The Cleansing Fire

Tracey Hartmann was walking through Royal Victoria Park looking with a slight resentment as the happy young couples that walked past her. She soon felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and turned round. She was met with an aged man that was full of sprightly joy and wearing a smart suit with a tartan necktie.

“My dear Tracey, how’ve you been?” he asked

“I’ve been better” she responded “I’m sorry, but do I…”

“Alastair Mansfield?” he said “From Kings College?” Suddenly the memories came flooding back to Tracey and the two embraced warmly.

“Dear Ally” she said filled with joy “What’re you up to these days?”

“Still working as a nurse in the RUH” he replied “Are you still with the Met?”

“I’ve been released from my duties until further notice” she said quickly. Mansfield paused and put his arm around her shoulder in a comforting manner.

“I’m so sorry to hear that Tracey” he said “The police never appreciate real talent. But let’s try and change the topic to stop dwelling on the past. Are you planning on staying in Bath?”

“I can’t really afford it now I’ve been laid off” she said “Also, I can’t imagine anybody wanting to live with someone who has profiled some of the country’s most dangerous killers”. At this comment, Mansfield chuckled to himself. “What’s to laugh at?”

“Somebody said exactly the same thing to me early this morning” said Mansfield “He’s looking to share a place with somebody. He’ll be at the Velo Lounge in around fifteen minutes”.

Tracey stood there amazed at her prospects. Mansfield offered to give her a lift to the Velo Lounge to meet the new tenant. She could already feel her hands shake as she fastened her seatbelt. Mansfield drove as smoothly as a hearse driver. He paid very little attention to the traffic signs, but closer attention to his passenger’s wellbeing. It was only when Tracey saw the mound of rubble coming towards them on her lefthand side at the intersection, approaching Brook Road, she began to feel even more uncomfortable. Mansfield saw this and smiled.

“I’ve got absolutely no bloomin’ idea what the council are going to do with that pile of rubble” he said “It’s controlled by developers so it’s their mess”. Tracey felt slightly reassured.

After travelling around the rabbit warren called Oldfield Park, Mansfield found an available spot to park. He helped Tracey out of the car and they walked towards the garishly designed Velo Lounge. The noise was almost suffocating; as the mixture of music and idle chatter drowned out any space of silence to allow thought. Mansfield manoeuvred his way towards the bar. A pretty young blonde waitress caught his eye.

“Can I help you sweetheart?” she asked

“Is Mr. Campbell here?” he asked

“Yeah he is” she replied with an almost annoyed tut “If you’d like to follow me”. She quickly talked to one of her co-workers. Mansfield beckoned to Tracey to follow them. The waitress led them through a crowd of tables and up the stairs to a larger dining space that was practically empty excluding a man in his mid forties with brown, wavy hair looking at a Nokia phone; his hazel eyes almost glued to the screen. He was casually dressed in a black crew-neck jumper with dark blue chinos and a pair of tattered white converse. Tracey caught sight of a burgundy frock coat draped over the back of his chair.

“Hello Robinson” said Mansfield “I have brought someone to meet you”. For a brief moment, the hazel eyes rose from the phone screen and scanned Tracey like a robot. He then put the phone on the table surface. “This is my friend Doctor Tracey Hartmann”. The man at the table rose slowly and bowed in a gracious manner.

“How do you do Doctor Hartmann” replied the man “Tell me, how were the flowers in Royal Victoria Park?”

“They were rather…” she paused “How the Dickens did you know I’d been to the park?”

“The mud on the heel of your left boot suggesting you had been near a field or grassy embankment; but I also perceive a small oak tree leaf poking out from the heel of the same boot. The oak trees are usually in parks, and I also saw Mansfield’s car drive you via the road near the Royal Oak. How I am doing?”

Tracey stood there absolutely stunned by this man. She gasped and nodded in response.

“Robinson please” said Mansfield “Don’t overdo it!”

“Patience my dear Alastair” the man replied “She is in a similar profession as myself; she is a doctor of the mind and has previously dealt with dangerous characters, including the Uber Slasher and the Paddington Psycho. I too have warmed my hands in many a part of the murderer’s handy work”.

“He’s right” said Tracey slowly “I have seen my fair share of death and talked with many that have caused it”

“Indeed” the man replied “But we digress. Thank you Alastair, your services will no longer be required by the good doctor here; please feel free to get yourself a latte”. At this point, he grabbed his frock coat and the phone and made for the stairs. He turned back to Tracey and said “We have a house to look at”

“Wait a minute” said Tracey “We’ve literally just me and we’re going to look at a house?”

“You catch on quickly don’t you?” the man sneered “Come on. Miss Jameson won’t be around forever”. He then grabbed Tracey’s arm and guided her down the stairs out onto the street. As they walked, Tracey noticed the man reach into his inside pocket and pull out an vaporiser. He turned it on and started to inhale. He exhaled a massive cloud of sweet smelling smoke that almost choked her.

“So” she said “Do you have a name?”

“Yes” he replied “It’s Robinson Campbell”

“Nice sounding name” she said, trying to smile “What do you do?” He stopped for a brief moment and turned to look at her.

“You’re a psychological profiler” he said “You tell me”. They carried on walking. Tracey started thinking about his manner and his reference to corpses. She then looked harder at the face; it was full of fatigue and anguish, yet also had a sprightly twinkle in his eyes. Maybe he’s an ex-copper, she thought to herself.

“Nice guess” Campbell said “But no cigar on this occasion”. Tracey was astounded. At this point, she was conflicted between mind reader and psychic.

Campbell stopped suddenly at the end of a street named Millmead Road. He turned to Tracey with a slight grimace on his face. Tracey could feel what was coming.

“Are you quite sure you want to do this?”

“Why do you ask?” she said “You seem decent enough”. He smiled slightly.

“And to answer your question; but also to stop your needless theorising, I’m a former forensic pathologist and have worked many times with the police all across the South West”. Tracey smiled and thought to herself, This is going to be interesting.

Campbell stopped outside of number 26 Millmead Road. There was a red and white ‘TO LET’ sign stood in the tattered front garden. Tracey noticed a curtain in the front room twitch. They both looked at each other and breathed in. Campbell did a quick scurry up the uneven front steps and rang the bell.

A few moments later the heavy white door creaked open to reveal a lady in her late seventies dressed like a flower child that time had forgotten about. She smiled a warm smile and showed them into the rather small hallway.

“How are you Mr. Campbell?” she croaked “Is this your perspective tenant?”

“Yes indeed Miss Jameson” Campbell said, moving along the white walls with his ear to them “This is Doctor Hartmann”

“Call me Tracey” Tracey whispered “Nice to meet you Miss Jameson”

“Please call me Yvonne dearie” she replied “Anyway, my dear Tracey, will you be alright in upstairs; as my legs aren’t quite what they used to be”. Tracey caught a glimpse of the beautifully ornate walking stick leant up against the door frame of the room on her right.

“Yes, I’m fine doing that” Tracey said smiling “How many rooms are there?”

“Four” Yvonne said “But Mr. Campbell is paying double as he requires two rooms”. Tracey thought it rude to ask anymore questions and left it at that.

Just then Campbell’s Nokia started vibrating. He put the phone on speaker.

“This is Campbell, speak”.

“Hello freak” came the reply “It’s Sergeant Benton”

“Anything interesting?” Campbell asked, a slight twitch starting in his left cheek

“Yeah” Benton said “We’ve got an unknown male in the car park near the Mission Theatre. How soon can you get down here?”

“Give me about ten minutes and I’ll be with you” said Campbell.

“Hope you’ve got a strong stomach” replied Benton. Campbell hung up. He then turned around and almost leapt a foot in the air.

“Thank you Miss Jameson” he replied “The house is perfect, my rent will be sent tomorrow morning”. He looked at Tracey. “You fancy helping out with a murder case?”

Tracey smiled “I wouldn’t miss it for the world”. They both made for the door.

“Have you got a car?” asked Tracey

“Yes” said Campbell pointing to a faded blue Ford Escort “It belongs to Miss Jameson, but neither of us can drive it”. He then presented the keys and gave them to Tracey. “Come Hartmann, the game’s afoot!”

II

“Just up here on the left” said Campbell to Tracey, briefly looking at an A to Z “Just pull up anywhere and stick this on the dash will you?” He reached into the glove compartment with his free hand and produced a doctor on call sticker.

“You can’t be serious?” Tracey said. Campbell looked up from his A to Z and gave her a disapproving look.

“I’ve got the PhD to prove it” he said tersely. He threw the A to Z behind his shoulder and it landed on the parcel shelf with a thud. “Damn. I was aiming for the back seat” he muttered to himself.

Tracey sat gazing at the worn facade of the Mission Theatre. She thought if those walls were able to talk, all the stories it could tell. She parked the car and started to get out, just as Campbell put the doctor on call sticker on the dashboard. He then slammed the door and retreated to the rear passenger door. He produced a small leather satchel; which he slung over his shoulder and marched towards the flashing lights and the uniforms.

They were greeted by a man in his late thirties with faded brown hair that was starting to recede and dandruff-encrusted shoulders. He had large bushy eyebrows and a nose that an aardvark would be proud of. He smiled a sarcastically disgusting yellow smile.

“Hello Sergeant Benton” Campbell said “Before you say anything, this is my associate Dr. Hartmann. She’s a psychological profiler and will be assisting me in my enquires”

“You poor mare” Benton muttered. Campbell shot him a dirty look that could have turned Benton to stone. “You’ll enjoy this I think Campbell” Benton replied. He led the way through the crowd of officers and crime scene investigators to a small, slightly chargrilled corpse. Tracey could feel her pulse starting to race and her head already taking pictures of the scene for future reference; the old ways are very hard to give up. Campbell walked closer towards the body. He knelt down and removed the satchel from his shoulder and produced the tools of his trade.

“A proper autopsy will need to be done” he said to Benton “But the burning is rather severe. It makes the face and upper torso almost unrecognisable; yet he’s been dead no longer than seven hours”.

Benton interjected “I thought you said you couldn’t…”

“I suspect that this is a male, in his late seventies, who suffered with rheumatoid arthritis and has been sleeping rough over the past one…no three nights” Campbell interrupted. Benton wasn’t quite finished yet.

“How can you tell” asked Benton. Campbell signalled to Tracey. She knelt down beside him and pulled back the hems of the scruffy trousers.

