A Thief in the Night by Stephen Wade Page B

its contents flew into the air. Staring at her from the floor was the dead face of her lodger, who was lying naked on the carpet.

    When Carney arrived he had plenty of questions for the landlady.
    ‘What did he do, the deceased?’ he asked.
    ‘He was a writer, Sir. Poetry … and I think he wrote a novel too, just came out last month. He had a good many friends – writers, I mean.’
    ‘Had anybody been with him last night?’
    ‘Yes, there was someone, but I only heard them go out. I heard the outside door shut … about eleven it was. I never disturbed him when he had any friends up there with him.’
    ‘Madam, I’d like to know if he had any military friends? Did you see any soldiers here?’
    ‘Soldiers? I don’t know … it’s difficult you see, Sir, as I let him answer the door and let his friends in. He used to tell me when they was expected, so I kept out of the way. I think he liked to be thought independent.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    She smiled. ‘Well, I think I mothered him a bit … made him feel like a child I reckon. Once I was a bit too strong on the mothering bit when he had this editor round, and we had words … but I understood. He was a grown man after all.’
    Eddie thanked her and took a walk around the area. At the end of the street he could see Hyde Park, and he thought again of the barracks. Someone had been there, and had left quite late.

    Later that day, Eddie met Harry at the Copper Pot coffee house near the Yard. Harry had been busy with his files and with his own enquiries. He saw that Eddie had a heavy cold and plied him with hot coffee and a shot of whisky. It was a noisy place, but they were used to talking in the hubbub of the city.
    ‘Harry, the pathologist tells me that the weapon used in both killings was a hammer. There was a parallel red mark on one shoulder, and that, he tells me, was almost certainly made by a claw hammer.’
    ‘We’re dealing with a madman – this man enjoys taking life … he doesn’t rush it.’
    Before they could say any more a young man approached. ‘Why, Mr Dockray,’ said Eddie, surprised. ‘You wish to see me?’
    ‘Yes, I went to Scotland Yard and asked for you. They sent me here. I’ve come about my brother’s death.’
    ‘Please, do sit down with us. Harry, this is Charlie, William Dockray’s brother. Charlie, this is Professor Lacey.’ Charlie nodded at Harry and found room to sit down at the table.
    ‘I was very sorry to hear about your brother’s death. I too have lost siblings,’ said the professor.
    Charlie looked down at his hands, then gathered himself and addressed Eddie. ‘Inspector, Jess and I have been talking … and we brought to mind Godfrey Russell. He’s a painter and is … was a close friend of Willy’s. In fact, we all know him, and we spent time together … trips up the Thames or to the theatre, you know. He’s a colourful character.’
    ‘Colourful?’ Eddie enquired.
    ‘Inspector, he’s an aesthetic type, you know.’
    ‘Walks around with a lily, ready to faint at the sight of beauty?’ smiled Harry.
    ‘Not far off the truth. He is thirty-five … never married.’
    ‘He’s a gentleman who likes the company of other men … artists, writers, that kind of person?’ Eddie was tactful.
    ‘I think I know what you’re suggesting, Inspector. Perhaps you are right. Anyway, the point is, we recalled that he and Willy had rowed recently.’
    ‘Rowed? About what?’
    ‘Something about Willy having an exhibition. The thing is, Godfrey, well, he’s not exactly successful.’
    ‘And your brother was a member of the Royal Academy, of course,’ said Eddie.
    ‘Yes, quite. There was a degree of envy, though I’m not saying that Godfrey could have … you know. We simply felt that you should know.’
    ‘Yes, indeed. Thank you for the information. I will need Mr Russell’s address.’
    ‘Ah, now, Inspector … please say you’re not going to charge him.’
    ‘No, no. We simply have to cover