The Magpie (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 3) by K. J. Frost

Author:K. J. Frost [Frost, K. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: GWL Publishing
Published: 2020-04-12T22:00:00+00:00

David Cooke is at home and answers the door promptly to my knock.

“You again?”

It’s not the most polite of greetings, but I’ve heard worse, and just reply, “Yes,” and wait to be invited in. It takes him a moment, but he eventually steps back, presumably because he has no desire for his personal business to be conducted on his doorstep.

We stand in his living room, but he doesn’t invite us to sit, making it clear we won’t be staying for long – not if he has anything to do with it.

“We’ve come to inform you that Mrs Sanderson has confirmed that she was with you on the day her daughter went missing,” I say, breaking the silence that’s starting to stretch.

“So? I hardly needed you to confirm that. I know where I was.”

I’m not in the mood for him, or his tone. “And I’ve also come to inform you that I don’t want you to leave the area, not without letting me know.”

His face whitens in an instant. It’s funny how using that phrase always gets a person’s attention. Never fails. “Excuse me?”

“I think you heard and understood me, Mr Cooke. I’m sure you’re aware that Amy Sanderson’s body was found on Friday. What you won’t be aware of is that she was sexually assaulted.” He turns even whiter. “That means we’re looking for a man in connection with her murder.”

“A—And… and you think I—I…” he stutters, leaving his sentence hanging.

“I don’t think anything yet, sir. I’m just asking you not to leave the area until further notice, without advising me first.”

“But how could you even think I’d do something so… so vile? H—Has Lillian said something?”

“Why would you think Mrs Sanderson might say something?”

“Why else would you be questioning me and telling me not to leave the area? It has to have come from her, doesn’t it?”

I don’t answer him, because I don’t have to. “Can you give me the name of the client you saw on Tuesday afternoon, when you’d finished with Mrs Sanderson?”

“I’ve already explained,” he says, taking a step away and running his fingers through his hair, “my manager doesn’t know I was late for the appointment. I’ll get into serious trouble…”

“Listen, Mr Cooke,” I interrupt, keeping my voice level and even, but slightly menacing at the same time, just for effect, “I didn’t object too much when you chose to conceal your whereabouts the other day, because at the time we were investigating Amy’s disappearance, which either meant she’d wandered off, or been taken, and I couldn’t for the life of me think why you would have kidnapped the child, given that you have no interest in Mrs Sanderson’s offspring. But now things have changed. We’re investigating a murder. So, if you don’t tell me precisely where you were, I’ll arrest you. How do you think your manager would react to that? Especially when he knows the charges relate to the rape and murder of a four year old girl?”

“Ellison,” he says quickly. “His name’s Ralph Ellison.

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