“As you’ll observe Sergeant Benton” she piped up “The feet are quite badly swollen, suggesting constant movement. The clothes indicate his poor living quality and if you look at whats left of his hands, you’ll be able to see that there are curling over and his wrists are swollen, suggesting rheumatoid arthritis”. Campbell smiled a warm smile at Tracey.

“Splendid work Hartmann” he replied “First rate”. He suddenly stopped and dropped onto the torso. He then started sniffing like a bloodhound. “Kerosene and…” he paused to sniff again “Bleach. Very interesting”.

“What do you think it means Campbell?” Hartmann asked

“No idea as of yet” he replied “But I will have soon”. He then rose up and sidled up to Benton. “Did you find anything on him like a wallet, photographs, a phone?”

“We did as a matter of fact” Benton replied. He called over to a younger policewoman and asked her to bring over the personal affects. Benton passed them towards Campbell.

Campbell quickly snatched the bag out of Benton’s hands. He reached into his frock coat and produced a pair of latex gloves. He then rummaged through the evidence bag and tipped the contents into the palm of his hand. There was a battered old fob watch, a small mucus covered handkerchief with the initials J.M. embroidered in, a faded photograph, a pocket-size copy of the new testament and several copper coins. Campbell smiled at these, and then returned the items to the evidence bag.

“Thank you Benton” he replied “You will keep me informed with regards to the autopsy”

“Okay Campbell” Benton said. Campbell started to leave. “There’s one more thing sir” Benton called back. “Our new chief is going to pay you a visit. Where can he find you?”

“Tell him the address is 26 Millmead Road, Oldfield Park” Campbell called back “Or he can call me on my mobile”. He looked over at Tracey. “Come along Hartmann; there’s a lot of work to be done”. Tracey quickly followed after Campbell.

“So what do you make of that then Campbell?” Tracey asked

“It strikes me as interesting” Campbell replied “That such an old man would in the first place be living rough, and in the second place have such a dainty thing as an embroidered handkerchief on his person. It would most certainly damage his character amongst the other homeless waifs”.

“Possibly a memory from his past” Tracey remarked “Or a gift from a loved one”

“You do have the mind of a romantic” Campbell smiled “It may come in useful”. He paused for a brief moment. “Could you run a small errand for me?”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked

“Drive to Council Officers on Manvers Street and get a hold of a Ephraim Westacott-Davies. He owes me a little favour after I cleaned up that mess involving the Horniman Museum robbery”

“What should I ask him?”

“Ask him of his whereabouts last night” Campbell replied “I’ll be back presently. I’ve just got a little errand I need to run”. Before Tracey could reply, Campbell had started walking away, phone glued to his ear and chattering away to himself. Tracey then remembered the initials on the handkerchief and decided to follow up on that. She could talk to Westacott-Davies at the same time she could gather vital evidence to the identity of the smouldering corpse.

The council offices were on Manvers Street. Tracey thought the facade of the offices looked more like a gym or health centre. Regardless of her observations, she entered.

The front desk was made of a cheap wood that already was starting to lose the lacquer and chipped very easily. There were small scribbles where little children had been a little than too more creative with wax crayons. Tracey leant her arm onto the desk and coughed slightly to attract the receptionist. He was a spotty little urchin with dandruff-encrusted shoulders and greasy hair.

“Can I help you madam?” he asked in a voice that oozed suppressed teenage angst

“I’ve come to see Mr. Westacott-Davies on a pressing matter” Tracey said firmly

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked again

“Is that necessary?” The receptionist gave her a look full of acid and pursed his lips. “Just let me talk to him” she paused before replying again “This is on police business”. At once, he picked up the phone and dialled for Westacott-Davies. Tracey could feel herself fit to burst with pride. Sure enough, the spotty receptionist told her that Westacott-Davies had an available window and would see her at once. She was escorted by another equally pimpled young aide to a shiny lift door and after entering, she caught a scent of Lynx deodorant from her guide. Definitely here on job experience, Tracey thought to herself.

The lift had travelled up two floors and opened to a plush looking overtly artistic room. There was a dazzlingly white carpet that went from wall to wall and looked like a fresh fall of snow on top of Snowdon. There were crystal and ivory sculptures all over the place. All of the furniture in the room was chromium-coated ivory. Tracey looked round the room and made her observation that the two colours didn’t coordinate as the white made the ivory look dirty and the ivory made the white look bled out. Just then a large mass of pink flesh entered the room, wearing a well-worn black suit with a garishly loud paisley tie. He was wearing gold-rimmed spectacles that enlarged two glazed blue eyes that belonged to someone who was either very rich or somebody very dead. His large hawk’s beak nose twitched like a rabbit. He then caught a sight of Tracey, and a broad Cheshire grin appeared across his flabby pink face. The voice that spoke was that of the spotty aide.

“Dr Tracey Hartmann this is Mr. Ephraim Westacott-Davies”

“How do you do Mr. Westacott-Davies?” Tracey asked holding our her hand

“Delightful” replied the pink blob. He smiled wryly and chuckled to himself. He then shot a glare at the aide. “Make some coffee, pronto!” he bellowed and with that the prepubescent virginal aide disappeared. Tracey felt very uncomfortable in the presence of such an obvious creep.

“So” Westacott-Davies started “Would care to explain why you are paying me this official visit? Surely, the Avon and Somerset Police have no need to consult me?” As he was talking, he indicated to two chromium chairs. Tracey reluctantly sat down.

“I’ve come on behalf of Robinson Campbell…” she started and she soon saw the bright jolly pink in Westacott-Davies turn almost a ghostly white. “Are you feeling quite alright sir?” she asked growing concerned.

“Why has that…meddling little pipsqueak sent you here?” Westacott-Davies spluttered “He knows that I can’t cooperate with his…his…”

“Methods?” Tracey interrupted “I think that’s one of the reasons he sent me to talk to you”. Westacott-Davies started to regain his pinkness and only relaxed when Tracey gave a reassuring nod to her statement.

“Very well then” he replied in an official manner “How can I be of assistance?”

“I’m sure you’ll have heard about the badly burnt corpse near the Mission Theatre” she replied “And I wondered whether you knew anything about a man with the initials, J.M.?”

“J.M?” Westacott-Davies responded “I know several people with those initials; some of whom died many years ago”, he noticed that his spotty aide had returned with the coffee. He insisted that Tracey have a cup. Tracey could see that it was the cheapest, nasty filter coffee known to man; but she accepted it out of politeness. “Do you have any further details or a description of the person to help me?”

Tracey felt her phone vibrate.

“Would you excuse me a moment?”

“Certainly” he replied, starting to slurp at his coffee. Tracey rummaged around in her coat and eventually found her Samsung. She opened it and found a text message from an unknown number which read

Have attached photo of victim. Tell Mr. Blobby to help. He’ll probably know vic; he knows everybody. Regards R.C.

Attached to the text was a photo of the victim in the mortuary. Clearly that was part of Campbell’s follow up mission. Tracey braced herself before returning to her chair.

“I trust everything is okay” Westacott-Davies questioned “Nothing too serious I trust?”

“Just received a message from Campbell” she replied “With a photograph of the victim”. She passed him the phone and soon saw the colour drain from his face once again. “Is everything alright sir?”

“This is Joe Muggins” Westacott-Davies replied quite slowly “He’s an…an acquaintance of mine”.

“How, an acquaintance?” she asked

“He is… was a homeless man, but also a professional beggar. He could quote everything from Tennyson to Shakespeare. He could even sing. Such a charming individual”

“Do you know anybody that bore a grudge against him, or would want to harm him?” Tracey asked

“Not off the top of my head” Westacott-Davies snapped “He was loved by all he came into contact with”

“Thank you sir” she replied “We will need you to come down to the mortuary to identify the body”

“That’s fine” he replied quickly “Anything to help the police”. He paused for a brief moment before replying “If Campbell needs my services again, don’t hesitate to ask for me”.

Tracey smiled to herself about Campbell’s power over people. The same pimpled aide was summoned to escort her from the building. She leant against the desk and asked for a copy of the electoral register. She realised that if Joseph Muggins was homeless he wouldn’t be on it; but it was still worth a gamble. She reached into her pocket and surreptitiously took several photographs. When she’d finished, she returned the register to the desk and walked outside. She saw Campbell leaning on the bonnet of the escort scrambling to put a small bottle in his pocket. Tracey caught a glimpse of the label.

“Any luck with our friend Mr. Blobby?” he asked quickly

“A little bit yeah” she started “Why do you have that bottle?”

“What bottle?”

“That small grey bottle of Hydrocodone” she replied “They’re pain killers”

“Very observant” he snapped “I’m in pain. I occasionally need them to manage”. She decided to leave the topic alone. She decided to change the subject.

“Did you find out anything about our victim?” she asked quickly

“My theory about his age and medical background was correct. I assume Blobby gave you some assistance”.

“We’ve got a name” she replied, rather excitedly “A professional beggar named Joe Muggins”. Campbell nodded. She then added “Mr. Westacott-Davies seemed quite taken aback that he was dead and seemed very attached to him”. A broad sly grin appeared on Campbell’s face.

“I assume you checked the electoral register just to prove that there is such a person” he asked

“Naturally” she replied “I couldn’t find anybody under that name; then I thought of checking with a doctor”

“Splendid idea” Campbell replied “I’ve already spoken with a Doctor Isabelle Gladstone, who recognises the name. She’ll be coming to Millmead Road this evening to help with our inquiries”

“What about patient-doctor confidentiality?” Tracey asked

“When murder is involved, sometimes formalities must be set aside” Campbell replied “Come along, we’ve got much to do before the good doctor pays us a visit”.

So they got into the battered Escort and drove back to Millmead Road. Tracey finally felt the adrenaline in her system that brought back memories that almost risked her life. She didn’t care; she felt free of her past and alive once again.

III

Later that evening, Campbell was sat on the moth-eaten red sofa in the sitting room of Millmead Road. He was wearing a blue dressing gown with a faded blue t-shirt, scruffy dark blue cords and battered moccasin slippers and was staring blankly at the faded wall hanging about Victor Hugo. Tracey entered the room with an iPad under her arm. She sat down on the harder leather sofa. She tried to make herself comfortable but alas, to no avail. Tracey finally spoke.

“What time did Doctor Gladstone say she was coming?” she asked quietly

“What time is it now?” Campbell asked still looking at the wall.

“Twenty minutes past seven” replied Miss Jameson who had just entered the room. She was still wearing her neon rainbow jumper. The brightness seemed to wake Campbell out of his trance. “Do you want me to make some tea for you guest?”

