.’
‘But you keep coming back to the picture of Tilly Westhorpe in spotless gloves and gown (apart from the hemline) snooping around the crime scene?’
Armitage sighed and nodded. ‘We’re looking for someone covered in blood, sir, with an emerald necklace, a jemmy and a bloodstained poker concealed about his person.’ He grinned. ‘Constable Westhorpe’s get-up didn’t even conceal Constable Westhorpe!’
‘No indeed. As you say – an athletically built young lady! But how likely is it that it was the murderer who got in through the window?’
‘
Somebody
broke in and he didn’t come to change a light bulb! I’ve looked at that window. Those marks were made from the outside. The glass shattered inwards. Look at the way the shards have fallen. Could you fake that?’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Do you think we’re playing at detectives, sir?’ he burst out in some anxiety. ‘Over-egging the pudding? Poncing about being clever when all we should be saying is it’s a burglary gone wrong? I must say, common sense says that’s what it is.’
‘I’d like to come to that conclusion,’ said Joe, ‘but there is something distinctly odd about this set-up and I think you’ve seen it too. Constable Westhorpe certainly has. I’ve heard from her. Now
you
stop poncing about and tell me clearly what are your impressions.’
‘It’s the violence I don’t like, sir. Cat burglars don’t kill. We all know that. If our lad had got in in the hope of lifting the odd necklace left lying about while its owner was in the bath and he’d been disturbed, he’d have legged it back the way he came or even, if he had the nerve, said, “Excuse me, madam, wrong room!” and strolled out of the door. It’s been done.’
‘Westhorpe thinks the Dame caught him at it and went for him with the poker.’
‘Could have something there,’ said Armitage grudgingly. ‘But he could still have run. I must say, face to face with a poker-wielding, six-foot redhead, I’d scarper. And, anyway, one blow would have incapacitated her, wouldn’t it? Why go on and on? Did you count the wounds? Four or five, I’d have said. Sort of damage you get in a domestic altercation, sir. No, there’s more to it than just a burglary.’ Armitage sniffed the air. ‘It’s gone now but it was still lingering when I got up here to find the body. Can’t explain it scientifically, sir, but . . . well . . . you remember in the trenches how you could smell . . . I mean really
smell
fear?’
Joe nodded.
‘The air in here was thick with – not fear, no – the opposite, violence and anger . . . yes, anger. It was a red smell, sir. As though there’d been a blazing row. I think the killer got in through the window but it wasn’t an opportunistic, random visit in the line of burglary. It was surely someone who knew and hated her, you’d say.’
‘Her emeralds were stolen but he hadn’t searched the room professionally,’ Joe commented. ‘Westhorpe found a diamond necklace secreted in a rather obvious place.’
‘He took the emeralds because they were easy to snatch to make it look like a burglary.’
‘And disordered the clothes to add the extra dimension of rape, to exercise the coppers’ minds?’
‘Ripping the dress to make it look like a sex crime? Bloody amateur! Who does he think he’s fooling?’
‘Obviously the chap has never seen the victim of a rape other than in his own imagination, I agree, Bill. And there was something about the gesture . . . so unnecessary . . . that makes the skin crawl.’
‘It’s all linked up with the personal aspect, sir. Whoever killed her knew her, hated her, wanted her dead and wanted her corpse to lie exposed to view. There was an element of display there that you couldn’t miss. You and I, sir, we were being manipulated by this sadistic bastard, being involved by him, being invited to leer at her in her degradation.’
Joe looked curiously at the sergeant, intrigued by his
‘But you keep coming back to the picture of Tilly Westhorpe in spotless gloves and gown (apart from the hemline) snooping around the crime scene?’
Armitage sighed and nodded. ‘We’re looking for someone covered in blood, sir, with an emerald necklace, a jemmy and a bloodstained poker concealed about his person.’ He grinned. ‘Constable Westhorpe’s get-up didn’t even conceal Constable Westhorpe!’
‘No indeed. As you say – an athletically built young lady! But how likely is it that it was the murderer who got in through the window?’
‘
Somebody
broke in and he didn’t come to change a light bulb! I’ve looked at that window. Those marks were made from the outside. The glass shattered inwards. Look at the way the shards have fallen. Could you fake that?’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Do you think we’re playing at detectives, sir?’ he burst out in some anxiety. ‘Over-egging the pudding? Poncing about being clever when all we should be saying is it’s a burglary gone wrong? I must say, common sense says that’s what it is.’
‘I’d like to come to that conclusion,’ said Joe, ‘but there is something distinctly odd about this set-up and I think you’ve seen it too. Constable Westhorpe certainly has. I’ve heard from her. Now
you
stop poncing about and tell me clearly what are your impressions.’
‘It’s the violence I don’t like, sir. Cat burglars don’t kill. We all know that. If our lad had got in in the hope of lifting the odd necklace left lying about while its owner was in the bath and he’d been disturbed, he’d have legged it back the way he came or even, if he had the nerve, said, “Excuse me, madam, wrong room!” and strolled out of the door. It’s been done.’
‘Westhorpe thinks the Dame caught him at it and went for him with the poker.’
‘Could have something there,’ said Armitage grudgingly. ‘But he could still have run. I must say, face to face with a poker-wielding, six-foot redhead, I’d scarper. And, anyway, one blow would have incapacitated her, wouldn’t it? Why go on and on? Did you count the wounds? Four or five, I’d have said. Sort of damage you get in a domestic altercation, sir. No, there’s more to it than just a burglary.’ Armitage sniffed the air. ‘It’s gone now but it was still lingering when I got up here to find the body. Can’t explain it scientifically, sir, but . . . well . . . you remember in the trenches how you could smell . . . I mean really
smell
fear?’
Joe nodded.
‘The air in here was thick with – not fear, no – the opposite, violence and anger . . . yes, anger. It was a red smell, sir. As though there’d been a blazing row. I think the killer got in through the window but it wasn’t an opportunistic, random visit in the line of burglary. It was surely someone who knew and hated her, you’d say.’
‘Her emeralds were stolen but he hadn’t searched the room professionally,’ Joe commented. ‘Westhorpe found a diamond necklace secreted in a rather obvious place.’
‘He took the emeralds because they were easy to snatch to make it look like a burglary.’
‘And disordered the clothes to add the extra dimension of rape, to exercise the coppers’ minds?’
‘Ripping the dress to make it look like a sex crime? Bloody amateur! Who does he think he’s fooling?’
‘Obviously the chap has never seen the victim of a rape other than in his own imagination, I agree, Bill. And there was something about the gesture . . . so unnecessary . . . that makes the skin crawl.’
‘It’s all linked up with the personal aspect, sir. Whoever killed her knew her, hated her, wanted her dead and wanted her corpse to lie exposed to view. There was an element of display there that you couldn’t miss. You and I, sir, we were being manipulated by this sadistic bastard, being involved by him, being invited to leer at her in her degradation.’
Joe looked curiously at the sergeant, intrigued by his
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