an avuncular manner and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, son. I understand you’re engaged to be married to a Miss Grace Packard?”
“That’s right.” Harold went very still. “What’s happened? She been in an accident or something?”
“Worse than that, son. She was found dead earlier tonight in an alley called Dob Court on the other side of Jubilee Park.”
Harold stared at him for a long moment, then started to puke. He got a hand to his mouth, turned and fled into the kitchen. Brady found him leaning over the sink, a hand on the cold water tap.
After a while Harold turned, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “How did it happen?”
“We’re not certain. At the moment it looks as if her neck was broken.”
“The Rainlover?” The words were almost a whisper.
“Could be.”
“Oh, my God.” Harold clenched a fist convulsively. “I had a date with her tonight. We were supposed to be going dancing.”
“What went wrong?”
“I was late. When I turned up she’d got involved with another bloke.”
“And she went off with him.” Harold nodded. “Do you know who he was?”
Harold shook his head. “Never seen him before, but the landlord seemed to know him. That’s the landlord of The King’s Arms near Regent Square.”
“What time was this?”
“About half-eight.”
“Did you come straight home afterwards?”
“I was too upset so I walked around in the rain for a while. Then I had a coffee in the buffet at the railway station. Got home about half-nine. Me mum was in bed so I took her a cup of tea and went myself.”
“Just you and your mother live here?”
“That’s right.”
“She goes to bed early then?”
“Spends most of her time there these days. She isn’t too well.”
Brady nodded sympathetically. “I hope we haven’t disturbed her.”
Harold shook his head. “She’s sleeping like a baby. I looked in on my way down.” He seemed much more sure of himself now and a strange half-smile played around his mouth like a nervous tic that couldn’t be controlled. “What happens now?”
“I’d like you to come down to Central if you wouldn’t mind, just to have a few words with Chief Superintendent Mallory—he’s in charge of the case. The girl’s father is already there, but we need all the assistance we can get. You could help a lot. Give us details of her friends and interests, places she would be likely to visit.”
“Glad to,” Harold said. “I’ll go and get dressed. Only be five minutes.”
He went out and the Panda driver offered Brady a cigarette. “Quite a technique you have. The silly bastard thinks he’s got you eating out of his hand.”
“Glad you noticed,” Brady said, accepting the cigarette and a light. “We’ll make a copper out of you yet.”
There was a white pill box on the mantelpiece and he picked it up and examined the label. It carried the name of a chemist whose shop was no more than a couple of streets away. The Capsules—one or two according to instructions—it is dangerous to exceed the stated dose.
Brady opened the box and spilled some of the white and green capsules into his palm. “What you got there?” the Panda man demanded.
“From the look of them I’d say it’s what the doctor gave my wife last year when she burnt her hand and couldn’t sleep for the pain. Canbutal. Half a dozen of these and you’d be facing your Maker.”
He replaced the box on the mantelpiece, a slight frown on his face. “Tell you what,” he said to the Panda driver. “You go and wait for us in the car and bang the door as hard as you like on the way out.”
The young constable, old before his years and hardened to the vagaries of C.I.D. men, left without a word, slamming the door so hard that the house shook. Brady went and stood at the bottom of the stairs, but heard no sound until a door opened and Harold appeared buttoning his jacket on the way down.
“What was all that
“That’s right.” Harold went very still. “What’s happened? She been in an accident or something?”
“Worse than that, son. She was found dead earlier tonight in an alley called Dob Court on the other side of Jubilee Park.”
Harold stared at him for a long moment, then started to puke. He got a hand to his mouth, turned and fled into the kitchen. Brady found him leaning over the sink, a hand on the cold water tap.
After a while Harold turned, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “How did it happen?”
“We’re not certain. At the moment it looks as if her neck was broken.”
“The Rainlover?” The words were almost a whisper.
“Could be.”
“Oh, my God.” Harold clenched a fist convulsively. “I had a date with her tonight. We were supposed to be going dancing.”
“What went wrong?”
“I was late. When I turned up she’d got involved with another bloke.”
“And she went off with him.” Harold nodded. “Do you know who he was?”
Harold shook his head. “Never seen him before, but the landlord seemed to know him. That’s the landlord of The King’s Arms near Regent Square.”
“What time was this?”
“About half-eight.”
“Did you come straight home afterwards?”
“I was too upset so I walked around in the rain for a while. Then I had a coffee in the buffet at the railway station. Got home about half-nine. Me mum was in bed so I took her a cup of tea and went myself.”
“Just you and your mother live here?”
“That’s right.”
“She goes to bed early then?”
“Spends most of her time there these days. She isn’t too well.”
Brady nodded sympathetically. “I hope we haven’t disturbed her.”
Harold shook his head. “She’s sleeping like a baby. I looked in on my way down.” He seemed much more sure of himself now and a strange half-smile played around his mouth like a nervous tic that couldn’t be controlled. “What happens now?”
“I’d like you to come down to Central if you wouldn’t mind, just to have a few words with Chief Superintendent Mallory—he’s in charge of the case. The girl’s father is already there, but we need all the assistance we can get. You could help a lot. Give us details of her friends and interests, places she would be likely to visit.”
“Glad to,” Harold said. “I’ll go and get dressed. Only be five minutes.”
He went out and the Panda driver offered Brady a cigarette. “Quite a technique you have. The silly bastard thinks he’s got you eating out of his hand.”
“Glad you noticed,” Brady said, accepting the cigarette and a light. “We’ll make a copper out of you yet.”
There was a white pill box on the mantelpiece and he picked it up and examined the label. It carried the name of a chemist whose shop was no more than a couple of streets away. The Capsules—one or two according to instructions—it is dangerous to exceed the stated dose.
Brady opened the box and spilled some of the white and green capsules into his palm. “What you got there?” the Panda man demanded.
“From the look of them I’d say it’s what the doctor gave my wife last year when she burnt her hand and couldn’t sleep for the pain. Canbutal. Half a dozen of these and you’d be facing your Maker.”
He replaced the box on the mantelpiece, a slight frown on his face. “Tell you what,” he said to the Panda driver. “You go and wait for us in the car and bang the door as hard as you like on the way out.”
The young constable, old before his years and hardened to the vagaries of C.I.D. men, left without a word, slamming the door so hard that the house shook. Brady went and stood at the bottom of the stairs, but heard no sound until a door opened and Harold appeared buttoning his jacket on the way down.
“What was all that
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