Sure and Certain Death Read Online Free Page B

he said, and then he sighed again. ‘But yes, the body is in a state, which is why the family can’t have her at home. I was going to tell you, Mr H, but in my own time and in my own way.’
    We stood looking at each other in silence then, both of us smoking.
    ‘You can refuse, of course,’ Sergeant Hill continued. ‘I mean, it’s a sealed coffin but, well, it’s, er . . .’
    ‘Was she, whoever she is, murdered?’ I asked. ‘Was it, do you think, this, er, this Ripper as they call him?’
    ‘Well yes, the lady was murdered,’ Sergeant Hill said gravely. ‘And as bloody Percy Adams said, it was done in a very violent and blood-soaked fashion. Not that I go along with all this Jack-the-Ripper-come-back-to-life business.’
    ‘But someone is killing women.’
    ‘Middle-aged ladies, yes,’ Sergeant Hill said. ‘And he is most definitely carving them up a treat, as I know you know, Mr H.’
    Nellie Martin, the skinned victim of New City Road, had not been a pretty, or for me, unfortunately, a forgettable sight. I’d seen quite enough unrecognisable lumps of flesh on the Somme. The nightly bombing had brought its horrors too. Although this war, though vile in every way, lacks the personal enmity that I saw in the First Lot, that all came back to me when I saw Nellie Martin. That, like the hand-to-hand combat on the Somme, was something deliberate, personal and venomous.
    ‘Part of the problem here,’ Sergeant Hill continued as he sucked heavily on his fag, ‘is that the lady this time was a spinster. Lived alone up on Green Street. No family to actually have the body at home except a married sister who lives up Ilford way. Nice house apparently she’s got. Husband works in the print. She don’t want her sister’s body messing up the place.’ He shot me a look of obvious disapproval. Even in wartime there are still those for whom unscratched lino is more important than life or death. ‘Post-mortem’s been done,’ he carried on. ‘Had her throat cut before all the mutilation went on, so the doctor reckoned. Thank God!’
    ‘Sergeant, I’ve heard nothing about this murder. When . . .’
    ‘Oh, it was a neighbour who found her,’ Sergeant Hill said. ‘A warden. Saw the back door of her place open yesterday morning, went in and . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Luckily because it was a warden we managed to keep it a bit hush-hush. Something like this . . . well . . .’
    People panic. Whether this apparent halt in the bombing of London will hold or not, no one knows. But if Hitler has even temporarily given up, then Londoners should be able to enjoy a bit of a breather. No one wants that spoiled by a run of murders by one of our own – least of all the coppers. There’s not even much, by their own admission, they can do.
    ‘People know about the other two,’ I said. ‘Nellie Martin and Violet Dickens.’
    ‘And they’ll know about this one in time, too,’ Sergeant Hill said on yet another sigh. ‘But if we can keep it as low-key as possible . . .’
    ‘Did they know each other, the women?’ I asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Sergeant Hill replied. ‘Of course, living in the same area they probably saw one another and . . . But Nellie Martin was a widow, Violet Dickens a married lady, and now this spinster. All very different.’
    ‘Except in age.’
    ‘Oh, they’re all of an age,’ he said. ‘Early fifties.’
    Like my sister. I told Sergeant Hill she’d been to school with Nellie Martin. I was, albeit without getting hysterical, a little worried.
    ‘But not with Violet Dickens?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Oh well.’ He put his fag out then and looked up at me. ‘So, Mr H, can my boys bring the body round the back? We’ve got it in a van, and if you can unlock your yard . . . Of course, if you . . .’
    ‘Yes, bring her in,’ I said as I put my fag out and went to get the keys to the yard. ‘What’s her name, by the way?’
    ‘Dolly O’Dowd,’ Sergeant Hill replied. And