The Unkindest Cut by Gerald Hammond

maid of honour Deborah) rather than a serious police inspector, and Jane, who had not been feeling at all brave, suddenly felt like getting the shakes. ‘You said that the voice was disguised,’ Ian continued, once again the detective. ‘And you said that he was slim and that his yelp was high pitched. Could it have been a woman?’
    Jane felt her insides settle down while she had something to puzzle over. She sipped her champagne. This was definitely her best batch ever. Of course, with a larger batch it was easier to keep the temperature constant, she mulled. After a few moments contemplating the merits of the champagne, she caught the detective’s questioning and slightly impatient expression and her thoughts returned to the question at hand.
    â€˜Possible,’ she said. ‘Definitely a possibility. I didn’t notice it at the time because he or she was flat-chested; but the voice was what in today’s jargon they would probably call gender unspecific or unisex or something, rather gruff for a woman’s but if it had been above a whisper I think it might have been high-pitched for a man. I didn’t see the face or notice the bum. I didn’t really see he, she, or whatever walking as they ran off when making their escape, which gives less indication of sex, I always find. In the surgery itself, during the burglary I was concentrating on not getting hurt rather than on my attacker’s physique!’
    Ian nodded an acceptance of this last comment and while he finished his note-taking there was silence in the office. The music had stopped. Jane could hear a voice and occasional bursts of laughter. The traditional speeches had begun. The programme for a normal wedding had been resumed – without the bride, which Jane thought was really rather odd, but she supposed the planned schedule was being followed religiously and she should be pleased about that considering she’d organized it all in the first place …
    â€˜Happily nobody was injured,’ Ian continued. ‘But we can’t just let the matter drop because the next attempt might be more determined and the outcome more serious. Now let’s talk about drugs. What drugs did he get away with?’
    â€˜Not much to interest an addict unless he wanted to cure his kennel cough. Some morphine. I can list the rest when I get the opportunity to check my cupboards and my files,’ Jane offered.
    â€˜That would be very useful, thanks. Did anything about him suggest that he was an addict?’ Ian asked.
    Jane put down her plastic champagne glass so that she could shrug more expressively. ‘How in God’s name would I know?’ she enquired rhetorically. ‘His head was covered, his eyes were shadowed and there was no other flesh showing except where I stuck in the needle. If it’s any help, he – or she – didn’t have any twitches or shakes or look particularly sweaty.’
    Ian Fellowes refused to take offence. He nodded. ‘You haven’t given us much to go on. Just a very approximate size. We don’t even know what sex. Unless he – or, as you say, she – makes a habit of it, we’re up a gum tree. I’ll put the word around, we’ll put a formal statement on record and hope that it’s a one-off, but somehow I doubt it. Go and do your duty dances, Mrs Fox. If you can point out the mother of that boy, do so. And I wish you a long and happy marriage.’

FIVE
    T he immediate honeymoon of the happy couple took place at home over a period of several hours, the honeymoon proper being planned as a sunshine holiday in Mauritius, some time about the following Christmas if Roland’s share of the film advance arrived in time.
    The next day being Sunday they would usually have had a ‘long lie in’. To a young couple following divergent careers, Sunday morning is usually sacred; but Jane was torn between the needs to do something magical with