply is, not the usual, “You’re joking, of course? Not before Tuesday fortnight at the earliest . . .” No, it’s more like, “Certainly. At once. Anything more we can do?” Really, sir, if the king had been assassinated, it couldn’t be slicker!’

Joe chortled. ‘Tell me more.’

‘And all this at the weekend. And overnight. You know what that entails. People brought in specially. The best people. Home Office involvement. And all that means overtime. Heavy expenditure! The top brass are telling us to cut down dramatically but here they are signing a blank cheque, it seems, to push this one through. What’s going on? Do I put it down to the Sandilands magic?’

‘Sorry, Ralph. Whatever else – not that! I’m as puzzled as you are. I can only guess that the urgency is created by the two words “Wren” and “Ritz”. Dame Beatrice was quite a character, I’m beginning to see. Friends in high places; friends in low places. And a good deal of mystery surrounding her. I’ve honestly no idea who’s up there pulling strings but, like you, I become suspicious when doors fall open before you’ve knocked. I think, Ralph,’ Joe looked consideringly at the anxious face across the desk, ‘when we’re offered a Trojan horse, we’d do well to take a good look at its undercarriage! Until someone decides to take us into his confidence all we can do is play along. But at least we can stay alert and watch each other’s back!’

Cottingham nodded and got straight down to business. He opened a file. ‘First things first. Autopsy. Findings exactly as initial examination at the scene indicated. Skull cracked. Probably on the second blow. Profile of the wounds matches the profile of the poker found on the roof. Killer right-handed. No other findings to take us by surprise. Definitely wasn’t raped. Definitely wasn’t virgo intacta.’ He handed the report to Joe.

‘The murder weapon. The poker which formed part of the set of fire irons, sir. Condition as new. Since central heating was installed not many guests call for an open fire. And the management discourages it – fire hazard and all that – but they keep them there in the hearth for the look of it and because people expect to see them there. Microscope analysis reveals blood and hairs attached to the business end. The hairs match the Dame’s and analysis of the blood gives us a Blood Group III. Rather unusual. Only twelve per cent of the population are Group III and this too matches that of the Dame. So far, so good.’

He paused tantalizingly. ‘Fingerprints. The boys have done a good job. Must have worked through the night. At least three sets have been photographed and recorded. All from the handle end. Two sets are small, probably ladies’ and probably the prints of chambermaids. The third set . . .’

Joe sat forward, fighting down the urge to hurry him on.

‘Large. A man’s prints, sir. Thumb and two partial fingers clear as day. Oh, and you’ll see they managed to lift a fingerprint, index finger, right hand, off the victim’s neck.’

‘Off her neck, Cottingham? Can they do that?’

‘They can indeed. When it’s bloodstained. Interestingly, this one was right on the pulse spot where you’d put a finger to check for signs of life.’

‘Unusual behaviour for your average panicking burglar, isn’t it?’

‘Exactly, sir. But it is the technique men are trained in when they join the services or the police force. It’s an automatic reaction.’