The Holiday Murders by Robert Gott Page A

intentions — not because he thought the exercise was pointless, but because his preference was for Joe to be working for him exclusively. He had to accept, though, that Joe now had a second master, and to remind himself that his goal, and that of Intelligence, was to catch the same person. The difference was that Titus saw that person as a murderer; Intelligence saw him as a traitor. When Joe raised the question of roping in a female constable as an ice-skating companion at the Glaciarium, Titus agreed with the stratagem; he knew just the person for the job, and thought she must have been on duty because he’d seen her as he came in. He picked up his telephone and asked the duty officer to find Constable Helen Lord and send her up to Homicide.
    When Helen Lord was told that Inspector Lambert wanted to speak with her, she let out a little ‘Ooooh’ for the benefit of the young woman who’d passed on the message. Helen Lord liked being a policewoman, but she didn’t much care for most of the men she had to work with. They saw her as a novelty, useful to them only occasionally in dealing with hysterical tarts and with wives who’d been beaten up by their hopeless, drunken husbands.
    Like all female constables, Helen didn’t wear a uniform. She didn’t see this as an advantage, but for what it was: a way of reminding her of her place — as she could never expect to rise above the level of constable, no uniform on which to stitch extra stripes was needed. In these circumstances, to be called to the new offices of Homicide was a significant and slightly unnerving event. Helen had had only a glancing acquaintanceship with Inspector Lambert, and as he was one of only a few officers who acknowledged her when they saw her, she was disposed to like him. She didn’t expect that this disposition would survive a conversation with him, though. You didn’t get to be an inspector, she imagined, without being an exaggerated version of the men around her.
    When she walked into the office, she was met by a detective whose face was familiar but whose name was new to her.
    ‘Detective Sergeant Joe Sable,’ he said, and put out his hand. ‘You must be Constable Lord.’
    This strangely formal and polite gesture took her by surprise. ‘Yes,’ she said, and accepted his hand.
    ‘Inspector Lambert is just on the telephone. He’ll be here in a minute.’
    Joe’s initial impression of Helen was favourable. She was short — about five foot four. She wasn’t pretty but, like Sheila Draper, her face expressed her character strongly. She was probably in her late twenties, he thought, and her hair was dark, untouched by grey. It was cut short, like Ingrid Bergman’s in For Whom the Bell Tolls . He thought she even looked a bit like Ingrid Bergman, although that might have just been the effect of the haircut. In the few seconds it took him to assess her, Joe realised that he wasn’t attracted to pretty women. This came to him as something of a revelation, and it made him smile.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking of something else.’
    ‘I was wondering how I’d amused you,’ Helen said, and added, ‘sir’, as an afterthought.
    Joe couldn’t get used to other ranks addressing him as ‘sir,’ even though he knew first names were out of the question, at least when on duty. The police force was a hierarchy, and hierarchies were weakened by familiarity.
    ‘Sit down, please,’ he said. ‘We have something to put to you.’
    At that moment, Inspector Lambert entered the room and asked peremptorily, ‘Do you ice-skate, Constable?’
    Helen Lord did not seem taken aback by such a strange opening question. ‘I’m pretty good, actually,’ she said. ‘I have a low centre of gravity.’
    Titus and Joe were impressed by her demeanour and her answer.
    ‘Do you think you could manage to create the impression of being on the ice for the first time?’ Titus asked.
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Good. You are to accompany