Model Murder by Nancy Buckingham

thing. If I’d had the faintest glimmer of what was going on I’d have been in there after that bastard like a shot, I can tell you.”
    “Very well, Mr. Hammett, thank you. I’m most grateful to you for coming forward. This information will be very useful to us.”
    He looked smug. There’d be an embroidered version of how he’d been such a big help to the police told tonight in the Green Man. And at his local pub. Et al.
    Kate stood up. “If you’ll just come with me, I’ll get someone to take down a statement from you and ask you to sign it.”
    “Anything to oblige.” As he stood up too, he gave Kate a sharp glance. “Do you live around here, Chief?”
    “In the neighbourhood,” she said cautiously, wondering what was coming.
    “It just occurred to me, with the winter not far off you might be interested in our new All PVC Sealed Units range. I could offer you a very competitive price.”
    Kate laughed out loud, oddly enough liking the man a mite better for his sheer bloody nerve.
    “Not just now, Mr. Hammett.”
    “Oh well, you’ve got my name and address if you should ever change your mind. I’d even wangle a useful discount for you.”
     

Chapter Six
     
    The afternoon briefing was unproductive. Kate could sense a marked relief among the men on the squad that it was no longer a case of rape they were dealing with. Most men felt edgy concerning rape; uncertain, ill-at-ease and out of their depth. Not blazing with anger, like the women officers.
    Among a number of informative items pinned to a board were some of the photographs of Corinne Saxon that Richard Gower had provided. As the briefing broke up, a young WPC went to have a closer look. A minute later she came over to where Kate was talking to Inspector Massey and Sergeant Boulter. She looked flushed with excitement.
    “What is it, Pippa?” asked Kate.
    “That dress she’s wearing, ma’am.” The girl twisted round and pointed at the board. “I’ve seen it.”
    “The picture appeared in the Gazette a few weeks ago. Was that where you saw it?”
    “No, I mean today. I’ve seen the dress today.”
    Kate jerked to full attention. Boulter, though, wasn’t so impressed. “You saw one just like it, you mean?”
    They were two women together now, pitying his male ignorance.
    “It’s a model dress, Sergeant,” said Kate. “Not a mass production number.” She looked back at WPC Hamilton. “You’re quite sure it was the same one?”
    “Oh yes, ma’am. I had a good look at it. I was on foot patrol in Marlingford High Street this morning, and I glanced at the window of that Nearly-New Boutique on the corner near the library. I’ve bought one or two things there for myself, only most of their stuff is out of my price bracket, even though it’s secondhand. The assistant was just arranging this dress on a stand in the window, and I watched her for a minute. Feeling sick with envy, to be honest.”
    “Did you go in and ask about it?”
    “Not when she pinned the price tag on. Eighty-five quid!”
    Kate glanced at her watch. Already past five. “Would the shop still be open?”
    “I expect so, ma’am. Up to five-thirty, I should think.”
    “Come on, then, Pippa. Let’s get going.”
    The Nearly-New Boutique was a small shop a few doors away from the public library, with a hairdressing salon above it. The central doorway and both windows each had a small bouffant sunblind, with the name scripted in flamboyant gold leaf.
    “It’s gone!” Pippa exclaimed in dismay, pointing to the left-hand window.
    “Never mind,” said Kate. “We’ll ask inside.”
    Fortunately, the shop was empty of customers. The woman who came forward to greet them was large-boned and tall, an inch or so taller than Kate’s five-foot-eight. She toned down her somewhat gaunt features by softly styled hair and a pair of pink-rimmed fashion spectacles.
    Kate introduced herself and the WPC. “Are you in charge here?”
    “I am the owner.”
    “Your name,