Deep Cover by Peter Turnbull Read Free Book Online Page B

Snapping on a pair of latex gloves he began gingerly to open the drawers of the dressing table, ensuring that the police constable then present was watching him closely as he did so. He needed a witness for anything he might find, and also a witness that he did not unlawfully remove anything. He found little of apparent interest: some loose change, a rent book in the name of one Jennifer Reeves, which seemed to be there because no one had thrown it out – the last rent collection entered being some ten years previously. Yet, the clutter in the room suggested to him a longer-term tenant than Michael Dalkeith, who had reportedly moved into the room some twelve months previously. The seemingly long-established musty smell also seemed to speak of a long-term tenant. The owner of the property, as given on the dated rent book, was WLM Rents of Kilburn, with an address in Fernhead Road.
    â€˜Fernhead Road?’ Vicary turned to the constable.
    â€˜Just round the corner, sir,’ the young, serious-minded constable replied. ‘It’s the main road round here.’
    â€˜Ah . . . thanks. One to be visited tomorrow.’
    â€˜Sir?’
    â€˜Oh, just muttering to myself. The landlord will be someone to visit; see what he can tell us about his tenants.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Notice anything about the room, constable?’
    â€˜Messy, sir.’
    â€˜Yes . . . too messy for someone who has just moved in . . .’
    â€˜Now you mention it, sir. Confess I hadn’t read that.’
    â€˜These things you will learn, these observations you will be taught to make.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜And a deceased female also.’
    â€˜So I believe, sir, but I came just now, sir, just as the body was being removed.’
    â€˜Yes, I know . . . but no female clothing. I haven’t looked in all the drawers yet, but I’d still expect to see a woman’s coat or pair of shoes . . . something like that.’
    â€˜Yes . . . or a handbag, sir.’
    â€˜Yes . . . good observation, no handbag either. Runaways are unlikely to have a handbag but only unlikely . . . so it’s a good observation. The door was locked . . . easily forced but still locked; no one had come in and rifled the room. Sorry, just musing again.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜He brings the girl in, brings her from somewhere . . . strangles her, takes all her clothing and her handbag, and heaven only knows what else . . . and then goes for a walk on Hampstead Heath in a blizzard . . . and does so ill-dressed for the weather conditions on that day or night, or whenever, and then lies down in the snow to sleep his final sleep right on top of a corpse that was already there, and had been for a number of years.’
    â€˜You mean like he knew it was there, sir, like he was leading us there, sir? Telling us about the corpse?’
    Vicary looked at the constable and did so with widening eyes and a slackening jaw.

TWO
    W LM Rents occupied the ground floor of a house on Fernhead Road, Kilburn. Vicary had never before set foot in Fernhead Road. It was a narrow road, he found, probably wide enough to accommodate vehicular traffic in the late nineteenth century, when the tall, elegant terrace houses which stood on either side of the tree-lined road were built, but now, in twenty-first-century Britain, it would, Vicary thought, be a bottleneck during the rush hour. He walked into the office of WLM Rents and was met by a bright, airy interior, smelling of air freshener, with large colour photographs of London landmarks – Trafalgar Square, the Tower, Westminster Bridge – attached to the walls. A water dispenser, filled with mineral water, stood in the corner by the door. Comfortable looking upholstered chairs lined one wall and in front of them were two coffee tables standing end to end, upon which