“She’ll be here in the next five minutes or so” Campbell replied “And yes. I believe our client would like some tea”. Miss Jameson gave him a reproachful glare and muttered to herself, a simple yes or no would’ve done nicely. She then entered the galley kitchen and slammed the door,

“Did you have to be so rude?” Tracey asked

“She interrupted my meditation!” Campbell snapped, rising quickly from the sofa “We’ve got a dead man on our hands and all she can think about is whether the only person who might be able to help with our enquires would like some bloody tea!” There was a long silence. Campbell recomposed himself. “My apologies” he stated, lacking all sign of emotion “But you can understand…”

“Yes” Tracey interrupted “But please, go easy on Miss Jameson”. Campbell nodded. Just then the doorbell rang. Tracey went to answer it, but Campbell pushed past her and opened the front door.

The lady that was stood on the doorstep was a very attractive young brunette in a long grey jacket. She was wearing a black blouse which was missing three buttons; but it showed off her impressive figure. She had a pair of black sculpted trousers which showed off her long and luxurious legs. She had a set of sculpted curves that nobody had been able to improve on and she had a certain smile that Campbell surmised would make any man’s heart skip a beat. She then spoke with a voice that oozed sex appeal.

“Are you Robinson Campbell?”

“At your service Doctor Gladstone” Campbell replied, with a small, gracious bow. He then guided the brunette into the sitting room where Miss Jameson was already hovering with a tea tray. Campbell smiled and took the tray from her. “Thank you Miss Jameson” he said, in a restricted tone “If we require anything else, I’ll let you know”.

“Happy to be of assistance Mr. Campbell” Miss Jameson replied, putting on false heirs and graces that Tracey could see drove Campbell slightly mad. Campbell put the tray down on the rickety wooden dining table and sat himself down in an equally rickety dining chair. He the indicated to the sofa directly opposite him. Tracey sat herself on the other sofa and opened her iPad to the notes section.

“Is this young lady a reporter?” Doctor Gladstone asked

“No indeed not” Campbell replied with a tone of indignation “I refuse to work with such vultures. This is my trusted assistant, Doctor Tracey Hartmann. She is merely taking notes for the case file. I’m sure you understand”.

“Quite” Gladstone replied.

“I assume your taxi driver didn’t overcharge you” Campbell replied “Then again, some firms will insist on driving you the long way round”

“But how could you possibly know that I’d come by taxi?” she asked. Campbell then coughed as an indication for Tracey’s contribution. Before she spoke, Tracey scanned the very beautiful brunette sat opposite Campbell.

“Your shoes are scuffed suggesting a quick movement, that could only be made when running to catch something. As you work at Fairfield Park, it could be a bus; but you’d agreed to come here straight after work, so you ran outside from your surgery after receiving the phone call that your cab had arrived. Also, there is no sign of a bus ticket anywhere, and there is a distinct sound of change in your right hand jacket pocket”. Campbell smiled in agreement. He then added

“Also, your perfume would not be as present if you had travelled by bus or train as the mixture of body odour does tend to quench lovely aromas such as your…Black Opium by Yves Saint-Laurent”.

“I’m certainly pleased I came to talk to you rather than the police” the brunette replied, biting her lip slightly “But, yes Doctor Hartmann, I do work at Fairfield Park, and when Mr. Campbell contacted me regarding Joe Muggins, I came as soon as I could”.

“You were his GP for a long while?” Campbell asked

“About six years” she replied “I took over from my brother, Jordan Gladstone when he moved practices. So naturally I inherited his patients”.

“And from a medical perspective, how did Joe Muggins appear to you?” Campbell asked

“He had a mild case of early onset rheumatoid arthritis and the only other thing wrong with him was a mild drinking habit”

“So nothing overly life threatening?”

“Not really no” she replied “Why do you ask?”

“Just a line of inquiry” Tracey replied. Campbell smiled at her again and indicated to her to ask some questions. “Would you say that he was a pleasant person? Did he ever seem nervous or on edge about anything?”

Doctor Gladstone paused for a moment. She bit her lip again. Then licked her lips.

“He did say something about all not being well in the area” she replied “He worked; as you know, as a professional beggar, but had noticed more evangelicals on the streets trying to get him to go to the Salvation army or another mission, but he was having none of it”.

Tracey looked over at Campbell. He had frozen in a complete stare at Doctor Gladstone’s face. Tracey coughed slightly and he seemed to come out of it. He then glanced at the tea tray.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, quite casually “My landlady insisted on making us some”

“If there is a cup going” Gladstone started with an easy smile.

“Hartmann, could you be mother?” he asked. As Tracey walked over to the table, Campbell grabbed her by the arm and whispered something in her ear. “This one isn’t all that she claims to be. We must tread very carefully”. She then shook him off and poured the tea.

Campbell moved his chair a bit closer to the sofa where Doctor Gladstone was sat. He focused his keen hazel eyes over the rim of his mug, on her beautiful serene blue eyes that shone like precious stones lost long ago. He then quickly gulped down the dregs of his mug and rose, knocking the chair over. The sound made Tracey and the Doctor jump.

“One more thing that has been bothering me” Campbell replied “Did Mr. Muggins have any family or relatives that visited with him?”

“He made reference to a brother I believe, who lived in Clifton” she replied “But they’d had an argument about some private affair and they parted company”

“Where was his, fixed abode?” he then asked

“He used to sleep by the Mission Theatre, or if he couldn’t go there he would sleep in a doorway near the Forum” she replied. Tracey noticed that Campbell’s eyebrows were fixed in a sceptical frown. He then smiled and placed his mug on the table.

“Thank you for you assistance Doctor…”

“Please, Isabelle” she replied “After all, anybody that is willing to help catch Joe’s killer is a friend of mine”. She then smiled a sly, sexy grin that made Campbell feel like vomiting. He shook her hand limply and escorted her to the front door.

“If you have any more information, don’t hesitate to get in touch” Campbell called after her. He watched her down the uneven front steps and saw her walk towards Dartmouth Avenue. He then slammed the front door sliding the latch across. He then frogmarched back into the sitting room, throwing himself on the sofa.

“What do you make of that little minx Hartmann?” he asked

“She’s certainly not a doctor” Tracey replied as she started to turn off her iPad. Campbell jerked around to face Tracey suddenly. He then gave a crowed laugh of sheer delight.

“My dear Hartmann, the Met will be lost without you!” he declared “Of course she isn’t a doctor. Her clothes were enough to tell us that, and most doctors have their own cars, and yet, there is something vaguely familiar about this Isabelle Gladstone. I know I’ve seen that face before today”. He paused for a brief moment. “It’ll come back to me, I’m sure. Either that, or I’ll need your web surfing skills to find out as much as you can about her”. Campbell noticed that Tracey was staring at the window. He clicked his fingers.

“Are you alright?” he asked

“Yes, yes fine” she replied “I’ve just remembered something that I found at the council offices today”. She struggled around in her trouser pocket and produced her phone. She immediately went straight for her photo reel and produced the pictures of the electoral register. “There is only one person that matches the physical description of Joe Muggins” she replied “Not to mention, similar initials and personal circumstances”.

Campbell looked at the phone screen at the name that she had circled. He then rose, and rubbed his hands together.

“Joseph Marshall Gallagher” he replied “Former leaseholder of the Alma Tavern theatre in Clifton, but disappeared after a series of badly funded productions. Apparently last seen in Bath. I may need to have another little chat with our Mr. Westacott-Davies in the morning”. He then turned to Tracey and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Splendid work Hartmann” he replied “Absolutely first rate”.

“Thank you” she smiled. Campbell then retired to the small room at the top of the stairs. She followed up a few moments later and could hear soft music playing. She stopped long enough to listen. It was the sound of a cello playing a lilting melody. Tracey’s knowledge of music wasn’t extensive, but she liked what she heard. She then retired to her room.

***

The following morning Tracey rose to the sound of crashing and clattering coming from the small bedroom at the top of the stairs. She pulled her dressing gown on and ran to the room. She opened the door to find the room upturned, with the floor covered in old newspaper cuttings, articles and sheet music. The desk was strewn with faded notepaper, blotting paper and several exploded fountain pens. She also saw his vaporiser placed on top of a book called ‘Still Unsolved: a collection of unsolved murders’. In the centre of this catastrophe, was Campbell, sat in his dressing gown with a bemused look on his face. He looked up and saw Tracey stood in the doorway.

“Hope I didn’t disturb you” he replied “I’ve been searching for the original report that mentioned the disappearance of Joseph Marshall Gallagher”. He continued rifling through pile upon pile of old newspaper cuttings. Tracey left him for a brief moment and grabbed her phone from her dressing table.

“Okay Google” she said “Articles about Joseph Gallagher”

“Here is what I found” the phone replied. Tracey found a link to Bristol news and went back to Campbell. She clambered through the mountain range of cuttings and put the phone under his nose.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked innocently. He looked at the article which read THEATRE OWNER GALLAGHER DISAPPEARS WITHOUT TRACE and beneath that GALLAGHER PRESUMED DEAD. He smiled and rose. He then pushed past her and ran like a mountain goat to his bedroom. Tracey now realised why he was paying double rent; the larger room was his living quarters and the smaller room was his study and practice room. He slammed the door and twenty minutes later appeared in a creased black shirt, with an orange v-neck jumper, the same blue cords he wore last night and a very battered pair of brown boots. He then grabbed a bomber jacket from the hook on the back of the door and his satchel. He then paused and looked at Tracey.

“Hadn’t you better get some clothes on?” he replied

“Where are we going?” she asked

“Bath Spa Station” he replied “Our work takes us to Bristol”. She quickly closed her door and changed into a green form-fitted turtle-neck with black suit trousers and a camel colour trench coat. She slipped on her kitten heeled boots and sculpted her black beret on top of her auburn curls. She grabbed her handbag and went out onto the landing. Campbell was stood at the bottom of the stairs on the phone. He always had the phone on speaker.

“Can I get a taxi from Moorland Road to Bath Spa Station please?”

“Whereabouts on Moorland Road?” the operator asked

“The Velo Lounge” he replied

“And what name is it sir?” the operator asked

“Robinson Campbell” he replied “It is vitally important I don’t miss this train!”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can”

“Thank you” Campbell replied and he hung up. He looked up at Tracey. “Come along Hartmann” he said “We’ve got a cab to find”.

