“So you didn’t warn her-I mean in case it might change her wedding plans?”
“I didn’t have to, she knew already.”
“Hence the Trinity Burial Society?”
“I presume so.”
It fitted, but like the first pieces of blue in a jigsaw that was half sky.
“We must track down this bloke with the intimate relationship,” Kramer murmured.
“Anything to go on?”
“Bugger all, no one at the funeral and no flowers.”
Dr Matthews rose with a slight smile.
“Actually I’m bloody shaken and ashamed by all this, Lieutenant.”
“ Ach, don’t worry, doctor-I’m sure they won’t want your scalp by the time we get to the end of this one.”
“I’m not so sure. You see, I didn’t fill in eye colours and that until I heard the balloon had gone up. Funny, I could have sworn…”
“Just formalities. But can I take the file along, anyway?”
“Of course, let me show you out.”
Kramer stopped on the doorstep to warn Dr Matthews that he would probably send a man round in the morning for an official statement. As they were speaking, all the cars across the road started up almost simultaneously and drove off.
“Every good party comes to an end,” Kramer said.
“What party?” Dr Matthews asked.
But it was already time to get Bob Perkins to work on the tape, so Kramer just walked off down the road.
Mrs Perkins showed Kramer into the workroom and apologised that Bob had not finished his bath. He always bathed after work because of the ink from the proofs, they were ever such messy things.
Kramer knew that Mrs Perkins was Bob’s wife but he had never grown used to the idea. She doted on him like the pale but proud mother of a prodigy born under mysterious circumstances. They even looked alike. If they had not both been round about thirty, he could well imagine her having spent years bringing him up in neat navy suits and a flutter of clean handkerchiefs.
“Please make yourself comfortable, sir,” she said, unaware of the discomfiture her presence caused. “I was just going to pour out his cocoa-would you like some, too?”
“May I have coffee, please?”
“Do you think that’s very wise? My Bob was telling me only the other day what awful chemicals there were in it. He knows a lot about what happens to the brain, you know.”
“Black, please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Of course not, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Mrs Perkins bustled out, a cuddly heap of woollen night garments topped with a curly head of hair the colour of a teddy bear’s fur.
Kramer walked over to the wall of bookshelves. Bob Perkins should know something about the brain if he had waded through that lot: Let Hypnosis Work For You, Amateur Hypnosis, Hypnosis and Healing Therapy, Hypnosis Through the Ages, Hypnosis. He lost track, they were scattered all over between similarly bound books which promised, among other things, to show you How to Make a Million and how to Be Master of Yourself in Seven Days. Two of the shelves were piled with radio and electronics magazines. This was reassuring.
Bob entered carrying the tray of hot drinks and only just avoided being tripped up by Mrs Perkins who rushed past to clear a place on the table which was cluttered with wires and circuits.
“Ah, Lieutenant,” Bob grinned, “it’s good to see you again, man.”
“Bobby, you must talk to him about coffee,” Mrs Perkins said earnestly. “He won’t listen to me.”
“Time enough, I think our friend’s got other things on his mind tonight.”
“Too true,” Kramer agreed.
“Well, I’m not staying, so you boys can get on with it right away,” Mrs Perkins said. “I must give Bobby his welcome but that’s all I can manage at this time of night.”
Kramer bit hard on his lower lip.
“Good night then, dearest,” said Bob, hugging her with his cheek to her bosom.
Kramer went on stirring his coffee until she had left the room. Bob failed to notice Kramer never took sugar.
“Just before we begin, Lieutenant,” he said, “I want you to hear something special. No, I won’t touch your tape unless you listen.”
So Kramer sat back and watched him operate the controls of a large tape deck which stood against the wall. The volume came up and he heard Bob’s voice saying: “What is your attitude to the pop scene, Mr Sinatra?” The reply came unmistakably from the crooner. The recording lasted eight minutes and at the end it was plainly not a parody although the contrast of accents was most striking.
Bob laughed delightedly. “I see I’ve got you wondering, hey?”
And then he explained what he had done was to record a Voice of America programme, make a transcript of the interviewer’s questions and then substitute his own voice using another recorder and the master tape.
“Not bad, is it?” Bob concluded. “It gives the wife goose pimples.”
Kramer conceded he, too, might have had the goose pimples if the coffee had not been so hot-which was how he preferred it, so please don’t fetch any milk.
“Okay, now what is it you’ve brought me?”
“This tape-open it and you’ll see the problem.”
Kramer liked the way Bob handled the box, setting it down first before removing the lid. He was no fool, despite his sad little tricks.
“Ah, someone’s tried to put a match to this.”
“Seems likely.”
“Burnt a section like a slice of cake right through to the spindle. You’ll lose a lot on the outer winding, I’m afraid.”
“That’s all right, any info you can give me is more than welcome.”
“I’ll do my best. I’m off tomorrow, so I can work right through.”
“So you said on the phone. When do I come round?”
“Make it about nine.”
“Okay.”
Kramer got up to leave before any more questions were asked but did not move quickly enough.
“Where did you get it?”
“In a rubbish bin.”
“I’d guessed that, it’ll need some cleaner before I get started. But haven’t you any idea who it belonged to?”
“It’s a personal effect-the only one of its kind, or that’s what I’m hoping.”
“You aren’t saying much, are you?”
“No. There are good reasons.”
“But I bet I know where you got it all the same.”
“ Ach, never in a hundred years.”
Kramer was at the door before the next sentence spun him round like a. 45 slug.
“You got it from the Le Roux girl’s place.”
“How the jesus do you know that?”
“It’s been on page one since the first edition,” Bob stuttered, shaken solid. He tugged a rolled copy of the Gazette out of his jacket which lay on the chair.
Kramer snatched it. Some bastard was going to pay for this, pay through the nose and every other orifice. His eyes flashed over the headings, starting with the 72 pt Caslon Bold lead banner and going in five jumps down to a 24 pt Gothic Condensed five-liner over an 8 pt panel:
Mystery death of a mystery girl
