Sergeant Dean Cousins, Challis Street Police Station’s premier athlete, who competed in the London Marathon each year, was a whippet-thin man. Every lunchtime, if he was in the station, he would put in five miles while the others were taking a rest or eating their lunch, or even grabbing the opportunity for sleep. And then once a week, he’d jog the eleven miles from his home to the station, a backpack with his essentials, a spare uniform hanging on a hook in the changing rooms.
‘What’s your best time?’ Larry asked. The two of them were standing by the side of the Serpentine.
‘I ran sub three hours a couple of years ago, two fifty-three.’
‘Impressive.’
‘The winner ran it in two hours and five minutes. But he was a professional. I can’t hope to run that fast, not if I keep my day job, not even if I quit. Most of the winners these days come from Africa.’
‘And you come from Barnsley. A major disadvantage there,’ Larry said.
‘Some, but that’s not why we’re here, is it?’
‘You’ve read the case file, what do you think?’
‘Judging by the time in the morning that the man would have been running, his physical condition, I’d say he was a man I’d identify with.’
‘Crazy?’
‘Of course. Who else would find pleasure pounding around London, inhaling the petrol fumes, dealing with angry drivers and breaking the ice underfoot in winter?’
‘What do you reckon? The man’s running along on the path here; we can’t tell which direction. I need a rough idea as to where he entered the park, where he would have exited, and more importantly, where he may have come from.’
‘You don’t want much.’
‘I thought you could help. Sergeant Gladstone’s conducting a blanket investigation south of the park. Now, I don’t want to go heading off in the wrong direction. If you, a man who thinks like the murdered man, may be able to assist, it’d be appreciated.’
‘Not all joggers think the same, and we tend to vary the route, prevent boredom.’
‘I thought you people were fanatical.’
‘We are, and when the adrenaline rush kicks in, then it’s great. But you can’t guarantee that every time, especially when the weather’s not so good. The muscles don’t warm up enough and the times are down.’
‘Crazy, as I said.’
‘Mad as a hatter, but that’s what jogging is about. Overcome the adversity, enjoy the outdoors, push through the pain barrier, reap the rewards.’
Larry looked at the water, the tourists walking behind them. ‘Tranquil, it’s kind of beautiful standing here. Not the place for murder, that’s for sure.’
‘Where is? You want my thoughts on where the man would have run?’
‘If you can.’
‘I run around it sometimes. The park is closed from midnight to five in the morning. If he came after five, then he could have entered anywhere. Before that, he would have had to jump the fence, and the parks are patrolled at night.’
‘From 5 a.m. is fine.’
‘It would help if CCTV cameras had picked him up outside.’
‘It was dark and an early-morning fog.’
‘You said he stayed in a hotel in Paddington on a couple of occasions.’
‘Four to be precise, but not this time.’
‘If it were Paddington, then he would have probably jogged down Westbourne Street. If he had chosen Lancaster Terrace, that would have been one more road to cross. Nothing a serious jogger likes less is to be held up by traffic lights and pedestrian crossings.’
‘Let’s assume he stayed somewhere close to the Fitzroy.’
‘He would have crossed Bayswater Road and entered by the gate near to Buckhill Lodge. You can rent it out sometimes, expensive though, and beyond my salary.’
‘Assume Buckhill Lodge as his entry point.’
‘Have you checked with the people staying there?’
‘We have; no luck.’
‘If he had gone down Lancaster Terrace, he would have entered through Lancaster Gate. It’s not far from Buckhill Lodge, and it makes little difference as to the route he took. He’s in the park now, which way to go?’
‘What would you choose?
‘It’s just over two miles to run around the Serpentine. Scenically, it would be attractive, but a serious jogger’s looking for more than that.’
‘How many miles do you run a day?’
‘If I’ve got a marathon coming up, I’ll aim for ten.’
‘And you achieve it?’
‘It’s hard, but yes. Most weeks, I’ll run five a day.’
‘You’re in the park, what then?’
‘Head left down towards Marble Arch, then run down alongside Park Lane, keeping in the park. Before I reach the end, I would swing right and run alongside the lake, keeping to the Kensington side, up past the swimming pool, take the tunnel under West Carriage Drive and up to where we’re standing.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘In reverse. If the man was a keen jogger, it’s the route he would have taken.’
‘But the person who struck him, ensuring that he fell back into the water wouldn’t have been jogging, just waiting.’
‘Then the murderer must have known the man’s movements. And if he was predictable, then others must have seen him.’
‘Who?’
‘Other joggers, people walking through the park, the staff at the Lido Café.’
‘Too early for the café, and it would need people who were here on a regular basis.’
‘Sorry, can’t help you anymore. I can put you in touch with some friends who run through here more often than I do, although I reckon that’s the route he would have taken.’
Chapter 5
‘No idea on this one?’ Chief Superintendent Goddard asked. He was sitting behind his desk, the panoramic view of London behind him.
‘Until we know the man’s real name, we’re hitting a brick wall,’ Isaac said from his side of the desk. ‘The man’s suspicious, but there’s no record. We’ve checked the usual:
