Murder by Logic

By Alex Binney

For Chief Inspector William Lamb and his assistant, Detective Sergeant Clive Halpen of the Murder Squad, Scotland Yard, it began when they were called in to investigate the murder of a girl student in her London flat. Soon, the body count was rising, but was there a serial killer on the loose or were the murders unconnected?

It was not difficult to find suspects, and few of them, if any, were telling the truth. Even so, there were good reasons to believe that none of them was guilty of the crimes and, invariably, little was as it seemed at first sight.

Lamb has two weeks to solve the case or face being replaced by a senior detective from another police force as pressure mounts from the media and the public to take the killer, or killers, off the streets, and not all of Lamb’s associates agree with the direction he is taking the investigation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strict Publishing International
• Release date: Jun 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9780857792860

Alex Binney

Alex is a well established English author of murder mystery novels. He took early retirement as a manager from a major UK bank to pursue his first love of writing murder mysteries. Over the years he has devised numerous plots which he did not have chance to bring to his readership whilst pursuing his bank career. Divorced, he lives in Plymouth, Devon, UK, and you can correspond with him on Facebook.

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MURDER BY LOGIC

by Alex Binney

Copyright 2013 Alex Binney

Edition 2, for Smashwords

Published by Strict Publishing International, June 2013

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Book One

A murder investigation

Chapter One. Initial Enquiries

Her lifeless body lay in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

The cold blue eyes mirrored the horror she must have felt as her life was ruthlessly and mercilessly snatched from her. What remained resembled that of an unwanted rag doll, carelessly cast aside by its owner and seemingly trampled on by a chance passer-by.

In truth, this had been an attractive teenage girl, now divested of all her clothing - except for the scarf that had strangled her, which still adorned her slender neck. A chalk mark had been drawn around the body, indicating the exact position in which the deceased had been found.

The flat in this residential block was excruciatingly small and offered minimal décor and furnishings.

Doctor Graeme Macfee groaned deeply, as he began his initial examination of the body.

January 1st, 1957. One o’clock in the morning. What a time to drag a Scotsman out! God, he felt pissed…

The man who had summoned him - Chief Inspector William Lamb - was surveying the scene with his professional eye. From the evidence before him it was clear that the girl had known her killer, as there was no forced entry to the small flat. Indeed, she may well have entertained her murderer, judging by the two empty wine glasses and the empty bottle on the coffee table. No matter, the lab would sort that out when the evidence was sent to them for examination.

Macfee groaned again as he reached for yet another surgical instrument.

What’s up, Mac? Still suffering from a hangover? Lamb’s tone was mocking.

Go on - have your fun, growled the pathologist. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should still be enjoying myself at that Hogmanay party. Couldn’t you have got somebody else?

The chief inspector grinned. "You are the Home Office pathologist, are you not? So you know that wasn’t possible. Besides, you’re the best - drunk or sober. You can take that as a compliment, if you like."

Macfee glared at him. I can do without compliments at the moment. I’d rather have another drink.

Not until you’ve finished, said Lamb, firmly. Are you nearly done?

Aye, responded the Glaswegian. Within five minutes he had completed his initial examination, gathered up his implements and thrust them carelessly into a worn, leather bag. He yawned loudly.

Lamb had been making notes in a small pocket book.

Well?

Macfee smiled grimly. Death by strangulation.

Oh, brilliant! exclaimed the detective. Is that what all these years of pathology experience have gifted you? The ability to overstate the blinding obvious? Time of death?

The Scotsman gave him a disdainful look. Difficult when it’s strangulation. The body temperature is artificially raised. My best guess is about 8.30 to 9 p.m. That’s all you’re getting from me until tomorrow when she’ll be on the slab.

Tomorrow? queried the chief inspector, looking at his watch. Don’t you mean today?

Och - aye. I was forgettin’ the time o’ day. You’ll know the full story within twenty-four hours, I promise you.

As he stood up to go, one of the uniformed policemen opened the door to show him out.

Muttering under his breath, the pathologist shook his head meaningfully and took his leave.

In the meantime Lamb barked directions at the various policemen who were in attendance to search each of the rooms in the flat and refer to him anything they found of consequence.

* * * * *

It being New Year, it would have come as no surprise to anyone to see yet another drunk staggering along one of London’s streets at that time in the morning. He was clearly intoxicated and lurched precipitously along that narrow street, cursing all the while under his breath.