Despite a delay in traffic near King James West Street, the taxi arrived outside the station and were soon Campbell and Tracey were on the train towards Temple Meads. They seated themselves at one of the tables in the carriage. During the journey, Tracey noticed Campbell scanning at the people in the carriage around him. He had been restricted from using his vape, so he had stuck three nicotine patches on his left arm before boarding the train. He then fixed his eyes upon a man sat just in his eye line. Campbell soon nudged Tracey and gestured towards the man in question.

“Do you know who that man is?” he whispered

“Not really” she whispered back “Do you?”

“Clearly he’s connected with the police” Campbell responded “Just look at those boots. They are far too well worn for anything above inspector. He is plain clothes, but still manages to dress with a clear, well groomed manner”.

“I first saw him when we boarded” Tracey replied “Do you think he’s following us?”

“Potentially” he said “Why not introduce ourselves?”

But before they could move, he came to them. He was a fresh faced man in his late thirties with neatly trimmed blonde hair and dazzlingly bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a brown sports jacket with black jeans and brown boots. He sat in the empty seat opposite them and smiled.

“Welcome to Bristol, Mr. Campbell” he replied “My name is Bradley Todd”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance Inspector” Campbell replied with a wry smile

“Chief Inspector if you don’t mind” Todd stated “But how could you possibly know that I was…”

“Campbell noticed your militant approach to your clothing” Tracey replied. Campbell smiled at her.

“My associate Doctor Hartmann is quite correct. Then, there is the fact of your face, which has the strong authoritarian look of a senior police officer. I also deduced that you are following us. How am I doing so far?”

“You’re right on the money” Todd replied “Yes I am following you. Your contact with the Avon and Somerset Constabulary Sergeant Benton put me onto you. What brings you to Bristol?”

“Merely a short excursion out towards Clifton Down” Campbell replied “I thought I might go and see what’s playing down at the Alma Tavern Theatre”. Campbell then smiled a sly smile at Tracey. Chief Inspector Todd seemed to be buying his story.

“Then you won’t object if I tag along?” he asked

“The Alma isn’t quite in the Covent Garden line of theatres Chief Inspector” Campbell replied “And Somerset isn’t quite the London scene either”

“On the contrary” Todd replied “Many people believe Bath and Bristol to be prime locales for social events and entertainment; not to mention the breeding ground for white collar crime”

“You already know why were travelling to Clifton Down don’t you Inspector Todd?” Tracey finally asked. Todd nodded.

“You’re trying to locate the brother of Joseph Gallagher” he replied “The taxi driver that took you to the station was one of our undercover officers and he relayed your entire scheme back to us. So I thought I’d tag along to make sure you got everything you needed to”. He paused for a brief moment. “In future” he added “Don’t forget to phone in”

“I’m not the constabulary’s lap dog!” Campbell snapped indignantly “And may I remind you Chief Inspector, that whatever my line of enquiry may be, it is to benefit the lives of the homeless people of Bath. Please consider that what I try and do is for the greater good”. Todd realised he’d put his foot in it. Tracey shot Todd a dirty look.

“My apologies Mr. Campbell” Todd replied “You’re spoken very highly of at New Scotland Yard. The commissioner asked me to send his regards”

“You’re Walter Strickland’s golden boy?” Campbell asked, starting to grow interested “He’s probably sent you to Bath to take over as head of the Murder Squad”

“The commissioner said you were good” Todd started “But I didn’t expect you to be that good”

“You get used to it” Tracey added.

The train soon pulled in to Bristol Temple Meads. Campbell ran on ahead to go and find a taxi. Todd and Tracey soon started talking.

“How did you meet Mr. Campbell?” Todd asked.

“Through a mutual acquaintance” she replied “I used to work for the Murder Squad as a profiler”. Todd paused and studied her face.

“I thought you looked familiar” he replied “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you ma’am”

“Just call me Tracey” she said “I stopped being called ma’am when the force let me go”

“Yes” Todd replied and in a different tone said “I was so sorry to hear about Damien”

“Yes well, what happened happened, so let’s just move on” she said quickly, trying to hide the tears. She ran on ahead to go and find where Campbell had got to.

She soon found him. He was stood looking at a man, who was almost the spitting image of him. Tracey walked closer and viewed the man. He was half an inch taller than Campbell, and slightly heavier set, but his hair was styled in almost the same way, and his brilliant hazel eyes were exactly like Campbell’s. The only difference was in this man’s right ear was a platinum stud that was almost hidden by the upturned collar of the rough grey jacket. The face was full of purpose.

“Campbell, who is this?” Tracey asked slowly

“Yes Robbie” the man replied “Who am I?”

“This is…” Campbell started “My twin brother, Kinsey”

“Struggling brother mine?” Kinsey asked “I see that’s why you have a doctor travelling with you”. Just then Todd appeared from the station and froze. “Good afternoon Chief Inspector” Kinsey replied “I’m so glad you could join us. I need you all to come with me before you approach your planned destination”. He reached for his iPhone and pressed a button. A large black Jaguar pulled up and Kinsey ushered the three inside.

IV

“What do you want Kinsey?” Campbell asked “I can’t have forgotten Mother’s birthday again surely?”

“Can you be serious for once?” Kinsey snapped “I’m trying to offer you some assistance; but I’ll need some information in return”

Campbell was about to make another snide remark, but thought his next response through before speaking.

“If you want to know why we’re here in Bristol it’s because…”

“Please” Kinsey interrupted “Don’t bore me with your mundane little mysteries. The fact that James Marshall Gallagher faked his own disappearance is easy enough to solve. The brother, Robin probably won’t give you much information either. I’m here about something closer to my office”

“Your little office boy worried you’re getting too flaccid for him?”

“No” Kinsey replied “Besides, my secretary is already seeing somebody”

“I know” he replied “Just wondered whether Mother knew about your little habits”. Kinsey sighed and turned to Tracey.

“I do apologise for my brother Miss Hartmann” he replied “He’s never been normal”

“I didn’t know you had a brother” Tracey said

“I try to forget him at times” Campbell replied “But when he’s with the Ministry it’s a little harder than you’d think”.

“Precisely” Kinsey said “But to return to the reason I’ve kidnapped you is to tell you that your investigation has stumbled across one of our covert operations involving one of our agents”

“Hang on” Todd replied “So you’re telling us that one of your agents has somehow got mixed up in this murder inquiry?”

“He catches on fast doesn’t he?” Kinsey replied “But anyway, just keep away from our agent and we should be fine”

“I didn’t realise terrorism had gone to Bath” Campbell replied “Or has Mr. Putin sent an agent to infiltrate the Roman Baths to find out how the springs work?”

“Yes, thank you brother mine” Kinsey replied. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a twenty pound note. “This should cover your taxi fare. Now, if you could all get out, I’ve got an appointment in Culverhay in an hour and I don’t like being late”.

As soon as they had got out of the car, the Jaguar’s engine roared and disappeared into the sea of traffic. Todd and Tracey stared in a dazed state at Campbell.

“What?” he asked

“Would you care to explain who that was?” Todd asked

“That” Campbell started “Was my brother Kinsey”

“Right” Todd replied “And he works for the Ministry?”
“Ministry of Intelligence” Campbell replied quickly “He’s one of their spooks”. Campbell could see Todd had more questions and soon managed to grab the attention of a taxi driver.

Moments later, the taxi pulled up outside the Alma Tavern Theatre. They got out of the taxi and headed inside. Campbell managed to catch the eye of the bartender.

“Yessir what can I do for you?”
“Is Mister Robin Gallagher here?” Campbell asked just as a tall man with a receding hairline and a weather-warn face appeared. He was dressed in a denim shirt with a striped t-shirt underneath it. He had coffee-stained cream chinos and brown boat shoes on.

“Yes” the man replied “I’m Robin Gallagher. Are you the man who contacted me about James?”

“Yes” Campbell replied “Is there anywhere more private where we can discuss this?”

“Who are you’re…companions?” Robin Gallagher asked

“They are Doctor Tracey Hartmann, my associate and Detective Chief Inspector Todd of the Avon and Somerset Constabulary, recently assigned from Scotland Yard”.

“Are they in your confidence?” he asked

“Indeed they are” Campbell replied “I assure that anything you say in front of them will go no further”. Todd and Tracey both nodded in agreement.

Robin Gallagher ushered them through the crowded lunch tables to a small office near a tattered stairway. He then closed the door behind him.

“Why are you wanting to know about my brother?” he asked

“He was found in Bath” Todd replied “He was found near the Mission Theatre”

“Yeah” Gallagher replied “And I’m Sir Laurence Olivier”

Tracey reached into her handbag and produced her phone. She went onto the photo reel and found the corpse. She handed it over to Gallagher. The change in his face was almost shocking. “Where did you get this?” he gasped

“The Mortuary” Campbell replied “He had been living in Bath under the pseudonym Joe Muggins. He’d been badly burned by kerosene, poisoned with a large quantity of bleach and there were also signs of blunt force trauma to the frontal lobe of his cranium”.

Gallagher’s face turned a nasty shade of green. Todd reacted and started to guide him out of the office towards the gents.

“Did you have to be so graphic in your description?” Tracey asked

“It was either that or show him the photos I took during the autopsy” Campbell replied

“You didn’t actually…”

“Of course I didn’t” Campbell replied indignantly “The coroner did though and she should’ve emailed them through to me”. Tracey tutted. Campbell tutted back. He rose and started to ferret around the office looking for something. He rifled through the desk and eventually found something. “Take a look at these”.

Tracey saw that the items he’d found were nothing more than an expired driving license and a tattered programme left from a production of ’Tis Pity She’s A Whore. Campbell took an immediate interest in the programme and started flitting through. He eventually stopped at a page and stared for a brief moment. He quickly returned the driving license but folded the programme up and shoved it into his coat pocket. Todd and Gallagher returned. Gallagher was trembling slightly while wiping his face with a monogrammed handkerchief with the initials R.M.

“My apologies for that” Gallagher replied “Its just that I’ve always had quite a weak stomach and gore was never my strong point”

“Interesting” Campbell muttered

“What did you say Mr. Campbell?” Todd asked

“Its interesting” Campbell replied a little louder “Because if memory serves, a while ago there was a production of John Ford’s ’Tis Pity, which if I’m correct contains a large quantity of gore”

“What’s Jacobean theatre got to do with my hatred for gore?” Gallagher asked indignantly

“I’m just testing a theory” Campbell replied “I’m naturally under the assumption that your brother agreed with the theatre company to put on the production”

“Yes, that’s correct”. Campbell rose quickly and then presented the programme. He had held a finger in the page he’d been looking at earlier.

