Henrietta Who? by Catherine Aird

Author:Catherine Aird
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

ELEVEN

“External examination,” Inspector Sloan began to read. “The body was of a well-nourished female …”

Dr. Dabbe’s typewritten report of his post-mortem examination, addressed to H.M. Coroner for Calleshire and marked Copy to Chief Constable, lay on Inspector Sloan’s desk. He got as far as “aged about fifty-five” when Detective Constable Crosby came in.

“Everyone else seemed to be having tea, sir, so I brought some down. And the last of the cake.”

“Good,” said Sloan. “I was beginning to feel the opposite of well nourished myself. How have you got on?”

Crosby carefully carried a cup of tea across the room and sat down. Then he opened his notebook. “The hair, sir.”

“Ah, yes.” Sloan fingered Dr. Dabbe’s report. “I’ve got the name of that dye down here. All twenty-five syllables of it.”

“I found the ladies’ hairdressing saloon, sir.”

“They drop the second ‘o,’ Constable, nowadays.”

“Really, sir? Well, she had it done at a place called Marlene’s in the High Street. I spoke to a young person there by the name of Sandra who—er—did her.”

“When?”

“Every second Friday at ten o’clock. Without fail.”

“Yes.” Sloan set his cup down. “It would have to be without fail. Otherwise it would show.”

“What would, sir?”

“Her fair hair. According to Dr. Dabbe she was fair-haired.”

“And the girl was dark so she dyed hers dark, too,” concluded Crosby, “so that the girl would think …”

“It’s a good a disguise as any, too,” said Sloan. “Especially if you don’t expect it.” He paused. “Cyril Jenkins was fair. You could see that much on the photograph.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That suggest anything to you?”

“No, sir.”

Sloan sighed. “Constable, I agree the possibilities in this case are infinite. The murderer could be anyone, and as far as I am concerned the victim could be anyone and I am not altogether sure of the nature of the crime but there are just one or two clues worth considering.”

“Yes, sir,” said Crosby stolidly.

“The fact that Cyril Jenkins had …”

“Should it be ‘has,’ sir?”

Sloan glared. “What’s that? Oh, yes, that’s a point.” He grunted and went on. “Has—may have—fair hair and Grace Jenkins had fair hair which she took pains to dye the same color as Henrietta’s is interesting.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s worse than drawing teeth, Crosby. Don’t you have any ideas at all?”

“Yes, sir. But not about this,” he added hastily, not liking the look on Sloan’s face.

“Has it occurred to you that there is one possibility that would account for it? That Cyril and Grace Jenkins were brother and sister.”

“No, sir,” replied Crosby truthfully. He thought for a minute and then said very very cautiously, “Where would the baby come in then?”

“I don’t know.” Sloan turned back to the report. “How did you get on otherwise?”

“No joy about where she’d been all day except that it wasn’t in Berebury.”

“What?”

“I showed her photograph to the inspector at the bus station. He thinks he saw her at the incoming unloading point about half five. Doesn’t know what bus she got off.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sloan suspiciously. “How does he remember? That was Tuesday. Today’s Friday.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.