How could he have been so stupid to have got himself in this state? As a fifty-two-year old man he should have known better than to have got involved with several younger members of his staff at that New Year’s party. Several of the women were very attractive and available, and he had kidded himself that a few of them had been attracted to him personally and not just his money. And the more he had had to drink, the more he had convinced himself of that.

And then he had remembered! He had promised his student daughter he would meet her at her little flat to see in the New Year with her. He had not wanted her to come to the New Year’s party he had organised for his staff, in case she got involved with the wrong type.

So here he was, having got the taxi to drop him off at the wrong spot - such was his insobriety - and now he was struggling to find her place. He had stopped a couple of people who had passed by to ask for directions, but they were either in the same state as him - or foreign.

Staggering on, it seemed an age before he saw some lights ahead of him. Despite his addled brain, he realised he was going towards an ambulance and several police cars.

To his horror he realised they were parked outside the block of flats where his daughter resided.

* * * * *

Lamb was examining various pieces of the girl’s clothing when one of the constables knocked on the door and entered the cramped room.

Yes? Lamb snapped.

Beg pardon, sir, muttered the policeman, awkwardly, but we have a slight problem with a gentleman called Jennings, outside in the street.

Jennings? Who the hell is he?

I’ve come to the conclusion he must be the dead girl’s father, sir.

Oh - so now we’re a detective, are we? What makes you think he’s the dead girl’s father?

The constable cleared his throat. He says he was going to stay the night with his daughter after he had attended a New Year’s party. He described the location of his daughter’s flat fairly accurately, sir….

Does he know what’s happened?

No, sir. But he’s fairly drunk, sir.

Lamb lit up a Woodbine. All right, Bradshaw. I’ll be down in a minute.

As was his habit, Lamb pulled thoughtfully at his moustache. Why on earth was the girl’s father going to stay in a crumby little flat such as this? And what a time to tell him such devastating news! Still, there was nothing else for it but to grasp the nettle and confront the gentleman with the tragedy. Straightening his tie, he walked down a long flight of stairs until he reached the entrance to the block of flats. He walked out into the dimly lit street.

The sky was clear, a half-moon partially aiding visibility.

Claude Jennings was to be found pacing angrily up and down on the uneven pavement, his breath coming out in plumes in the cold night air.

The chief inspector stopped him in mid-stride. Mr. Jennings?

Yes. Who are you?

I’m Chief Inspector Lamb, Scotland Yard.

Are you indeed? Are you the man in charge?

You could say that. Lamb heard the slurred voice of the businessman and watched his swaying figure. The man was about 50 years old, he gauged, and was clearly well off, judging by his dress. How may I help?

By simply allowing me entrance to this building, so I can see my daughter.

I’m afraid you can’t, sir. We’ve sealed it off.

Jennings’ red eyes searched the detective’s face. Why?

This was going to be the difficult bit, thought Lamb. Before I answer that, do you mind telling me who you are?

Claude Jennings! You’ve heard of me, of course? The last part of the sentence was stated as a fact, rather than a question.

Lamb had confronted a lot of people in his time who were full of their own self-importance, but this man’s arrogance seemed to set him apart. It was not so much what he said but the way he said it - and his manner. Claude Jennings… he had heard the name before… but where?

Jennings could not contain himself. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of The Jennings Group and its chain of grocery stores?

Of course! That was where he had heard the name. Claude Jennings was the chairman of this country’s largest retail food network. With the final end of food rationing in July 1954, his business had blossomed and he had become a millionaire by diversifying into other areas of finance. Lamb gazed at the obese, balding individual before him and became suddenly envious.

Certainly, I’ve heard of you, Mr. Jennings. But that doesn’t detract from the fact that this building is sealed off.

But why? What’s happened?

I’m afraid there’s been a murder, sir. That’s all I can say at present.

But my daughter lives in one of these flats. Who’s been murdered?

I’m not at liberty to say, sir. Which flat is your daughter residing in?

The one on the third floor. Surely you’re not keeping all of the occupants hostage while you have the building sealed off?

Lamb realised he was going to have to be careful how he dealt with this situation. The man was clearly very important and influential. But to make matters worse, it was his daughter that had been murdered. We’re not allowing anyone to leave their lodgings until we’ve questioned them. He was lying. There were no other residents other than the landlord in the building. He made the statement to throw Jennings off course.

What - at one-thirty in the morning? demanded Jennings, looking at his watch.

That’s right, sir. They’ll just have to put up with the inconvenience. My team are questioning them now. Another lie.

Jennings put his hands up to his head. Okay, then. As soon as you’ve questioned my daughter, will you send her down to see me?

