‘I’d like to come to that conclusion,’ said Joe, ‘but there is something distinctly odd about this set-up and I think you’ve seen it too. Constable Westhorpe certainly has. I’ve heard from her. Now you stop poncing about and tell me clearly what are your impressions.’

‘It’s the violence I don’t like, sir. Cat burglars don’t kill. We all know that. If our lad had got in in the hope of lifting the odd necklace left lying about while its owner was in the bath and he’d been disturbed, he’d have legged it back the way he came or even, if he had the nerve, said, “Excuse me, madam, wrong room!” and strolled out of the door. It’s been done.’

‘Westhorpe thinks the Dame caught him at it and went for him with the poker.’

‘Could have something there,’ said Armitage grudgingly. ‘But he could still have run. I must say, face to face with a poker-wielding, six-foot redhead, I’d scarper. And, anyway, one blow would have incapacitated her, wouldn’t it? Why go on and on? Did you count the wounds? Four or five, I’d have said. Sort of damage you get in a domestic altercation, sir. No, there’s more to it than just a burglary.’ Armitage sniffed the air. ‘It’s gone now but it was still lingering when I got up here to find the body. Can’t explain it scientifically, sir, but . . . well . . . you remember in the trenches how you could smell . . . I mean really smell fear?’

Joe nodded.

‘The air in here was thick with – not fear, no – the opposite, violence and anger . . . yes, anger. It was a red smell, sir. As though there’d been a blazing row. I think the killer got in through the window but it wasn’t an opportunistic, random visit in the line of burglary. It was surely someone who knew and hated her, you’d say.’

‘Her emeralds were stolen but he hadn’t searched the room professionally,’ Joe commented. ‘Westhorpe found a diamond necklace secreted in a rather obvious place.’

‘He took the emeralds because they were easy to snatch to make it look like a burglary.’

‘And disordered the clothes to add the extra dimension of rape, to exercise the coppers’ minds?’

‘Ripping the dress to make it look like a sex crime? Bloody amateur! Who does he think he’s fooling?’

‘Obviously the chap has never seen the victim of a rape other than in his own imagination, I agree, Bill. And there was something about the gesture . . . so unnecessary . . . that makes the skin crawl.’

‘It’s all linked up with the personal aspect, sir. Whoever killed her knew her, hated her, wanted her dead and wanted her corpse to lie exposed to view. There was an element of display there that you couldn’t miss. You and I, sir, we were being manipulated by this sadistic bastard, being involved by him, being invited to leer at her in her degradation.’

Joe looked curiously at the sergeant, intrigued by his vehemence.

‘You’ll think I’m getting carried away,’ said Armitage, reading his thoughts, ‘but I saw the lady, don’t forget – I know I never shall – only minutes before this happened. She was full of life, having a good time, flirty, sexy, irresistible. She was taking Monty Mathurin’s eye all right and, I have to say, he wasn’t the only man in the room calculating his chances. Myself included,’ he finished defiantly. ‘Zero,’ he added with an apologetic grin.

‘Mathurin was at the party?’

‘He was. And there’s another I wouldn’t mind pinning it on!’

‘Nasty bit of work, Mathurin, if all I hear is halfway correct,’ said Joe, ‘but I doubt he fits this frame. He’d have trouble catching a 42 bus – there’s no way he could have undertaken a climb of this nature.’ Joe sighed. ‘I think at this stage we’d better arrive at a portrait of the killer. Firstly, he would have to be young and extraordinarily agile – that’s not an easy climb on a dark, wet night. Probably wore gloves – Cottingham’s dusted the window area for prints and there’s no sign of anything we can use.’

‘Let’s say under forty, fit and probably known to the victim. That’s Mathurin out of it on two counts. I’d say our man knew her well – family, friend, work colleague, lover or ex-lover, sir? Don’t know anything about the lady’s private life, do we?’

‘Ah, well, thanks to Westhorpe’s drawer-searching expertise we have a clue there.’

Armitage listened with a gleeful expression as Joe told him about the device found in the underwear drawer. ‘And you’re saying the little minx appeared familiar with such a contraption?’ he wanted to know. ‘Well, bugger me!’

Joe registered that his sergeant’s thoughts were dwelling on Westhorpe and not the Dame. Again he seemed to have touched the animosity running between these two.

‘You don’t have a high opinion of the constable, I think, Bill?’

‘I’m not unusual in that, sir! Most of the men on the force resent the women. Jobs are hard enough to come by. There’s good men starving on the streets, unable to support their families. Hard to see why she’s not at home, married and producing little ’uns for the next lot, some would say.’

‘Are you among them, these critics?’

‘Not all the way. I’m one of those who can see they have their uses but this particular one – well, I’d like to know what she thinks she’s doing, with all her advantages; hobnobbing with riff-raff on the streets and taking orders from the likes of us.’

‘Mmm . . . not sure Westhorpe takes orders from anyone in spite of her lowly rank, even when she’s mouthing, “three bags full, sir”.’

‘Water off a duck’s back, sir. I’d noticed. It’s the class. It’s that look in the eye that says, “I’ll listen to what you have to say and if it makes sense, then I’ll probably agree to do what you suggest, but never make the mistake, my man, of assuming your stripes give you any influence over me!”’

To Joe’s surprise, Armitage’s supple voice had taken on the carefully enunciated archness of Mayfair and he remembered that Bill had shown considerable talent for picking up accents and languages.

‘You won’t be dismayed, then, if I tell you I’ve asked her to return to her regular duties?’

‘She’s off the case?’

Joe was puzzled by his sergeant’s reaction. He had expected relief, gratification, vindication – perhaps, even a flash of triumph. He hadn’t expected surprise and disappointment. Good Lord! Could it be that those blue eyes, icy though they were, had found a target?

‘Pity that! I was looking forward to teaching that little madam how the world works.’

Joe eyed him steadily. ‘You know, Armitage, I think Westhorpe could have taught us a few things.’

After an intensive ten minutes of checking and comparing notes, issuing orders and taking a last look at the scene, Joe finally called it a day. ‘Look, it’s late, Sarge.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘I’m going downstairs to the office to put through the dreaded call to the lady’s mother in Surrey. I’m driving there tomorrow afternoon and I’d like you to come along. It’ll be another long day, I’m afraid, Bill, and I’m not sure what your domestic arrangements are . . . a wife to placate, perhaps?’

‘Single, sir. I’ve managed to stay single. I’m living with my old father down the East End.’ He grinned. ‘The old feller would worry if I didn’t stay out late some evenings.’

‘That’s fine then. Look, can you lock up here and liaise with the hotel staff? And there’s a night duty copper from the Vine Street station on his way and he’ll need briefing.’

‘I can manage, sir!’

Chapter Five

Armitage left by the staff entrance. Looking doubtfully at the rain-wet street and the dangling lights swinging in the wind, he stood for a moment fastening his police cape tightly about his shoulders. He patted his pockets and checked his belongings then pulled a fashionably rakish peaked service cap on to his head and adjusted the neb to the angle he favoured. He’d begged it from a mate who served with the Thames Police and those boys knew about weatherproofing. He glanced up and down Piccadilly, all senses still alert. The night’s events had given his nerves a shaking and he had too many thoughts chasing each other through his head to allow him to slope quietly off back to the rat hole he called home and get a few hours’ sleep.