be two or three ex-directory J. Dunwoodies. I once talked to a telephone operator and she told me that if all the domestic numbers were listed, the book would be twice the size it already is. . Lot of these are in the prestigious suburbs; a lot are too far to make travelling to work in Kilburn practical. . oh. . wait. .’
‘A hit?’ Ainsclough glanced up from the computer screen.
‘Possibly.’ Brunnie picked up his phone, pressed nine for an outside line and then dialled a number. The call was quickly answered by a tearful sounding woman with a shaky voice. Brunnie said, ‘Hello, madam, sorry to bother you. This is the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard; I am trying to trace a Mr J.J. Dunwoodie who is employed at WLM Rents in Kilburn.’
‘Oh. . he’s in hospital. .’
‘Hospital!’ Brunnie repeated for the benefit of Ainsclough who began to listen, keenly so.
‘The Westminster Hospital,’ the woman explained. ‘He got set on last night, after work. . two thugs and they hurt him bad. . really bad. And you’re the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well you should know about it. There’s a copper with him in case he wakes up.’
‘I am sorry to bother you. I hope all is well. We clearly had a communication breakdown here. Sorry.’ Brunnie replaced the phone. ‘Westminster Hospital. . got worked over last night.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘What have I done?’
‘What do you mean?’
Brunnie told Ainsclough about the watering can.
‘You believed Pilcher’s prints would be on it?’
‘Yes. . whatever his name is. . his prints would be on the can. I told Dunwoodie to get an identical one from the local shop, but I noticed a green one there this morning, not a red one.’
‘That’s a bit of an offside thing to do, especially for you.’
‘I know, we can’t use it to arrest him for anything but at least we’ll know who he is.’
‘Yes, I know. It’s one thing to take fingerprints after a break-in. . even from the staff. . we can tell them it’s so they can be eliminated, but it gets names and prints on file for future reference. If all the totally innocent citizens whose prints are on file knew about it, there’d be riots in London.’
‘I honestly thought he’d be safe. I thought it would be so simple for him to get another red watering can.’
Ainsclough rested his chin in the cup of his left palm, with his elbow resting on the surface of his desk, ‘You’d better go straight to Harry Vicary, the moment he gets in.’
‘Yes. . that’s the best thing to do. . best thing to do rather than let it emerge, but if Dunwoodie registers a complaint, and I wouldn’t blame him if he does, I’m up the creek without a paddle. Disciplinary procedures. . the lot. Oh boy, he could even sue the police.’
‘But only if he can show the assault was connected to him handing over the watering can. The assault might be unconnected.’
‘Good point.’ Brunnie smiled at Ainsclough. ‘I can live in hope. I think I’d like to get over to Westminster Hospital.’
‘Yes. I’ll cover for you. Penny Yewdall is in as well, enough plain clothes if anything develops, and we have your mobile phone number. Swannell is still on leave, but it’s enough.’
‘Yes.’ Brunnie stood. ‘I’ll walk round there, quicker than taking a car, no place to park anyway. But what have I done?’
Harry Vicary knocked gently on the yellow door of the house at the far end of Albert Road, Leyton, E10. An elderly lady opened the door, silver-haired, floral dress, hands twisted with arthritis. ‘Mrs North?’ Vicary took off his hat and replaced it again.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was shaking with apprehension.
‘Police.’ Vicary smiled. ‘Don’t be alarmed.’
‘Ah.’ Mrs North relaxed and smiled.
Vicary produced his identity card. ‘I understand you have a daughter, Pauline.’
‘I did.’
‘Oh. . I am sorry.’
‘No, no. . still alive.’ Mrs North smiled. ‘She’s Mrs South now.’
‘You’re joking,’ Vicary grinned.
‘I kid you not, young man. The jokes they made at the wedding reception, about compass needles spinning round until North became South. . Go North, young man. . I can’t remember them all, but one telegram after the other had some crack in it about points of the compass. The best man was the groom’s brother but they managed to find an usher called West and another called Eastman — it became a theme of the wedding.’
‘How amusing.’
‘Yes. She did well; her husband is a good man and she has two lovely children.’
‘I am pleased to hear it. I really would like to speak to her. She has nothing to worry about; I need to pick her brains.’
‘She’s not in trouble?’
‘No. I just need information.’
‘Alright. . well if you don’t mind, I’ll phone her and ask her to contact you.’
‘Of course.’ Vicary handed her his calling card.
Mrs North read the card. ‘Detective Inspector Vicary. That’s quite a high rank.’
‘Not really. It’s quite modest.’
‘Can I tell her what it is about?’
‘Yes, I don’t see why not, it’s in connection with Rosemary Halkier.’
‘Oh. . Rose. . she disappeared.’
‘Yes.’
‘Has she been found?’
‘Well, let’s just say that there has been a significant development. If you could invite your daughter Pauline to phone me at her earliest convenience?’
‘I will. . yes, I will. I’ll phone her right away; she doesn’t work. I mean, she’s not employed during the day, she keeps house when she is not needed for supply teaching and that’s sufficient work for any woman. . but if she isn’t at home now, she’ll be out somewhere close by. . at the shops or something.’
‘I see.’
‘She lives in Mill Hill. Well, I’ll phone her. Will you be going direct to Scotland Yard, sir?’
‘No. . no. . I have another call to make first.’
Vicary walked home. He was anxious to get there, but he did not want to lessen the impact of the cold caring policy. He reached his house and let himself in. His wife was on her hands and knees cleaning the vomit from the carpet with her head wrapped in a towel. Clearly she had washed herself first. She looked at him and then avoided eye contact. After a period of silence he asked, ‘Is there any more? I found the bottles under the eaves. You know we made an agreement. So, is there any more?’
‘In the garden.’ She spoke with clear difficulty. Even from the distance he stood from her, he could smell her searing breath. ‘Behind the shed.’
Vicary walked to the kitchen and out into the back garden. He looked behind the garden shed and found a metal bucket covered with a generous amount of sacking. Neither the bucket, which was shiny and new, nor the sacking, which was old and worn, had he seen before. He took the sacking from the bucket and exposed three more bottles of gin contained within the bucket. He opened each bottle, and holding it away from him and with his head turned from it, lest he got a whiff which he would find difficulty in resisting, he emptied the contents on to the ground. Holding the bottles as far from him as he could, he took them into the kitchen and rinsed each one clear of any trace of alcohol. He then placed them in a plastic bin liner, and went back outside and picked up the screw tops from each bottle, and those too he rinsed and put in the bin liner, which he secured with a firm knot at the top.
He stood silently in the kitchen wondering if he should make his wife a cup of strong black coffee, but he decided against it. He said not a word, and walked out of the house carrying the bin liner with him, which he would place in the first waste bin he came across.