Crisis point! What should Lamb do now?

Another thoughtful stroke of his moustache and an adjustment of his trilby.

I regret to say that won’t be possible. Lamb concluded that he could not send Jennings away in ignorance and tell him later that he could have told him that evening it was his daughter who had been murdered. He would come in for an insurmountable amount of criticism if he did that. What to do? How to break the news delicately?

Why not? Are you holding her prisoner? Jennings was getting angrier by the minute.

Lamb took a sharp intake of breath. I don’t know how to put this to you, sir, other than to advise you that we are investigating the murder of a young girl on the third floor of this building.

Sudden realization struck home. It was evidenced all over Jennings’ face. If it were possible for any man to have received news that could be so devastating that it could transform him from a state of drunkenness to one of complete sobriety, this man was he. Instead of slurring his words, he choked on them. Thunderstruck, he garbled: You mean… y-you’re saying… my God! Are you telling me that it’s my daughter who’s been murdered?!

It seemed to take an eternity for Lamb to answer. I’m very, very sorry -

Let me see her. Jennings attempted to get past Lamb, but was restrained by two burly policemen.

Lamb said gently, I can’t let you do that, Mr. Jennings. It’s against police procedure. And besides, you wouldn’t like to see her as she is now.

Please, begged the businessman, let me see her. There must be some mistake…

I’m sorry, it can’t be done. It would be best if you would identify her at the mortuary when it can be arranged. The detective realised how acidic these words must have sounded to the dead girl’s father, but he could not think of a better way of putting it.

Jennings swayed in apparent shock and disbelief. At one point it looked as though he was going to black out.

Look, sir, shall I arrange to get you home? I realise this has come as quite a shock to you -

Home? Jennings seemed to be staring into space. What home?

There was an awkward pause. It was evident that the businessman’s state of shock had made him irrational, compounded by the amount he had had to drink. A chair was brought from inside the house and Jennings was encouraged to sit on it.

I don’t want a chair! he remonstrated as he was urged to take the weight off his feet. "I want to see my daughter!"

Sighing heavily, Lamb repeated: I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve already told you that won’t be possible -

What kind of bastard are you? demanded Jennings. You can’t seriously expect me to leave, not knowing for certain whether or not that’s my daughter lying dead up there, can you?

The detective bit his lip. Again a pull on his moustache. He felt particularly awkward. The man had a point, standing in his shoes. His superiors would not be happy, however, if he acceded to the businessman’s request. And yet…

For pity’s sake, Chief Inspector, don’t send me away without knowing…

Lamb had to make a final decision. What was the better of two evils: to allow the businessman to see his daughter at the murder scene and attract likely criticism from his superintendent, or to send Jennings away and receive the backlash of being inhumane and playing with a person’s feelings? If he chose the latter, the media would have a field day.

He had made up his mind. He called over Bradshaw, who was in close attendance, and sent him scurrying upstairs. Well, Mr. Jennings, you have your way. Are you sure you’re ready for this? Can you cope?

A nod from the man.

Very well, follow me.

It was to be the longest climb Jennings was to make in his life, as they slowly approached the stairs. Lamb held him by the arm as he felt the businessman’s legs begin to sag. He still smelt heavily of drink, and Lamb began to question the wisdom of his decision.

After what seemed an age they reached the third floor. The detective pointed to a door on the left. This was her flat?

Another nod from the businessman.

Lamb said, In that case, I hope you’re ready for this, Mr. Jennings. Are you sure you…?

It drew an angry response with arms flailing. For God’s sake, Chief Inspector, show me…

Jennings had taken many business risks over the years in order to expand his empire, but never before had he been filled with such fear and trepidation. Lamb, still holding his arm, guided him into the small lounge. It smelt of smoke and chemicals.

Time stood still. It was as though no one in the vicinity of the cadaver could move a muscle. Bradshaw stood over the body, like a gargoyle. Lamb asked the businessman if he was ready.

Yes… all right.

The plastic sheeting was drawn back to reveal just the face.

The eyes of the dead girl had been closed. Jennings gazed at the pallid expression on her face, and collapsed.

Lamb managed to catch him before he hit the floor. He was quite a weight and it took him all his strength to hold him up. A chair was swiftly put behind him and several hands helped to lower him down onto it. Smelling salts were produced and waved under the fainted man’s nose. Slowly, he came round.

Mr. Jennings?

His eyes blinked open.

Mr. Jennings.

More blinking of the eyes. I… I’m okay…

Would you like a glass of water?

