Night Fall by Frank Smith Page B

you can tell me where you were last Thursday morning around six o’clock, when Dennis Moreland was on his way to work.’
    Back at Charter Lane, Tregalles sought out Molly. ‘You’ve seen Mrs Moreland,’ he said. ‘What’s she like? Good looking, is she?’
    â€˜She is as a matter of fact,’ Molly said, ‘but that’s a strange question to be asking about a woman who’s just lost her husband.’
    â€˜No, no,’ Tregalles protested, ‘it’s nothing like that. It’s just that Moreland’s boss seems to have more than a passing interest in Moreland’s widow. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that there are witnesses who confirm where he was when Dennis Moreland disappeared, I’d have brought the slimy little toad in for questioning. But what about Mrs Moreland? What’s your impression of her, Molly?’
    â€˜She is a very attractive woman,’ Molly agreed. ‘But if you’re suggesting she might have been seeing someone else, I would doubt that very much.’
    â€˜Certainly not his boss, then. He’s a fat slob, but there could have been others. I couldn’t talk to all of the people Moreland worked with today, so I’ll try and catch the rest on Monday. Anyway, that’s it for me, so I’m off. See you, Molly.’
    The sergeant was on his way out of the building when he was stopped by Gavin Whitelaw, the PC who had been at the scene where Billy Travis was killed. ‘Got a minute, Sarge?’ he asked, then lowered his voice. ‘I just heard about the bloke they found out at Clapperton quarry. They’re saying it looks like the work of a serial killer, because it’s the same MO as Billy. Is that right?’
    â€˜That’s right.’ Tregalles glanced at his watch. Time was getting on and he’d told Audrey he would be home on time for dinner.
    Whitelaw lowered his voice even further. ‘Same sort of thing carved in his forehead, was there?’
    â€˜That information is still not being released,’ Tregalles warned. He began to move away, but Whitelaw stopped him. ‘Was it an A like the first one?’ he persisted.
    â€˜Why are you so interested?’ Tregalles asked. ‘Does it mean something to you?’
    Whitelaw raised his hands, palms outwards, and backed away. ‘No, no, it’s nothing like that,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s just that I keep seeing the way Billy looked out there. Can’t get it out of my head, and now with another one . . .’ He blew out his cheeks and flicked his head from side to side as if trying to clear it. ‘You think he might strike again?’
    â€˜God knows, but I hope not.’ Tregalles eased past Whitelaw and was about to continue on his way, when he paused. ‘And the less said about
that
, the better,’ he warned. ‘All right?’
    â€˜Right!’ Whitelaw said. ‘Understood.’
    When Paget arrived, Ormside called Molly over. She repeated what she had told the sergeant, concluding by saying that if there was a connection between Dennis Moreland and Billy Travis, she hadn’t been able to find it. ‘I had a look at several family photos,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t see anything by Travis and son, and their wedding photos were done by a Ludlow photographer. I’m just finishing up my notes now, if you’d like a copy before you go home, sir. Give me fifteen minutes?’
    Paget looked at the clock, but Ormside spoke up before he could answer. ‘Superintendent Pierce said she’d like a progress report before you leave,’ he said. ‘In her office,’ he added as Paget reached for the phone.
    Paget put the phone down. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be,’ he told Molly, ‘so leave a copy of your notes on Sergeant Ormside’s desk, and I’ll pick it up on my way out.’
    Judging by the amount of paper on her