I had no trouble getting a job as a senior systems analyst with the phone company in Bradfield. The money I made from the sale of the house in Seaford bought me my home in Bradfield, and I started the task of finding a worthy man to share my life.
And Dr Tony Hill presumes to understand me, without knowing any of this? Well, in a very short time, I'll share it all with him. Such a shame he won't have the chance to write it down for himself.
The truth is, I am a very particular man in everything relating to murder; and perhaps I carry my delicacy too far.
Don Merrick walked into the HOLMES room munching a two-inch-thick double cheese and Bar-B-Q bacon burger. "How do you do it?" Dave Woolcott asked.
"How do you get those slack Alices down the canteen to cook you edible food? They could burn a cup of tea, that lot, but you always manage to twist them round your little finger."
Merrick winked.
"It's my natural Geordie charm," he said.
"I just pick on the ugliest one and tell her she reminds me of my mother when she was in her prime." He sat down and stretched his long legs.
"I've checked out the half-dozen Discoveries your sergeant gave me. They're all in the clear. Two of them are women, two of them have got rock-solid alibis for at least two of the nights in question, one's got multiple sclerosis, so he couldn't have done the jobs, and the sixth sold his to a dealership in the Midlands three weeks ago."
"Great," Dave said heavily.
"Give the list to one of the operators so we can update the file."
"Where's the guy?"
"Carol or Kevin?"
Merrick shrugged.
"I still think of Inspector Jordan as my guy' nor
"She's off chasing wild geese," Dave said.
"She got a result, then?" Merrick asked.
"Two cross-matches."
"Let's have a look," Merrick said.
Dave rummaged among his papers and found three sheets of paper stapled together. The first listed the two correlations. Merrick frowned and flicked over a page. The second was a print-out of the result of a criminal records search on Philip Crozier. Nothing known.
Hurriedly, he turned to the third page, which listed two Christopher Thorpes. One had a last-known address in Devon and several convictions for burglary. The second had a last-known address in Seaford. There were a string of juvenile convictions; assaulting a football referee, breaking windows at a school, shoplifting. There were half a dozen adult convictions, all for soliciting prostitution. Merrick sucked in his breath sharply and turned back to the front page.
"Fuck," he said.
"What is it?" Dave asked, suddenly alert.
"This here. Christopher Thorpe, the Seaford one?"
"Yeah? Carol reckoned it wasn't the same one as ours. I mean, he's got convictions for being a male prostitute, but this one in Bradfield looks to be married, because the woman at the same address has his surname. And let's face it, you don't get dock land rent boys driving around in serious motors like the Discovery."
Merrick shook his head.
"No, you've got it all wrong. I know this Christopher Thorpe from Seaford. I worked on Vice in Seaford before I came here, remember? I was the arresting officer on two of these charges in soliciting. Christopher Thorpe was halfway to a sex change at the time. He had the tits and everything, he was trying to earn enough money to get the operation. Guess what his working name was?
Dave, Christopher Thorpe isn't married to Angelica Thorpe, he is Angelica Thorpe. "
"Fuck," Dave echoed.
"Dave, where the hell is Carol?"
Angelica stood in front of him, hands on hips, chewing one corner of her mouth.
"You can't, can you? You can't prove it because you know nothing about my life."
"In one sense you're absolutely right, Angelica. I don't know the facts of your life," Tony said carefully, 'but I think I know a bit about the shape of it. Your mother didn't do a very good job of loving you. Maybe she had a problem with drink or with drugs, or maybe she just didn't || understand what a little kid needed. Either way, she didn't make you feel loved when you were little. Am I right? " Angelica scowled.
"Go on. Dig yourself a hole." Tony felt a prickle of fear tingle at the base of his skull. What if he'd got it wrong? What if this woman was the exception to every statistical near certainty Tony had held at the front of his mind during the whole enquiry? What if she was the one