N- no. No. I - I… He put his hands to his head and started crying. It’s… it’s her, it’s her. Good God, I can’t believe it. So help me, it’s her…

He convulsed into a meaningless mumbling, punctuated by heavy sobs and bouts of coughing.

My daughter… my dear, dear daughter… It seemed as though he would faint again. Someone steadied him in his chair. It’s okay, he assured the steadying hands. "I will have a drink now, if you don’t mind."

One of the constables brought a glass of water.

Thank you.

Lamb waited for a respectable interval, before saying, I understand from one of the constables that you had intended staying with your daughter in this flat tonight?

Uh… yes, that’s right.

You’ll forgive me - but it’s a bit cramped.

I know. But she’s a second year student who just needs studying space. And she wanted it this way. I was going to ‘rough it’ on the couch. God, this is all my fault!

Your fault?

Yes. I should have been here much earlier. I was socialising at my company’s New Year bash and I tarried far too long.

Strange use of a word, tarried, thought Lamb. Must be his public school upbringing.

I know I could have stayed at a hotel but, as I said, she wanted it this way. Ever since she was old enough, we always saw the New Year in together. Her dear mother passed away when she was very young. I never remarried.

Lamb let him ramble on. He was giving information about himself that had not been asked for. All eyes were on him. He looked much heavier than his sixteen stone, slumped in that chair, head in his hands. His balding pate was bathed in perspiration, his face ashen. His crumpled brown suit belied his standing, his shoes muddy from walking along the grimy streets in the vicinity.

Mr. Jennings? Lamb tried to gain the man’s attention.

The businessman looked up, his eyes still blank.

I think we should take you to the nearest decent hotel for the night, sir. We’ll ask you some questions in the morning when, hopefully, you may be more up to it. Lamb threw him as compassionate a look as he could muster.

But Jennings would have none of it. No. No hotel, yet.

But, sir -

"No. I must answer any questions you’d like to put to me, now. The sooner you catch the bastard that did this, the better."

Lamb nodded. I know. However, now is not the time to do this. Look where we are. My men still have things to do in this flat. My questions can wait ’til tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you to an hotel for the night.

Despite his mumbled protests, the chief inspector was insistent. Take him to the Ambassador up the road, Sergeant. Make sure he is settled in okay, then come back here.

Police Sergeant Colin Symes, who had been keeping a low profile whilst the two men had been speaking, suddenly stepped forward at this point. He encouraged Jennings to stand to his feet and said, If you’d be so kind as to follow me, sir. Mind the stairs.

* * * * *

Jennings was eating a late breakfast at the Ambassador when Lamb walked in.

The businessman was surprised to see him. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 10.30 a.m.

Good morning, Chief Inspector, Jennings greeted him, sombrely. I’m surprised to see you at this hour. Did you get any sleep last night - or should I say, this morning?

I managed to grab a couple of hours, murmured Lamb. Is it okay if I sit with you while you’re eating breakfast? I’ve got a cup of coffee coming.

Please… take a seat.

There was a difficult silence.

Are you okay? asked the detective after a long pause.

I’m as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Couldn’t sleep last night, despite the booze. Jennings’ hands were shaking as he forked through his food.

Well, that’s hardly surprising, given the shock you must have suffered.

At that point the waiter put a cup of coffee in front of Lamb. Will there be anything else, sir?

No… thank you.

Lamb took out a small notebook and pencil, and laid it on the table.

Are you up to answering a few questions, Mr. Jennings?

I was up to answering them last night, was the caustic reply.

The chief inspector said firmly, looking the businessman straight in the eye, "No, you were not."

Jennings pushed the remainder of his breakfast away from him. I can’t eat any more of this. My stomach’s not up to it.

I’m not surprised, thought Lamb, after all the booze you had last night.

Okay, Jennings continued, I’m ready.

Lamb took a sip of his coffee. First of all, can I have your full name?

David Claude Jennings.

The chief inspector looked mildly amused. Why, when you have a Christian name like David, would you opt to use the less charismatic name of Claude? Lamb concluded it said something about the man, but he was not sure what.

And your daughter’s?

Tears welled up in Jennings’ eyes. Eleanor Ruth.

How old was she?

Just nineteen.

What brought you to her flat?

Jennings showed his exasperation. I told you last night. I was supposed to see the New Year in with her. She’s got a Z-bed, or I could have ‘roughed it’ on the couch. I was going to take her to see a show tonight…

And your daughter was a student?

