The Saint Valentine's Day Murders (27 page)

Pike’s voice was shaking slightly. ‘It’s more than that, sir. Do you remember that case I was on before I came to you? That vice ring I told you about?’

Milton felt sick. He looked at Bill, who had got his colour back and wore an air of resignation. He turned to Pike. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll watch it.’

‘You only need to look at one particular bit.’ Pike pushed a button and the film speeded up. As the torture became more varied and intensified, Milton realized that his face was contorted into a grimace of loathing. You’re a wet copper, he told himself. Come on, you can take it. You’ve seen enough dead bodies.

Pike pushed a button, and the film returned to normal speed. The hooded man had decided that it was now time to kill his screaming victim. He took up a sword. Milton knew what was coming. In snuff movies the actress didn’t just die realistically. She really died. With his head in his hands he continued to watch the screen. The sword came down and the head was severed from the bleeding body.

As Pike switched off they heard the doorbell ring.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Pike. He was half-way down the stairs when he heard the sound of choking. He ran back to the bedroom and forced Milton’s hands away from Bill Thomas’s throat.

Epilogue

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Friday, 8 April

Amiss was in a benign mood as he waited for his career manager to arrive from the meeting that had unexpectedly overrun. He felt refreshed after the three-week holiday with Rachel in Italy. Even though technically she was convalescing and he was on gardening leave – that civil servants’ perk that brightened the lives of those found temporarily unplaceable – it was a holiday in the truest sense of the word. It was not just that they had both shaken off the shock of recent events. They had had time to think at length about priorities and make plans about the future.

He fell into a daydream of how life would be when she was transferred to London in a few months. She was right, of course. They must live together before thinking about marriage. But he was sure it was going to work out triumphantly successful. As long as he now got a reasonable job to compensate him for all his sufferings in BCC, he wouldn’t have any justifiable grievances. It was not after all the DOC’s fault that the past year had not gone according to plan.

He speculated on how life was going on in PD without him. Horace at least would be a happy man: he was poised to step into Shipton’s shoes when he took early retirement in May. And maybe under an enthusiastic boss the integrated department might get some pride in itself. He mentally ticked off the signs of hope. Henry, since he had moved in with his daughter, was beginning to boast boringly about the cleverness of his grandson. Graham, in the days before Amiss left, had agreed immediately to at least two requests that would have hitherto met with a ‘Can’t be done’. And Tony, at the farewell party, had not been the very last to buy a round. That party had been a heart-warming occasion, by PD standards. He still couldn’t get over his amazement that Melissa had come specially back from the Midlands to say goodbye. He had feared she would crow over being proved right about male violence but she had been strangely muted about Bill. She seemed to understand that he was hardly typical of his sex.

He looked at the office clock and saw that the bloody personnel fellow was now twenty minutes late. His mind slid back to Bill. Poor bastard. He surely couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. What was that Jim had said? That the reason he’d lost all control had been the sight of Bill’s happy face after the climax of the snuff movie. Maybe his mother had been partly to blame. She had done the best she could in keeping him under her thumb once she had realized he hated women, but she shouldn’t have counted on being immortal.

He found he could still not think without a shiver of what would have happened had Rachel’s weekend meeting not been cancelled. Bill had flipped to such an extent that he didn’t seem sure himself whether he was off to Hamburg for more videos or more strychnine. A pacifist! God, it was astounding how that had blurred the picture. That envy of the Yorkshire Ripper that had come out in conversations with Jim. How had he put it about Sutcliffe? ‘That bloke had the courage of his convictions. I was always a coward.’ His knifing of Rachel could so easily have given him a taste for physical contact had he not bungled it.

Amiss shivered. That was one aspect of the case he could not bear to think about. He found the episode worse in retrospect than she did. But then, she’d been unconscious during the hours when he’d been terrified.

Half past four. He speculated idly about what job would be on offer. It would be hard to smile agreeably if it turned out not to have much intellectual challenge. The only time he’d really used his brains during the past year had been on the night Rachel was stabbed. Could she be right in believing he should leave the service unless he got a marvellous offer? No, no. One had to accept the ups and downs. It wasn’t a bad life and anyway, he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to do.

He felt a pang of envy for Jim. He had known so clearly that the police force was his
métier
at the time when he feared he would have to resign. It was decent of Bill to refuse to lodge a complaint against him. How could a chap capable of killing people just to feed his sexual fantasies be so considerate?

Twenty to five. If this didn’t work out he could always join the police, couldn’t he? No, he couldn’t. If he found the BCC bureaucracy too much for him, he’d never stand the constraints Ellis had to put up with. Funny that a bloke that bright should be over the moon about receiving an official commendation. And Sammy had seemed to think that making him an inspector was a piece of overwhelming generosity, even though apparently he’d been stuck as a sergeant for years. And Jim had been firmly promised his promotion this time. He deserved it if anyone did. He didn’t often come up with the wild inspirational ideas himself, but he knew how to get them from other people. He was a superb boss. Amiss envied his staff.