“Do you recognise this woman?” he asked

“Vaguely” Gallagher replied “If I remember, she lived in Bath. Worked part time as a secretary to a very hush-hush organisation”

“Can you remember her name?” Campbell asked “Was it anything like Isabelle?”

“Isabelle?” Gallagher thought “No, that’s my brother’s GP’s sister; she’s probably long since retired. The lady in that production was a Mary or Margie or something”

“Are you quite sure that Isabelle Gladstone is retired?” Tracey asked

“I’m positive” Gallagher replied “I attended all of the arthritis clinics with my brother; that was before the argument”.

“Yes, well, thank you for your time Mr. Gallagher” Todd replied “And once again, our most sincere condolences”. Gallagher bowed slightly and ushered them out of his office.

“One more question, if you don’t object” Campbell asked “Have you ever met Ephraim Westacott-Davies?”

“Yes” he replied “Quite a patron of the arts. He even agreed to help my brother with a little project he was planning, just before the argument”.

“Thank you very much indeed” Campbell replied “Do you mind if I keep hold of this? It’s merely for evidence. It’ll be returned to you”

“I’m not overly fussed” Gallagher replied “I have many others. It wasn’t a well attended performance”.

“Thank you once again sir” Campbell replied and dashed off towards Clifton Down station.

Tracey and Todd ran after him. They finally caught him stood by a newspaper vendor. He had a look of sheer joy on his face.

“Are you alright Campbell?” Tracey asked

“Never better” he replied “I wondered whether the young lady that visited us was really who she said she was”

“I’m confused” Todd interrupted “What young lady?”

“This young lady” Campbell replied, pointing at the young lady in the programme. Tracey squinted to make out the name underneath it. It read Maria Duvall, playing Annabella.

“Typecasting” Tracey said

“Indeed” Campbell replied “I need to get back to Bath and sort out this little mess”

Just then Todd’s phone vibrated. He looked at the message and almost turned pale.

“I’m heading back to Bath myself” he said slowly “And I think you’d better come with me”

“Why?’ Campbell asked

“There’s been another body found on Somerset Street” he replied “There’s work to do”.

V

After a quick phone call, a squad car came and collected them. In the front passenger seat was Benton, looking a little worried.

“Same M.O. as before sir” Benton replied “Severe burn marks to the face and upper torso. Signs of blunt force trauma on the frontal lobes of the cranium”

“What about the age of the victim?” Campbell asked

“It’s rather difficult to say without being at the scene sir” Benton replied “So…”

“Don’t be obtuse Benton!” Campbell snapped “Give me an idea of what the victim was wearing, any trace of perfume, scent or even remains of hair or personal belongings”.

“You’ll find out soon enough sir” Benton replied. Campbell was about ready to attack Sergeant Benton, but Tracey restrained him.

“Be patient” she whispered “You’ll be able to find out more than he ever could in a year’s police work”. He smiled at her and started to chuckle to himself.

“What’s funny?” Benton asked

“Nothing” Campbell replied “I’ll tell you when we get to the scene”.

***

Somerset Street was a long, enclosed street near the Forum Buildings as you approach the Bath City Bus Station. The street itself was cordoned off with police tape and the area was swarming with reporters and police.

Campbell pushed his way through the crowds and immediately ran towards the body. There were three young police officers near the body. They were almost ready to pounce when Sergeant Benton yelled “This gentleman is with me! As are his colleagues! Stand down!”

They relaxed again and resumed their original positions. Campbell neared the body and Tracey noticed that he once again turned into the bloodhound, bent over the corpse, sniffing hard. He then reached into his satchel and produced a pair of latex gloves. He snapped them on and did some more intense observations. A few moments later, he walked away from the corpse and came back towards the tape where Tracey and Todd were standing.

“Female, aged around 16 or 17” he said “Damn I hate doing this. Student, privileged child, but yet her clothes betray her”

“I don’t get it” Todd started

“Her clothes are scruffy granted, but she was wearing a locket that obviously costs a great deal of money, suggesting a privileged child from a wealthy home. Also, her fingernails have telltale signs of being well groomed, so it suggests a caring home. Yet her style of dress suggests she was…was…”

“Working as a prostitute to help her out financially” Todd reluctantly finished. Campbell nodded. Tracey gasped.

“There are times I hate this job” Todd replied “And this is one of those times”. Just then one of the officers surrounding the street appeared.

“Chief Inspector Todd?” she asked

“Yes” Todd replied “That’s me”

“There are some gentlemen that would like to have a word with you” she replied

“If they’re from the press, I’m not ready to make a statement” Todd replied

“I assure you sir, we’re not from the press” came a voice that was soft, but yet contained a hidden authority.

The crowd parted to show a man in his mid thirties, with a shaved scalp and a large ginger beard. Campbell noticed a tattoo of the word Yahweh imprinted on his left forearm and another saying Peace on his right forearm. The man wore a dark checked short sleeved shirt with black jeans and black Doc Martens with red laces. There was also a wooden crucifix around his neck. Behind him was a balding man with horn-rimmed glasses and a stubbly beard. His clothes were well kept and neat. He wore a caring, yet sickly smile.

“How do you do Chief Inspector” the first man replied “My name is Jacob McCarthy, I’m the minister of the church just up the road from here. This is my secretary, Joseph Asher”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. McCarthy” Todd replied “And you Mr. Asher. I’m sure you can understand the severity of this matter”

“Indeed we do” McCarthy replied “Anybody that breaks the Lord’s commandments must face the appropriate punishment”

“Unless he repents of his sins and seeks forgiveness of the everlasting Father” Campbell chimed in “At least, that was the teaching I was brought up with”

“Who is this man?’ Asher asked “Why is he questioning the truth of the Lord?”

Todd sighed. “This is Robinson Campbell” he replied “He’s been a consultant for many of the Avon and Somerset Constabulary’s cases”.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Campbell” McCarthy said “I see you read your bible”

“Not really” Campbell replied “But the Ten Commandments and the one commandment passed down from Christ have always been very useful in my work”

“And what exactly do you do Mr. Campbell?” Asher sneered

“I used to work as a pathologist Mr. Asher” Campbell replied “So I’m quite used to seeing the work of those who have; on several occasions, challenged the commandments beyond the point that they are; as Mr. McCarthy here said, beyond redemption”. Asher seemed to accept this and backed away slightly. Tenacious little bugger this one, Campbell thought to himself. He returned his focus to Mr. McCarthy.

“Do you know who the victim is?”

“I believe I do” McCarthy replied “At our prayer meeting a few days ago, a gentleman stood up and prayed aloud for the safe return of his employer’s daughter. The Lord must’ve given us a sign”

Or one of the people in that prayer meeting is a cold blooded murderer, Campbell thought.

“Sadly not the original sign you were hoping for” Campbell responded

“Still” Asher replied “The Lord giveth, and he taketh away”

“Yes” Todd interrupted “But she’s barely eighteen! Her life was just starting!”

Asher started to speak “Maybe God had a better…”

“Can we move away from the religious side of things for a moment?” Tracey suddenly snapped “A seventeen year old girl has been found severely burnt and battered to death. We need to focus on finding this madman and contacting this young girl’s next of kin”. Everybody froze. Campbell was dazed by this outburst. He walked over to her and put his arm around her.

“You must understand gentleman, that my colleague Doctor Hartmann is of a sensitive nature” he replied. He gave her a slight squeeze with his arm and then returned to his line of enquiry. “You were saying something about one of your parishioners mentioning an employer’s missing daughter?”

“Yes” McCarthy replied

“The employer’s name wasn’t mentioned by any chance?”

Asher spoke up. “We kept getting initials and letters. W.C.”

“Winston Churchill?” Todd replied. Campbell glared at him.

“Sir Walter Cavendish” he replied “Meaning that our victim is the Honourable Jemima Cavendish”. Todd immediately sprang into action. He ordered a squad of officers to fan out the area to look for telltale traces of the killer, then asked some of the remaining officers to help Mr. McCarthy and Mr. Asher back to the Forum and to answer some more questions.

Campbell then reached into his pocket. He retrieved his trusty Nokia and searched through the contacts until he found one called Miss Jameson. He pressed it and it started ringing. Once again the phone was on speaker.

“Hello, Yvonne Jameson here”

“Miss Jameson” he replied “It’s Mr. Campbell”

“Hello” she replied “How can I assist you?”

“Do you have access to a telephone directory?” he asked

“Oh yeah” she replied “I’ve got one right up my arse, where I keep the bloody broom for cleaning the floors”. Campbell started to get irritated.

“Can you please…”

“Miss Jameson” Tracey interrupted “It’s me, Tracey”

“Hello lovey” she replied

“Could you please look up the telephone number of Sir Walter Cavendish?”

“Just give me a second” came the reply. A few moments passed. “Found it, its 01225 674232”

“You’re a star Miss Jameson, thank you” Tracey said

“Any time lovey” she said “Any time”. She hung up. Tracey returned the Nokia back to Campbell. He then dialled the number Miss Jameson had so graciously provided. The dial tone sounded.

“Good afternoon, this is Cavendish Shipping, how may I assist you?”

“Good afternoon” Campbell replied “My name is Robinson Campbell, I’m connected with the Avon and Somerset Constabulary and we wish to speak to Sir Walter as soon as possible”

“Just hold on for a moment please” came the reply “And I’ll see if he’s available”. Then came the annoying music. Campbell started grinding his teeth. Tracey could almost read his thoughts through his expressions. He obviously wasn’t a fan of pop music. Just then the voice returned. “He has a space at four o’clock” the voice replied

“Splendid” Campbell replied “Could you let him know that we’ll come to see him. What we have to tell him is better said in person”.

VI

The office of Sir Walter Cavendish screamed land owner and country squire. Despite the office being just off the Circus, Tracey felt like she was on the set of The Green Green Grass. Sir Walter himself was a very jolly and rotund gentleman with a fine crop of wavy silver hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. He wore Harris Tweed and a bright tartan necktie. He was definitely the dictionary definition of the landed gentry in the countryside. Even his speech made him sound like a stereotype from an Ealing comedy.

“Now I understand Mr. Cowbell that you’re a representative of the police?” he said

“It’s Campbell” replied Campbell “And yes, I’m connected with the Murder Squad”

“Ah I see” he replied “Damn awkward job one can imagine. Is you’re colleague here your secretary?”

“No” Campbell said “She’s my associate, Doctor Tracey Hartmann”

“It’s amazing what women are capable of these days” Sir Walter murmured to himself.

