Chapter Six
It didn’t fit.
The damned ring that William had been worried about for days now didn’t fit. It wasn’t even close. He gave it a push, just for show, as he looked that weasel Jeffers in the eye.
“Looks like I’m not your Cinderella. Hate to disappoint.”
“It’s too small,” Anne muttered. William tried not to be too disappointed with her tone. She’d clearly believed that William had been involved in this murder somehow.
“So what? He could’ve gained weight,” Jeffers said.
“Excuse you. Rude,” William objected.
“No, he hasn’t,” Anne argued. “He lost weight in prison. An alarming amount.”
William’s brows shot up. She looked at him and shrugged, as if to say, “You obviously did. You could slice me in half with your cheekbones.”
“That’s settled then. It’s not even circumstantial evidence,” Anne said. “It’s just a ring that looked like your ring.”
“A ring that looks a lot like my ring.” William handed it back to Anne. “Honestly, mine’s probably slipped off in my hotel room somewhere. I reckon I could give you the name of the jeweler who made mine, but we’re talking about a shop in 1970s London. Might not exist anymore. People buy everything online these days though so it could’ve come from anywhere.”
“I don’t think it could possibly be a coincidence that it looks exactly like yours.” Anne sealed the ring in the evidence bag. “I’ll have to think about it more. For now, though, you’re coming with us, right?”
She looked at Jeffers, who had a fairly constipated look about him, but he nodded anyway. What could the man do? William’s alibi checked out. The ring didn’t fit. That last part seemed a good bit of luck since William had been genuinely concerned seeing the picture of it. Up close though, he could tell that the engraving of the fleur-de-lis wasn’t as intricate as his own, and it was too newly made. William had been rubbing his thumb over that pattern since he was nineteen years old.
William felt three feet taller, though he already towered over his little Anne and her lapdog Jeffers. He didn’t know how the latter would be able to explain how he’d dragged a local entrepreneur through the station in handcuffs and then escorted him down to look at evidence. William was just disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see the fallout.
Once there, Jeffers led the way inside. There were several people in the morgue, including a dusky skinned man with a thick beard, thick hair on top of his head, large eyes, and an easy grin. He talked to the others in attendance around a table littered with takeout.
“Hey, Sutton. Thought you got lost,” he said easily. William raised a brow, but he approved, in general. The man sounded English, possibly from Essex.
“Or dead,” one of the young women joked.
“Cute.” Anne pointed to William. “This is William Spencer. He’s working with us on the investigation. This is Dr. Dev Shaw. He’s the head of this department.”
“And these are my minions!” he said cheerfully and gave William a wave. Then, to Anne and Jeffers, “You got the report, yes?”
“We got it, but we wanted to do a second check over the body, if you don’t mind. Testing out a theory,” Anne said.
Dr. Shaw didn’t seem offended. He shrugged and led the way into the morgue. It was unnervingly cold in there but, of course, it would be.
“Kayla did the actual autopsy on this one, so you’ll have to let me know what tipped you off on this one. The department is saving money by offering internships instead of getting me a proper second in command,” Shaw offered.
“Always the bottom line, isn’t it?” William said.
“Unfortunately, yes. But if you can find anything that will help, by all means.” Shaw pulled on one blue latex glove, then grabbed a handle to one of the drawers and pulled hard. There Pigg lay, pale and slightly yellow. William wrinkled his nose at the chemical odor that pervaded the air.
“Smell takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?” Shaw made a face and snapped on his second glove. “What are we looking for?”
“Some kind of mark on the body. Like it was left there on purpose,” Jeffers said almost dismissively.
“I, um. Okay.” Shaw looked slightly uncomfortable as he bent over the corpse.
“Look between the ring finger and the middle finger on the left hand,” William instructed.
Shaw looked up, then glanced between William and Jeffers, who was now glaring at William with all his impotent might.
“Definitely more specific.” Shaw’s cheer seemed to have bounced back. “Ah, right. Exactly there. Looks like…” He splayed the fingers apart, then reached into his pocket for a mini-recorder. “Yes, there’s clearly a cut here on the middle finger of the left hand. The cut is positioned under the second knuckle on the interior side of the finger, with two shorter cuts crossing over it. Likely made at the time of the murder, or right after. The precision suggests a razor… or a scalpel.”
He turned the recorder off. “I’ll amend the report straight away. This is no accidental cut. It’s too straight. Want to see?”
Anne came over to his side of the corpse and took a good look at the cut. “Why would you bother to do something like that? The man’s already dead. He’d have to get closer to the body after the kill.”
“That’s serial killer behavior,” Jeffers said, coming over to take a work at it. “Trophies and brands.”
“I dunno if he’s a serial killer, but I’d imagine he’s proud of his work,” William offered. “Didn’t use to bother with guns, though. Knives used to be his thing.”
“Oh, does this give you a new lead?” Shaw asked.
“Yeah, a big one.” Anne put her hands on her hips. Her whole posture bore the weight of her thoughts as she began reworking this case in her mind. The certainty that it was someone who had killed before probably changed her approach.
“How the hell did you know about this?” Jeffers said.
William slipped his hands into his pockets. “Told you. Been on the inside. Ya pick up a few things.”
“I bet you do,” Jeffers said, leveling the full weight of his suspicion on him. The inference was clear. He believed that William had made the mark himself, or that he’d employed the person who had made the mark.
Those suspicions would be easy enough to quell, but William didn’t feel like sharing just now. Jeffers was an idiot if he thought anyone would walk right into the police station to tip them off to evidence they’d missed. William had given them a huge push in the right direction. His conscience was in the clear.
“Well, looks like you lot have work to do.” William turned to leave.
“No way. I want to know how you knew that mark was there,” Jeffers demanded.
“Not without a lawyer, if that’s the tone you’re going to take.”
