He answered, “Please do that, Miss Wells. Though I’m the officer in charge . . . Superintendent MacFarlane is away in the wilds of Yorkshire.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Nearly seven. Probably sinking into his first scotch or tucking into his beef and puddings. I’m what we have left in Cambridge, I’m afraid.” His voice firming: “Tell the officer at the desk I need Sergeant Thoday and two constables as a matter of urgency. And an ambulance. I’m at a crime scene at Jude’s. I’ll be needing the pathologist, as well—Dr. Beaufort is already on the case. And I believe it’s connected.”

Rosa gasped, repeated the names Thoday and Beaufort and ran to the door.

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Cambridge Police Station, Saturday,
the 7th of June, 1924

The detective in Redfyre was intellectually intrigued by the situation the prisoner had just thrown at him over the desk: an enclosed scene of a crime quickly discovered. All the possible suspects were present in the same small room, as were all potential witnesses. Guilty and innocent alike had been subject, without possible objection or quibble, to the questioning of their commanding officer, and the nonguilty had every personal interest in discovering the culprit and bringing him to justice. Counsels, judge, jury, even a choice of executioner—all were immediately available and under orders. Had the captain handled the investigation correctly? Given the eventual outwash with its flotsam of dead bodies, ruined careers and recrimination, Redfyre feared that something had gone wrong. Tremendously wrong.

“You’re right. It should have been a dead cert!” The prisoner once again read his mind and responded to his thoughts. “And one day, if our relationship—such as it is—isn’t cut off too abruptly, Redfyre”—with a quick gesture, he indicated hanging—“I should like to ask how on earth you, a professional, would have proceeded.”

The moment he’d been working towards had arrived, and Redfyre seized it. He returned the prisoner’s challenging stare. “Why wait?” he suggested cheerily. “Looked at clinically, what we have here is a textbook crime scene. Do you agree? May I suggest that we try to put aside any distracting emotions and ancient loyalties to find a solution to your problem? It’s high time someone spoke the name of the guilty party. The man whose original crime has wreaked such havoc with your life and that of others and placed you right there, sitting opposite me in manacles—I think I know his name.”