“Indeed it is” Campbell replied “Now if I might tell you the reason why I’m here”

“Yes, of course” he replied “Don’t really know why you came all this way at all. If it was urgent, you could’ve just rang me up and we wouldn’t be dealing with this nonsense…”

“I’m afraid to tell you Sir Walter that your daughter Jemima has been found” Campbell replied

“What’s unfortunate about that?” Sir Walter asked

“She’s dead Sir Walter” Tracey said slowly “She was found on Somerset Street, badly burnt and brutally beaten”. Sir Walter’s once warm charisma died like the embers of a once roaring fire. His face went quite pale. He sat upright in his chair.

“Jem’s dead?” he replied “Are you quite sure?”

“I’m afraid so Sir Walter” Campbell replied carefully “The killer burnt away most of the face and upper torso, but left the teeth intact; so we should be able to identify her from her dental records”. It was at this point, the towering giant of international shipping toppled in a mess of tears and grief. Tracey went over to him and tried to comfort him.

“You understand that we will have to ask some personal questions Sir Walter” she said “It’s the only way we can stop any more attacks like this happening”.

“Yes” he sniffed “You’re quite right Doctor Hardman”

“It’s Hartmann” Campbell replied. Tracey shot him a dirty look which almost screamed, Campbell, this ISN’T the time to correct him.

“Ask me whatever you think will help” Sir Walter sniffed

“Was she your…”

“My own? Yes indeed. My first wife Angela, who sadly died of Breast Cancer six months ago”

“My condolences” Campbell replied “Did you remarry?”

“Yes, fourth months later” he replied “A very good friend of Angela’s. You may have heard of her, a Mary Dawson. She’s a very good little actress”

“I’m sure she is” Tracey replied “Do you have any photographs of her?”

“Hang on a second” he replied “I’ve got one or two in my wallet. I like to keep both my girls near my heart”. He reached into his tweed jacket and produced a beautifully made leather wallet and opened it. He took out a small photograph and passed it to Campbell who gave a little start after seconds of receiving it. He then passed it to Tracey. She too then froze. The picture was of Maria Duvall, alias Doctor Isabelle Gladstone.

“How long have you known your current wife Sir Walter?” Campbell asked

“She was working as a nurse at the clinic where my wife Angela was being treated” he replied “She’d done a production of John Ford’s ’Tis Pity and was regaling me with her stories of treading the boards”

“Did she make any reference of a stage name?” Campbell asked

“Yes” he replied “Now you come to mention it, she said she called herself Maria Duvall; she always admired the French. Can’t see why myself”

“Yes thank you Sir Walter” Campbell replied, returning the photograph. Sir Walter smiled at the photograph, kissed it and then returned back to its leather-bound home.

“Was your daughter happy with your choice of bride?” Tracey asked

“Not at first” Sir Walter replied “She and I would have blazing rows about dishonouring the memory of her mother”

“I can quite understand” Tracey replied “I was like that when my mother remarried after my father was killed”

“I’m sorry to hear Doctor Hartmann” Sir Walter replied “I’d no idea”

“Thank you Sir Walter” she replied “But what changed Jemima’s mind?”

“I think seeing her in person probably helped” he said “Mary is such a lovely young woman in both personality and aesthetic”

“I’m sure she is” Campbell murmured to himself. He then smiled and asked “Why would your daughter be in Bath? Was she studying at the College?”

“Yes” Sir Walter replied “As an art student. She also did some study in religious ethics I believe. She also joined one of those happy clappy churches near the bus station and got to know some of the people there”.

“Ah I see” Campbell replied “Things become clearer by the minute”

“I don’t follow you Mr. Campbell”

“Your daughter wouldn’t by any chance have been working with the homeless at any point?”

“Yes” he replied quickly “She was part of a group formed of her fellow students to help feed the homeless. She did tell me once of such a homeless man who quoted Tennyson and Shakespeare so perfectly she could’ve sworn he’d been there when it was written”. Campbell suddenly leapt from his seat.

“Thank you so much for your help Sir Walter” he replied “You’ve been absolutely first class”. He started to gather himself and then turned back and slowly replied “Your daughter’s killer will be brought to justice. You have my word and honour as a gentleman on that”.

“Thank you Mr. Campbell, and to you too Doctor Hartmann” Sir Walter said “God speed you on your journey of righteousness”.

***

A few moments later Tracey and Campbell were walking down Milsom Street. Campbell had remained very quiet since leaving Sir Walter’s office. He then suddenly stopped and looked at Tracey.

“You weren’t telling the truth in there were you?” he asked

“About what?” she said

“You know exactly about what” he replied “Your mother’s remarriage”

“You’re the detective” she said starting to walk a bit quicker “You figure it out”. Campbell was unsure quite how to respond. He decided to just laugh.

“I’m obviously a bad influence on you” he said, chuckling “Before long, you’ll start acting like me”. They both laughed at this.

“On a serious note though” she said “Is it just me or is there something bigger going on that we don’t know about?”

“There must be” Campbell said “Otherwise Kinsey wouldn’t have met us at the train station the way he did”

“What does you brother Kinsey actually do?” Tracey asked

“He’s essentially what’s known in the profession as an intelligence officer first class. He’s now under the direct orders of the prime minister” Campbell replied “He is however, a man of many faces. I don’t trust everything he says, but he is always reliable in a crisis; but that’s usually because the stupid little bugger’s got himself involved in something too big for him to manage by himself. It was the same when we were children”.

“Do you think that Maria Duvall maybe connected with your brother’s work?”

“She could be” Campbell replied “If this was a Bulldog Drummond novel, she’d certainly fit the bill for femme fatale. Three different names with three equally interesting and different back stories”

“I wonder what she’s doing?” Tracey asked

“She could be one of my brother’s moles” Campbell replied “He does have a way with female agents; even though he’s as straight as a circle. The question is, what would she want with the Gallagher brothers and the Cavendish clan?”

They reached the turn from Milsom Street into Wood Street. Tracey was about to say something when Campbell’s Nokia started vibrating. It was almost on cue now.

“Hello, Campbell here, how can I help?”

“Mr. Campbell?” came the voice “My name is Ettore Nicodemus and I’m in need of your help”

“Now just remain calm and tell me what seems to be the problem”

“I work at the Matchbox salon on St. James’ Parade” he replied “It wasn’t until I went to the Forum for help that I started to feel in danger”

“What do you mean in danger Ettore?” Campbell asked

“I think I’m being followed” Ettore replied “This little man has been following me for”. The voice suddenly stopped before there was the sound of a large blunt instrument striking flesh, loud horrible screaming and then the line went dead. Campbell quickly dialled the all too familiar number for Sergeant Benton.

“Hello Campbell” came the chirpy reply “What’s the problem?”

“Pleasantries can wait until we’ve found this body!” Campbell snapped

“What body? What you talking about?”

“I’ve just been speaking with a man called Ettore Nicodemus” he replied “He was being followed by a little man and then was suddenly attacked. I think you should head towards St. James Parade. We may already be too late”.

VII

By the time that Campbell and Tracey reached St. James Parade, the area was swarming with police. Campbell spotted the familiar face of Sergeant Benton through the mass of uniforms and pedestrians.

“You were right Campbell” Benton replied “He certainly was attacked”. Campbell looked over Benton’s shoulder and saw the smouldering remains of a large man, weighing approximately nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. He also noticed as he approached the pin pricks on the man’s forearms. There was also the familiar smells of bleach and kerosene.

“It’s the same killer” Campbell replied “Is there anybody we can get in touch with to confirm his identity?”

“You spoke to him” Benton said

“Yes, yes I did” Campbell replied as his brain suddenly switched up a gear “Thank you Sergeant”. Campbell then raced towards the Matchbox salon and burst through the door. A well-groomed young stylist approached him.

“Can I help you sir?”

“Yes” Campbell replied “Do you have an employee called Ettore Nicodemus working here?”

“Yeah we do” came the reply “He’s just gone on his break. Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“More than you could comprehend” Campbell replied “Thank you for your help sir”. Campbell left the salon and walked back towards the police tape and to the grimaced face of Sergeant Benton.

“We’ve got a positive identification on the victim” Campbell replied “Name of Ettore Nicodemus”. He turned his attentions to Tracey. “I may need you to run back to the council offices and make some enquiries about Nicodemus, his previous occupation and whether or not he had relatives”

“Got it” she replied “What will you be doing?”

“Having a little chat with my brother” he replied “Kinsey definitely knows more than he’s letting on”

“What about Maria Duvall?” Tracey asked

“That’s another job for you my dear Hartmann” Campbell replied “We’ve got to find out how she knows our victims and whether or not she is our killer”

“Have you formulated any theories yet as to who is committing this atrocities?” Benton asked

“I’ve got a vague suspicion, but alas I need more clay before I can finish my wall” Campbell replied, and then walked away towards the train station. Tracey watched him and became concerned.

“Is he normally like that?” she asked

“He’s been known to do it” Benton replied “There was a case a few years back. A serial killer known as Thanatos”

“I remember the case” Tracey replied “He killed six people, including his prison psychiatrist and three of his fellow patients”

“Campbell very nearly died himself” Benton replied “He never caught him though”

“How come?” Tracey asked dazed by this news.

Before Benton could reply, his radio went started spouting orders. Benton made his excuses and returned to the swarm of young police officers.

Tracey stood on St. James Parade amid the traffic and the smell of the commute. She suddenly realised how much her world was changing. She saw that Campbell, the self-professed human computer was susceptible to human frailties. She decided to follow her own line of enquiry. She walked back towards the Forum with an idea of talking with Joseph Asher on his own. At that point, a hand touched her on the shoulder. She turned round to see a smartly suited man wearing dark glasses.

“Would you come with me Doctor Hartmann?” he asked

“Not really no” she said, shoving him to one side

“I think you’d better” he replied “It may be useful for your friend”. She paused and turned back to look at him.

“Alright” she said “Just this once”. The man guided her towards a black Mercedes with dark tinted windows and a number plate which read KEC 1. He opened the door and she got in. He then got in the driver’s seat. A familiar voice greeted her.

“Hello lovely” replied the voice “Nice to see you again”. She turned to see the pink face of Westacott-Davies sat alongside her. She however was more intrigued to find out who the person was sat in front of her.

“Why am I here?” she asked

“Why are any of us here?” replied the man in the front seat “The body count is rising”

“Is there any reason to me even being here?” she asked. Just then the man in the front turned round. The wavy brown hair and the devilishly sly hazel eyes faced her. It was Kinsey Campbell.