Shaw looked utterly lost. Pity he worked for the police. He seemed a good fellow.
“We can’t hold him without cause, Jeffers,” Anne reminded him.
William smirked a little as he watched Jeffers turning red. Easily the best part of his day.
***
“I apologize for Jeffers,” Anne said.
William winked. “Maybe you ought to apologize by making better use of those handcuffs.”
“Not a chance.”
The two of them stood outside of the station, the wind lifting Anne’s hair and the long train of his leather jacket. William couldn’t say he wasn’t happy to see the suspicion erased from her face. In the end, all he really wanted to do was close this distance between them and start up where they’d left off. His luck for the day seemed to have run out, though, because as he reached for her hand, she pulled back.
Not in public. Not in front of the station. Not anywhere.
William sighed. “I’d hate for you to be out there blind, love. I don’t know who this hit man is, but he’s dangerous and has clearly spent some time in the gun range since I last heard of him in the field. Keep your Kevlar on, if you go out looking for him, hm?”
“I’ll be careful.” Wry amusement curved onto Anne’s lips. “You remember that I’m the cop, and you’re the civilian, don’t you?”
“You remember that I’m not just a civilian?”
Anne’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wish I could forget.”
William cleared his throat. “Got things to do, darling. Happy hunting.”
“Wait.”
William turned back to her, expectantly. Her expression was soft, her lips parted just slightly as she looked over him.
“Yeah, love?”
“Let me see your hand.”
William didn’t have to ask which hand. But he gave her the right one anyway.
“You know I mean the left.”
“How should I know what you’re on about? I’ve about had it with police shenanigans for the day.”
Anne tilted her head to the side and made that face. That stubborn, bossy face of hers. He wanted to grab her, throw her against the wall, and kiss that look off her face. But he’d probably get gunned down by the trigger-happy wankers inside.
Instead, he rubbed his middle and ring finger together inside his pocket, feeling the ridge of the little scar there, and knowing exactly what she was on about. She’d guessed how he knew that scar would be there. She remembered the other scar on his side, made by a knife wound long before the two of them had met.
“You and I aren’t anything to each other anymore,” he said very quietly, lest someone actually be listening. “I’m no longer one of the people you have to protect. And even if I were, remember that I’m one of the bad guys, and you shouldn’t protect me anyway.”
Anne narrowed her eyes and curved her lips to the side. “Bad guys don’t tip-off the police.”
“Don’t go getting any romantic notions, Anne.” William rolled his shoulders back. “You’ll just be disappointed again.”
He could feel her eyes on him as he walked back to his car.
***
One of the first lessons Anne had learned in the force was to always check in with your CO. Unfortunately, between handcuffs and dead bodies, she and Jeffers hadn’t found the time. Therefore, that afternoon when Lopez got back to the station, they’d both been called into his office for a vigorous tongue lashing.
“Does your ass hurt, too?” Jeffers whispered on the way back to their desks.
Anne suppressed a smile.
“Could’ve been worse though. I’ve gotten verbal spankage from every superior officer that’s come through this building,” he continued.
Anne picked up a file on her desk and shook her head. “Maybe that means you should keep your weapon to yourself.”
“Hey, that Spencer guy is nothing but trouble. I know you’re not dumb, Anne. Why are you listening to anything he has to say?”
Anne sighed. “To be honest, I never thought he’d give us information period. But he was absolutely right that there was a mark on the body, and that the examiners would miss it.”
“Did it ever occur to you that Mr. British knew where the mark was because he put it there?”
Anne wrinkled her nose at Jeffers. “Are you serious?”
Jeffers smacked the desktop. “He’s a criminal!”
“And not a dumb one. Who commits a crime and then helps the police solve it?”
Jeffers threw his hands up. “He’s toying with you!”
“Quiet!” Anne hissed. “God, do you have to scream? This is a police station, not a day care.”
“You’d think so,” grumbled Davis at his desk. He didn’t look up from his computer screen. “But we’re lousy with twenty-somethings these days. Pretty hard on the diaper supply.”
“C’mon, Davis. Anne changes her own diapers,” Jeffers said.
“Anne has changed actual diapers and raised a teenager,” Anne snapped. “And now I have to raise a thirty-one-year-old partner.”
Davis laughed loudly.
“Hey,” Jeffers objected. “Yeah, Spencer gave us a tip, but he’s trouble.”
“Of course he’s trouble, kid.” Davis sipped coffee from his mug. “But you two gotta be able to figure out when to listen to the trouble and when to cut it loose. We’ve got all kinds of informants, especially in this city.”
“I’m not a kid,” Jeffers said. “She’s a kid.”
“She’s inexperienced,” Davis shot back. “You’re stupid. One of those two things can change.”
Anne covered her mouth and looked to Jeffers to see if he would lose it or laugh. His face was growing red, but neither of them was really able to hold their own with the other detectives. Everyone else had solved more cases, but obviously, they’d been around longer.
“True enough, man.” Jeffers shrugged and pinched his lips to the side. “So, I guess next time you get stuck on a case, you’re not gonna be looking for help from our little baby detective here?”
Anne pulled a lollypop out of her desk, unwrapped it, and started sucking as vigorously as Evie had on her pacifier. Davis looked up. Anne smiled, knowing that her lips had gone a bit red and that Davis was growing increasingly uncomfortable.
Score one for the baby detectives.
Anne’s phone buzzed, and she looked to see she had a new email from the traffic control. Granted they were busy down there, but they might’ve just called. She scanned the message quickly, then pocketed her phone and grabbed her jacket.
“Where are we going?” Jeffers asked.
“You are going to start looking for reports of that mark in previous unsolved murder cases,” Anne said. “I am going to go warn Spencer that some of the cops that have been following him around aren’t cops at all.”