More exasperation. Yes, yes. I told you last night. Weren’t you listening? I thought I was the one who had had too much to drink. Imperial College of Science. She was taking a chemistry degree.

Do you know who her friends are at college?

Not really. I do know she was quite friendly with a girl called Jennifer Cooper, because her name came up from time when we talked about how Eleanor was getting on with her course.

Any boyfriends?

Good God, no! Eleanor was too focused on getting her degree without taking on complications like that.

Strange turn of phrase that, thought Lamb, to refer to boyfriends as ‘complications’. Another example of Jennings’ mind-set.

Yet she was found naked and her clothes were by the side of her bed.

I don’t know my daughter’s current sleeping habits. Perhaps she likes to sleep naked.

I hardly think that’s likely if she was expecting you…

Now, look here -

And there were two wine glasses on the table and an empty bottle of wine. She had clearly been entertaining somebody.

A gasp of incredulity from the businessman. Look, I’m sure it was all very innocent. Perhaps another student…?

Are there any around? I was going to ask you why your daughter was here in London at this time of the year. Surely the term hasn’t started yet?

That’s quite right. The businessman took a drink of what must now be cold coffee. She came home for Christmas, but she preferred to return here early to catch up on some studying before the next term started. She was a very conscientious student.

How would you describe your daughter?

Jennings paused for thought. Well… she was very quiet. Some would say somewhat introvert. But that was just her way. Inside she was a very confident individual. Admittedly, she didn’t make friends easily, but when she did she was very loyal to them. Tears welled up in his eyes again. I can’t imagine who would want to kill her…

Lamb swiftly changed the subject, only to regret it. Are you married Mr. Jennings?

I was. I told you last night I am a widower. My wife died over ten years ago. She had a weak heart. That’s why Eleanor was an only child.

I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any other relatives?

No. My parents died years ago. I had a brother, but he died of consumption when he was only twenty-seven.

And he never married?

No. He had a girlfriend for a few years though, but they split up.

Can you remember her name?

Look, Chief Inspector, I don’t mind answering sensible questions if it means it will lead to an early arrest. But really, what relevance is there to an old flame of my late brother?"

Just tying up loose ends. During my long time in the force I’ve learnt that even the most apparently insignificant facts can often lead to something quite revealing and helpful to our investigations - no matter what we are investigating.

Jennings muttered something under his breath. As I recall, she was called Wendy. I only met her a couple of times.

Do you remember her surname?

A scratch of the head. "Simons, was it? No… Samson…? No… Simmonds, that was it. Yes, I’m certain."

Lamb made due note on his pad. How long has your daughter been in the flat?

Since last September. She was in a hall of residence before that.

And no close friends?

None - except that Jennifer Cooper, perhaps. I’ve already told you that. Are we now in the arena of repeat questions?

Sorry, sir. I was just checking. She obviously, as you say, didn’t make friends easily.

Jennings glared at the detective. Besides the look being penetrative, it was also analytical. For the first time he took in his perception of the Scotland Yard man: an inscrutable, skeletal face, bushy moustache, dark hair tinged slightly grey and a kind of inner strength radiating from those steel-blue eyes. Slight of build, not much meat on the bone. Long spidery fingers, probably skinny legs. An unfeeling individual.

When was the last time you saw your daughter?

I told you - at Christmas.

And that was the last time?

Yes. Jennings was beginning to show his irritation.

On what date did she leave you to return to London?

December the 28th.

And where is your residence located?

High Wycombe.

Would you mind writing your address down for me? Lamb proffered his notebook, turning to a blank page.

Jennings complied.

The chief inspector raised his eyebrows when he saw what Jennings had written down. Radleigh Manor, eh? I know it - quite a place you have there, Mr. Jennings. Did your daughter phone you at all on her return to London?

No. We agreed it wasn’t necessary if I was seeing her on New Year’s Eve.

Lamb let out a sigh. Okay… I think that will be all for now, sir. Will you be all right for getting home?

Yes…

Can I have your phone number in case I have any further questions for you?

High Wycombe 438.

What time do you expect to be home this afternoon?

Why? Is that relevant?

Yes. We should have the pathologist’s report sometime today and I may wish to discuss it with you.

Jennings glanced at his watch. I should be home easily by three o’clock. What happens now?

Now? Ah, the investigation continues. We’ll keep you in the loop Mr. Jennings on any developments. Good day, sir.

* * * * *

11.15 p.m. December 31st, 1956.

The telephone on his desk rang.

Moaning inwardly, Lamb picked up the receiver. He was working late, such was the paperwork he had to catch up on.

Lamb.