“Apologies for the cloak and danger Doctor” Kinsey replied “It’s all part of my business”

“What do you want?” she asked

“Merely to offer some friendly advice” he replied “Also to enlist your services”

“What as?” she asked “A go-between?”

“Nothing quite as nasty” Kinsey stated. He then looked at Westacott-Davies. “Perhaps you’d like to tell her Ephraim”. Westacott-Davies spluttered slightly and fidgeted until he was comfortable.

“Both Kinsey and myself feel it is vital that Robinson doesn’t solve this mystery” he replied

“Why?” she asked, dumbfounded by this statement “Because it will reveal that you helped Joseph Gallagher fake his disappearance with the assistance of one of the Ministry’s finest agents playing the role of doctor”

“It seems that I’ve underestimated your skills of deduction” Kinsey replied through gritted teeth

“How could you possibly know anything of this?” Westacott-Davies exclaimed

“It’s all rather elementary” she replied “Joseph Gallagher was heavily in debt as a result of his backing many flops within theatrical circles. However, in a recent production of John Ford’s Tis Pity, he met and fell in love with a rather charming young actress called Maria Duvall. She then let him know that she could help him make his debts disappear and he could start afresh. The two planned his disappearance right down to the last detail. However, she needed an influential person to help with the plot. So she got Gallagher to reach out to Westacott-Davies who helped falsify records for a Joe Muggins; an elderly pensioner who was sleeping rough after losing all of his money in a financial disaster. To go the extra mile, Miss Duvall, masquerading as Doctor Gladstone also managed to falsify Gallagher’s medical file; again with the assistance of you Mr. Westacott-Davies”

“Very impressive” Kinsey scoffed “But where do I come into it?”

“It’s very simple” replied the man in the sunglasses “For you see brother mine, Miss Maria Duvall, alias Doctor Isabelle Gladstone, alias Mary Dawson, Lady Cavendish is an agent in Her Majesty’s Ministry of Defence”. The man removed his sunglasses and wig to reveal it was Robinson Campbell. “Excellent coupe brother mine, but you really need to be more original with character development”.

“You always were too clever for your own good” Kinsey sneered “You’re right. Miss Duvall is an operative of mine. However, she was acting under strict orders to uncover drug smuggling amongst the homeless communities of Bath. She felt that it might come from one of the employers of Sir Walter, so used Gallagher as a mole within the homeless community. He was a useful asset. We then traced the deals back to an asylum seeker, and former university professor called Ettore Nicodemus, who; for a time worked as a dock hand for Cavendish Shipping”

“All circumstantial” Campbell sneered back “Nicodemus was a client of the real dealer, who potentially could be our killer”.

“What makes you so sure?” Westacott-Davies piped up

“It’s more an inkling” Campbell replied “Never mind, I’ll have a detailed explanation for these murders and your drug smuggler before the end of the week”. He turned to Tracey. “Shall we leave the Dandy and the Porker to their rendezvous?”

She tried not to laugh as she got out of the car and followed him.

“You’re incredible” she replied chuckling “That disguise was excellent”

“I did the occasional bit of amateur dramatics” he replied “But on another note, we have to track down Maria Duvall; I have a feeling that she isn’t safe”

“What you said to Kinsey and Westacott-Davies” she started “That was true?”

“Naturally” he replied “Our killer is however, a religious fanatic that is trying to cleanse others while he continues to pollute the streets with his hypocrisy”

“Why do you say religious fanatic?” she asked

“Looking back over the victims it suddenly clicked” he said “The burning is to act as some kind of sacrifice. The bleach acts as a cleansing agent; possibly given to the victim in drink form. There is also the cause of death. A strange shaped bruise formed on the frontal lobe. Its in the shape of the cross”

“Meaning our killer believes he is an emissary of God, and killing anybody that goes against his teachings” Tracey replied

“Exactly” Campbell said. Tracey smiled. Campbell then reached for his mobile and dialled the number of the card Duvall had given him. It was time to put this matter to bed.

VIII

“Welcome to the EE voicemail, I’m sorry, but the person you’re calling is unable to take your call, please leave your message after the tone. When you’ve finished recording, just hang up or to hear more options press the hash”.

“Hello, we need to talk” Campbell replied after the beep “26 Millmead Road, 6.30 tonight. No tricks, Miss Duvall”. He then hung up.

“That’s ominous” Tracey said “You’ve been watching too many movies”

“I don’t enjoy cinema really” he replied “It’s unrealistic and too far departed from existence”.

“I see what you mean” she replied “You’ve got to admit though this does feel like…”

“An Alfred Hitchcock thriller?” Campbell interrupted “It does rather. The woman with many faces, the disappearing theatre manager and the ministry spooks. Rather too much like a cheap detective story”. He sighed. “Hopefully Miss Duvall will get back in touch”.

“And if she doesn’t?”

“I’ll torture Kinsey until he squeals like the little schoolboy he is” Campbell hissed. Tracey could now see why the two brothers didn’t get on so well.

***

Later that evening, back at Millmead Road, Tracey was scrolling through her Facebook feed. She noticed a suggested friend called ‘Diana Martine’. She clicked on the link and studied the profile very careful; curiosity was known to occasionally be a strong asset. Obviously a cat fish, she thought, but looked through the profile even closer than before. She could see two familiar faces, Maria Duvall, the Honourable Jemima Cavendish and a third girl in silken lingerie in provocative sexual poses. She immediately ran to Campbell’s sanctum and knocked on the door.

“It’s not locked” he yelled back. She opened the door to find the room was a tip; once again. There were several small piles of books and case files littered around the floor. Campbell was sat on the small bed in the corner, propped up on several cushions surrounded by a small river of papers; it looked like a mishmash of sheet music and autopsy reports. “Find anything interesting?” he asked

“I think you’d better come and look at this” she said “There might be a new angle to this case”. At hearing this, Campbell threw everything in the air and followed her back to her room. She showed him the picture she’d found. “What do you think?”

“Clearly our killer is playing games with us” Campbell murmured “The pubescent heiress and the ministry stooge caught up in a rather interesting little…”

“I think I get the idea” she replied “Why post it on her page?”

“The person who posted this rather disgusting photograph isn’t Diana Martine”

“Then who is it?”

Just as Campbell was about to explain, he could hear the Nokia tune playing from his sanctum. He raced back and managed to answer it just in time.

“Robinson Campbell speaking”

“Hello Mr. Campbell” came the frightened reply “This is Isabelle Gladstone”

“Hello Doctor Gladstone” Campbell replied “Or should I call you Maria Duvall?”

“There’s no time for this cheap theatre Mr. Campbell” Maria snapped “I’m in danger”

“Yes you certainly are” he replied “Where are you?”

“I’m stood at the Train station waiting for a taxi” she replied “I’m heading up to meet you, to tell you all that I know about this business”

“There’s no need Miss Duvall” Campbell replied “We’ll come and meet you. Can you find your way to Caffé Nero and get a table near the back if possible”

“I’ll try” she said “But please hurry!”

“Stay on the phone” he said quickly. He looked at Tracey. She read his mind and took the phone from Campbell’s hand as he darted back into his sanctum. She could feel the tension rising like a storm way out on the horizon. Campbell swiftly returned with a riding crop, and his satchel.

“Keep talking to her” he replied “She’s our only link to catching the killer”.

The two darted out and searched for a taxi. They reached Moorland Road, just as there was a shrill scream coming from the phone, then a gunshot, then silence. Campbell took the phone back from Tracey and hung up. He reached inside his satchel for the pill bottle labelled Hydrocodone. He shook out six pills and swallowed them. He then put them back in the satchel. Tracey didn’t know quite how to react.

“She was ready to tell us something!” Campbell snapped “However, because of ME, she’s dead!”

Before Tracey could intervene, he grabbed his mobile and called the number of Sergeant Benton and demanded that he and his finest officers get down to Bath Spa station and start searching for the body of Maria Duvall. After that, he then called up a taxi firm.

“Hello, my name is Robinson Campbell, I’d like a taxi from Moorland Road to Bath Spa station please”

“Whereabouts on Moorland Road?” asked the operator

“Does it really matter?” Campbell hissed back “Just get your best driver here as soon as possible. Money is no object!”

“Alright sir” replied the operator “Just hang tight and we’ll send someone to you”.

Campbell hung up and almost threw his trusted Nokia into the path of a lorry. Tracey restrained him.

“It’s not your fault Campbell” she said

“And how can you be so sure?” he snapped, trying to hold back the tears “Of course it’s my fault. She came to me for protection and I dawdled for too long and…”

“For fuck sake, shut up!” Tracey snapped “You think you’re so fucking brilliant; that you know everything. It’s quite obvious that you’re as human as I am. You weren’t to know that your Ministry spook brother would send an agent into a dangerous situation like this. She knew the risks and died in the line of duty. If anybody is to blame for her death, its your brother, not you!”

Campbell stood taken aback at this outburst. He could see how childish he’d been.

“I’m sorry Tracey” he said quietly, offering a hug “It’s just like the…”

“I know, I know” she cooed “But this man isn’t as clever as Thanatos is he? You’ll catch this one”. Campbell looked at her and smiled. She was the something he’d noticed he’d been missing; the strong, yet caring companion to help him through the rages and the battles of his career. Just then a large blue Honda pulled up and the driver rolled down the window.


“Are you Robinson Campbell?” he asked

“Yes” he replied “Thank you for being so punctual”

“So where are you heading?” he said “The train station?”

“On second thoughts” Campbell started “Make that the Forum buildings please; there’s somebody I need to talk to”.

IX

“And how may I be able to help you Mister?” said the man at the door

“Campbell, Robinson Campbell” Campbell replied “I’m looking for the Reverend Jacob McCarthy”

“The Reverend is a tad busy at the present” he said “Have you got a phone number or anything you want me to pass on?”

“Just an invitation to tea tomorrow afternoon” Campbell replied

“What time?” the man asked “The Reverend is a busy man”

“I’m quite sure he is” Campbell said in a sickly sweet voice “Would 4 O’Clock be suitable?”

“If you give me your address, I’ll relay the invitation to the Reverend”

“Certainly” Campbell replied “If he asks who I am, tell him I’m a friend of Sir Walter Cavendish”.

“Will do Mr. Campbell” the man replied

“One more thing” said Campbell “Could you also ask Mr. Asher to come along as well?”

