“Okay, leave it to me,” Steve said, heading back towards the cordon. “I’ll speak to you later.”
◆◆◆
Ned was pestering Dillon again. He had finished the record photography of the body and was waiting for Calvin and Tyler to finish their big forensics Pow-Wow and say what they wanted him to do next.
“Actually, it’s a bit of a result, going back to Poplar tomorrow,” Ned was saying.
The photographer’s sanity, along with his choice of hair stylist, was definitely questionable, Dillon decided. “Is it? Why?”
“I think that the mortuary technician fancies me,” Ned confided.
Dillon disguised his laughter with a cough. “What, Fred Dawkins?” he said, trying to keep a straight face.
Ned looked totally confused. “Who’s Fred Dawkins?”
There was no one called Fred Dawkins, as far as Dillon knew. “Big ugly brute of a man, bald head, squashed nose; he’s got ‘love’ and ‘hate’ tattooed across his knuckles. Oh, and he has a bit of a problem with body odour. Come to think of it, you two would make a nice couple: Fred and Ned.”
“No, not Fred,” Ned said, turning his nose up indignantly. “I’m talking about the delectable Emma Drew.”
“How could you possibly think Emma fancies you?” Dillon scoffed. He gave Ned a look that implied the photographer was deluded.
Ned’s face did mock offended. Then it lit up in a mischievous grin. “Oh, do I detect the presence of the green-eyed monster?” he teased. “Come on, admit it, you’re just jealous because girls like her always pick suave, sophisticated, intellectual types like me over knuckle-dragging apes like you.”
Dillon folded both arms across his barrel of a chest. “And you’re so modest with it,” he said sarcastically.
“Very,” Ned agreed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see her giving me the eye last week, flirting with me and rubbing up against me while I was photographing that girl’s body on the slab.”
Dillon shuddered. That was just plain creepy.
“Anyway,” Ned continued, “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment so I’ve decided to ask her out next time we speak.”
Dillon didn’t like the sound of that. Nerdy Ned was actually quite a nice guy, but Emma could do so much better. He decided to change tack.
“I think you’re misreading the signals, old son,” Dillon said kindly. “I wasn’t trying to say that she would prefer me to you. I was trying to say that she would prefer someone like Kelly Flowers to either of us, if you get my drift.” He winked, conspiratorially.
Ned looked confused for a moment, and then the penny dropped. “You mean she’s gay?” he asked, horrified.
“I’m afraid so, mate. Better men than either of us have been blown out by that girl. But, hey, if you want to ask her out, be my guest. I just don’t want to see a sensitive guy like you get humiliated.”
Ned looked crestfallen. “I can’t believe she’s gay,” he said.
“Who’s gay?”
Both men spun around to see George Copeland standing behind them.
“Don’t creep up on people like that,” Dillon scolded, wondering how much the tubby exhibits officer had heard.
“Who’s gay?” George repeated. He loved a bit of gossip, and this sounded juicy.
“Emma Drew from Poplar mortuary,” Ned said.
George seemed sceptical. “Emma? Are you sure?”
“Mr Dillon was just telling me,” Ned said.
George stared at Dillon with undisguised suspicion. What was the big lug up to now? “I didn’t know Emma batted for the other side, and I’ve known her for years.” He didn’t mention that he also knew her ex-boyfriend.
Dillon was starting to feel rather uncomfortable. “It’s probably best that we keep it to ourselves,” he said quickly. “I mean, I’m sure she’ll come out when she’s good and ready, but we don’t want to cause her any grief by broadcasting her sexuality before she’s ready to tell the world.”
“No, of course not,” Ned agreed. He had a cousin who was gay, and he knew how hard it had been for her to come out to her parents.
Thankfully, Dillon was spared further discomfort because, at that point, Tyler and Calvin’s conversation broke up and the CSM wasted no time in whisking Ned and George away.
“So, what forensic priorities did you agree with Sam?” Dillon asked, grateful for the reprieve.
Before Tyler could answer, Steve Bull appeared, looking excited. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said,” but I’ve just been talking to Sarah Pritchard outside the cordon, and I think you two are going to want to hear this.”
◆◆◆
Henry Boyden felt like shit. He had hardly slept a wink last night, and he hadn’t been able to face eating anything all morning. One of the whores had complained about the way he had treated her, but what exactly had she said? Hopefully, Simon could make it all go away, but what if he couldn’t and Sarah Pritchard went to the police about him? What would he say if they questioned him? This could ruin everything. He was due to work a late shift today, his third in a row, but maybe it would be better to phone in sick. He needed time to think; to get his story together in case he was interrogated.
His wife had noticed that he wasn’t himself as soon as he’d joined her and the kids for breakfast this morning, but he had managed to put her off the scent by saying he had a touch of the shits, probably the result of eating an iffy sandwich he’d purchased from the canteen the day before. Mornings in their house tended to be chaotic, but somehow Sandra always managed to get the kids dressed, fed and out of the house on time with military precision. Unable to relax, Henry Boyden had spent the majority of the morning sitting on the sofa fretting about his future.
He switched on the radio just in time to catch the eleven o’clock news, and what he heard chilled him to the bone: There had been another Ripper murder in Whitechapel. This really wasn’t a good time for someone to allege that he’d been roughing up prostitutes.
◆◆◆
“Listen up,” Dillon