That had been an interesting conversation he’d had with Ann the other day about the essence of good management. He hoped she’d write a successful book about it. It was a brave decision to give up that fat salary and live off Jim for a year or two. That must be a sign of great confidence in the strength of their relationship. He smiled as he thought of the way Rachel had told him he could live off her if he decided to throw up his job with the civil service. She had moments of great romanticism. Although he was certain they had a wonderful future before them as a couple, he was not going to risk the strain that financial dependence would create. It could take him months to find another job, the way the unemployment figures were going. There was a lot to be said for security.

His career manager entered the room at 4:50. ‘Sorry about keeping you,’ he said, as he hung his overcoat and umbrella on the stand. ‘I got tied up. One of those things.’

He sat down behind his desk and looked fruitlessly for Amiss’s file. ‘I’m awfully sorry. Can’t seem to find the papers. Can you hold on just a moment?’

He began to ferret in a filing cabinet and finally, with a snort of triumph, withdrew his find. Sitting down again, he skimmed through the papers on the top. After a couple of minutes he looked up. ‘Quite a time you’ve had.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘You must have learned a lot?’

‘In what way?’

‘About business organization, decision-making in the 1980s and all that sort of thing.’

Amiss didn’t believe this. He spoke slowly. ‘I have learned a great deal about human nature during the past year. I can’t say that I’ve picked up much else.’

An expression of embarrassment flitted across the face of the man opposite. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry about all that. It must have been rather beastly.’

‘It was… decidedly beastly.’

‘Well now. You’ll want to know what we’ve come up with? By the way, you’ve had a good gardening leave, I trust?’

Amiss thought of trying to get through this man’s defences by explaining brightly that he had spent it with his lover, who had been stabbed by his psychopathic ex-colleague. He decided against.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Good. Just the job. Now, as I was saying, you’ll have learned a lot. I think we’ve got the very thing for you.’

Amiss leaned forward anxiously.

‘It’s very important that these secondments shouldn’t be wasted, you will appreciate. Our aim is to put what you’ve learned to good use.’

A feeling of unease began to creep over Amiss. ‘You have read my report on my secondment, haven’t you? I mean, you do realize, don’t you, that for practical purposes it was a complete waste of time? Unless you’re thinking of seconding me to the Home Office to devise policies for improving the running of institutions for the criminally insane.’

His career manager was embarrassed once again. He said, in a somewhat haughty tone, ‘I think you’re rather harping on the negative aspects. I like to look on the positive side. This is what I’ve selected for you.’

He pushed over a piece of paper. Before Amiss could read it he added, ‘I must warn you that if you turn this down you are unlikely to be offered another Principal post during this calendar year. You’re a bit out of touch with what’s been going on in the Department, after all. You can’t expect a central policy job or anything like that.’

Amiss skimmed the job description. The first thing he took in was that he would be working in Stockton-on-Tees. The second was that the job was the running of a small team organizing centralized purchasing for the Department. The third was that this section had recently been somewhat reduced in strength owing to a policy of decentralization. The fourth was that, despite this, it was a challenging job with considerable scope for streamlining of procedures.

He raised his head and stared across at the man opposite.

‘This is a joke, isn’t it?’

‘I find that a very strange remark in the circumstances. I have put a considerable amount of personal effort into finding a suitable slot for you.’

Amiss forgot that in the civil service people with no talent for the job were frequently pushed into personnel work. He forgot also that there was such a thing as the right to appeal. He could see only Stockton, purchasing procedures, demoralization and the faces of his ex-staff. He got slowly to his feet.

‘Well?’ His career manager sounded impatient. Presumably he was fearful of missing his train.

Amiss politely pushed his chair forward until the edge was touching the desk. He walked over to the corner of the room, removed his overcoat from its peg and put it on. Then he turned again towards the desk.

‘My dear chap,’ he said. He made his voice sound pleasant. ‘Would you like to know what I think should be done with this job?’

‘What?’

‘I think you should stuff it up your Whitehall arse.’

He walked out of the room, feeling like a free man.

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R
UTH
D
UDLEY
E
DWARDS
comes from an academic family in Ireland. During the l970s she worked in London in a nationalized industry and then as a Principal in the Civil Service. An historian and a detective-story enthusiast, she is now a freelance writer specializing in biographies of twentieth-century British and Irish public figures, including James Connolly, Victor Gollancz, Harold Macmillan and Patrick Pearse. Her first detective story,
Corridors of Death,
was about murder in Whitehall.

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[scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]

[A 3S Release— v1, html]

[May 02, 2007]

Table of Contents

click for scan notes and proofing history

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

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15

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19

20

21

22

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25

26

27

28

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30

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39

Epilogue

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