Ah, Bill. Ballister.

Sir?

There looks to have been a murder committed in a block of flats at 3 Bly Lane, Camden Town. I want you to get over there right away. I’ve already despatched a couple of squad cars to cordon the area off. I’m trying to get hold of Detective Sergeant Halpen to assist you, but so far no luck. I’ll get him over there as soon as I can. Keep me informed, will you?

The chief inspector let out a muted curse. He had already put in fourteen hours today. Just his luck.

Yes, sir. I’m on my way.

* * * * *

The body had been discovered by the landlord, who lived in the basement flat. He usually undertook an inspection of the premises last thing at night before he retired to bed. A weedy individual. Not trustworthy. Probably on the take. The wheeler-dealer sort, who always kept just on the right side of the law. These were the thoughts that went through Lamb’s mind as he greeted the landlord on his arrival.

Your name?

Uhh… Jess Aimes.

Where’s the flat?

Follow me.

They climbed a few flights of stairs until they came to the third floor. A short walk along the corridor and they were there.

Was the door open like this when you did your inspection?

Aimes nodded. She’s the only student in the premises at the moment on account of her coming back early.

Do you keep your front door locked?

Always.

Then how did the person who did this get in?

She must have given him a key ’cos no one knocked on the front door or rang the bell - I would’ve heard…

They entered the room and viewed the girl’s body.

Lamb bent down and put a hand on her. She’s still warm. Hasn’t been long dead…

Hello, Chief Inspector.

The chief inspector stood up. It was Macfee.

Hello, Graeme. Good timing. He waved a hand at the landlord. Okay, Mr. Aimes, that will be all for the time being. You’ll have to put up with a certain amount of inconvenience, I’m afraid, while we carry out our investigations. But that shouldn’t concern you, should it? Not whilst the building remains empty.

Aimes grunted an acknowledgement and disappeared from the scene.

* * * * *

Lamb’s thoughts were disturbed by a cheerful, Hi, boss.

The chief inspector was scathing, Where the hell have you been?

Detective Sergeant Clive Halpen looked somewhat surprised. At a New Year’s party.

Well, while you’ve been gallivanting, the pathologist has been and gone, the uniformed boys have searched the flat top and bottom, the police photographer has done his bit and the body has just been taken to the mortuary. All you’re left with is a chalk mark on the floor.

Halpen’s face reddened a little, more through annoyance than anything else.

But sir, it was my night off.

Yeh - right. What state would you have been in when you returned to work?

Halpen grinned at him. No worse than I am now.

Lamb sighed resignedly. "You’ve missed all the excitement. There’s nothing more to be done at the moment. You go home and get your head down. I want to see you in my office tomorrow morning - that means this morning - at 8 a.m. sharp."

The detective sergeant groaned. He had expected his ‘night off’ to have extended until midday. Yes, sir, he said reluctantly. I’ll be there. He took his leave and made his way by taxi to a small guesthouse he had booked for the night. There was no chance of him getting back to his home in Canvey Island at that time of night.

* * * * *

When they met, Lamb was seated at his desk reading his notebook and puffing agitatedly at a cigarette. Ah, there you are, Halpen.

You can call me Clive, if you like, replied the detective sergeant, cheekily.

Don’t push your luck, was the curt response.

Lamb then proceeded to tell Halpen all that had transpired since the investigation began.

And how is Mr. Jennings? queried Lamb’s number two.

Don’t know. I intend going to The Ambassador after we’ve had our little discussion. Now these are the salient points we’re going to have to follow up, based on information received so far. First: Aimes, the landlord. Don’t like the look of the chap. Needs further questioning. I think he knows more than he’s letting on. I’ll leave him to you. Second: Jennings needs close questioning so that we can find out as much as we can about his daughter. I’ll do that when we’ve finished talking. Third: we need the pathologist’s report. I’ll leave you to chase up Macfee once you’ve finished questioning Aimes. That’s it so far. I expect to give you more legwork once I’ve talked to Jennings. Give me a ring at The Ambassador at 11 o’clock. I should have finished with Jennings by then.

Very good, sir. Halpen left Lamb’s office and collared a squad car to take him to 3, Bly Lane.

Lamb realised he had been chain-smoking while he had been talking to his sergeant, and he stubbed out the half-cigarette he had in his hand.

Putting on his jacket, which had been slung over the back of his chair, and picking up the packet of cigarettes on his desk, he closed his office door and made his way to The Ambassador.

* * * * *

Jess Aimes was surprised to see someone from the police so soon after