“If I must” the man replied “He’ll probably turn up of his own accord anyhow. He’s so keen to be picked for the diaconate he’ll do anything to be noticed”

“Is that right?” Campbell murmured “Thank you so much for your help. God Bless”

“And the same to you Mr. Campbell” replied the man.

Campbell sauntered away like the cat that got the cream. Tracey had been stood on the other side of the road watching this scene between the man on the door and Campbell unfold. She felt like she was watching a comedy of errors.

“Did you’re guardian of the pearly gates tell you anything?” she asked

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you Hartmann” he replied “And yes, but I’ll explain later”.

They started walking towards the station and were suddenly met by a graven-faced Chief Inspector Todd. He was wearing latex gloves and he stunk of kerosene and bleach.

“You took your sweet time getting here!” Todd snapped

“Apologies Inspector” Campbell replied “Following up a line of enquiry”

“If you’re quite finished” Todd said “Do you want to see the body?”

“The victim, Miss Maria Duvall, alias Lady Mary Cavendish, alias Doctor Isabelle Gladstone was shot with her own pistol I assume, and burnt post mortem”

“Yes” said Todd aghast “But how could you?”

“I spoke to her before she was murdered” Campbell said “She screamed at the sight of her attacker and drew her pistol to defend herself. There was a struggle and the gun went off killing her instantly. I surmise that our killer; who was furious at this turn of events, decided to complete the ritual of sacrificial burning”

“Why do you say sacrificial burning?” Todd asked

“Tell me Inspector, are you free tomorrow at 4 O’Clock?”

“Yes” he said “Why?”

“I’m holding a little tea party” Campbell replied “Where I will tell all I know about these gruesome murders and will also help you apprehend the culprit”

“So who else will be at this little gathering?” Todd asked

“Lets see, Robin Gallagher, Sir Walter Cavendish, the Reverend Jacob McCarthy, your good self, and Mr. Joseph Asher”

“Quite the crowd” Todd said “I hope you know what you’re doing”

“I’m not going to be beaten by this” Campbell said “Now, may I see the body”.

“Certainly” Todd said “Follow me”. Campbell then turned to Tracey and handed her a folded scrap of lined paper.

“Follow those instructions” he whispered “And you’ll find out enough to help me nail our murder’s coffin lid shut”

“Will do” she whispered back. He then left to follow Todd. She then gingerly unfolded the paper and read the contents. It was an address and a phone number.

Xylia Angelica McNab

25 Clyde Gardens

Twerton

BA2 1DG

Beneath that was scribbled: Nicodemus’ ex-student. Possible lead

Tracey called the number and waited.

“Hey, you’ve reached Xylia” came the reply
“Hello Xylia” Tracey said “My name is Tracey, I’m a friend of Ettore Nicodemus”

“How can I help?” she asked

“Would you mind if I popped round to chat in person?”

“Your call Trace” Xylia said “If you wanna come round, might as well be now”.

***

Half an hour later, Tracey was stood at the top of the stone steps leading down to 25 Clyde Gardens. The house was surrounded with many overgrown bushes and the front garden was littered with cigarette butts and overflowing recycling bins. She carefully manoeuvred down the steps and rang the bell. A young girl wearing a crop top, and ripped blue jeans answered the door. She had long, brunette curls that were scraped back into a long ponytail. Her eyes were small blue pools of madness that shone out of her slightly tanned skin. She could also see a small platinum and gold crucifix around her neck; as well as several other necklaces and amulets. Tracey was immediately aware of how pretty this young lady was.

“Are you Xylia?” Tracey finally asked

“Yeah” she said “Come on in. Nobody else home at the present; so I’m in charge”

“How lovely” Tracey said. Xylia showed Tracey into the porch and then into the hallway. The walls were streaked with badly dried white paint. There was a small quantity of gaudy doodads and ornaments dotted around the place. Xylia took Tracey’s coat and hung it up on the hook.

“Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?” Xylia asked

“I’m fine, thank you” said Tracey smiling “But don’t let me stop you”. Xylia turned on the kettle and grabbed herself a fine china mug decorated with ornate flowers.

“So you know Tory” Xylia said

“Tory?” Tracey queried

“Mr. Nicodemus” Xylia responded “He preferred to be called Tory. He said that Ettore was; how should I put this”

“Too formal?”

“Sort of” she replied

“And I’m guessing that he wasn’t a very formal person?” Tracey asked

“He could be” Xylia started “When the time was right”. Tracey paused for a moment. She had to think how she should handle this. Her mind was racing with all the information she knew how damaged this young lady was and how she could be vital to bringing a homicidal madman to justice.

“What was your relationship like with Mr. Nicodemus?” Tracey asked

“You mean…” Xylia started

“Were you merely a student or was there…”

“I was his lover” she replied quickly “For three semesters, my life was a whirlwind of romance, psychological study and passion”. Tracey was amazed at this young lady’s honesty and openness about the situation.

“Don’t look so shocked” Xylia said “Tory was a very private and tender man. He would never have done anything to seriously hurt me”

“Not according to the police record that was filed against Mr. Nicodemus” Tracey finally replied “The police aren’t exactly enamoured with predatory figures seducing young girls; particularly when he is in a position of responsibility and care”. Tracey stopped before herself, as she could feel a tirade coming on. She breathed slow, deep breaths and recomposed herself. “I’m sure he made you feel very special” she replied smiling “But was it true that he introduced you to hard substances?”

“Yes” Xylia replied “It’s something I’m not proud of, but it’s true. He would often bring me something that would spice up our sex life and help me stay awake to study”

“Was it Cocaine?” Tracey asked

“Yes” Xylia replied “Usually in liquid form. According to Tory, a seven per cent solution was very good for concentrating the mind and creating an equal balance with your intellectual side”

“I see” Tracey muttered. She smiled again. “So what exactly happened after you and Mr. Nicodemus were discovered?”

At this point, the once calm and open young lady shrunk into herself and she started to shiver. Tracey could see Xylia’s mind tracing over the steps of her life before now; and the look of horror on her face was enough to frighten anybody.

“He…he…he was suspended” she replied “Waiting for the police to finish their enquiries”

“What about you?” Tracey asked “Were you able to…”

“What do you think?” Xylia snapped “In the police’s eyes, Tory was a vicious opportunistic rapist who seduced me, filled me full of drugs and used me”

“What do you mean, used you?” Tracey asked “Did he have any certain fetishes or kinks in the bedroom?”

“Not really” she said “He did like to watch me make out with other girls”

“Interesting” Tracey said “Did he ever take pictures or footage of these exploits?”

“Yes” she said ashamedly “He said it was a way of keeping me young and alive forever”.

Just then, Tracey’s phone vibrated. She opened it and saw a text from Campbell which read:

Ask Xylia about the Forum church. See whether or not she could have inadvertently provided our murderer with suspect identity. Also, ask whether she knew Jemima Cavendish or Maria Duvall. For latter, use all known aliases. R.C.

“Is everything alright Doctor Hartmann?” Xylia asked. Tracey looked up from her phone.

“Yes” Tracey replied quickly “Just my colleague checking up on me”.

“Ah” Xylia said, as she heard the kettle switch off. She then went to make her cup of tea.

“I notice that you wear a crucifix” Tracey said “Are you a believer?”

“I was saved” Xylia replied with her back to Tracey “By a very kind man at the church near the bus station”

“How did that occur?” Tracey asked

“Why do you want to know?” Xylia asked, turning back towards Tracey.

“I’m trying to find out who killed Ettore Nicodemus, and three other people” Tracey said “Every little detail you can give me will be of the greatest help”. Xylia then turned back, stirred her teabag in the cup and deposited the used bag on piece of kitchen roll. She then walked back over to where Tracey was sitting and sat down.

“As I said” Xylia started “After the police arrested Tory, I was left in the lurch by both the university and the man I once had loved. I dropped out of uni two days after he was put on trial. I found this place with some of my old friends, and I started finding little jobs in cafés and bars. After a while, I was approached by a woman who claimed to be a professional photographer. She said that if I posed with some girls for a series of photos, she’d give me two hundred and fifty pounds. Naturally, I took the offer. However, what occurred after this, was not what I’d originally planned”

“So I’ve seen” Tracey said, reaching for her phone and searching for the picture she’d been sent. “Was the lady’s name Diana Martine?”

“That sounds familiar” Xylia said

“And the other girls you posed with, did you know their names?”

“I can’t really remember” Xylia replied “One was a toffee-nosed little madam who was a white as white could be. She was a real daddy’s girl; and quite the little minx after some coaxing from Joey”

“Who’s Joey?” Tracey asked

“He was the photographer” she replied “He worked on behalf of Diana Martine; and provided ways to help the nervous ones along”

“Right” Tracey said “So this Joey, how old was he?”

“I’d say late twenties, dark greasy hair, but gentle and sweet” Xylia said “He didn’t seem to enjoy his work; I suppose he just wanted the money”

“Who doesn’t” Tracey responded. Xylia giggled like a schoolgirl. “What about the older looking brunette in the photograph?”

“You mean Marcie?” Xylia asked “She was a real pro. She claimed to have done everything from hardcore naughties to soft-core photoshoots. She managed to whip the little daddy’s girl into shape; and really got close with her”

“Did the little daddy’s girl ever seem unusually close to Marcie?”

“Marcie kept making jokes about being the perfect mother to her” Xylia said “They could’ve been related, but it was hard to tell”.

“Did Marcie ever say what the girl’s name was?” said Tracey “Like Jemima?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Xylia exclaimed “That was it, Jemima. She was younger than us though; so I can understand why she was nervous. Yet, she soon learned about pleasure and how to use what the almighty gave her”.

“I’m quite sure” Tracey muttered. Xylia could see that Tracey was getting uncomfortable with the topic.

“But after doing the shoots for a little over two months, Joey invited me to go to his church one Sunday morning. He had only recently joined and was now seeking forgiveness”

“Understandably” Tracey commented “So did you go along?”

“It changed my life completely” Xylia exclaimed “It was like something that had been dead inside me was soon reawakened and my soul started to sing again”.

“I’m so pleased to hear that” Tracey said “Did you ever see Marcie or Jemima again?”

“I saw them both in town, getting out of a cab at the train station. Jemima was wearing long black overcoats and stilettos, but Marcie was wearing a black blouse with a smart business suit. She was also carrying what looked like a doctor’s bag”.

“Thank you so much Xylia” Tracey replied “You’ve been a great help”

“I won’t have to go to court about any of this will I?” she asked “I don’t want to go through that again”. Tracey rose and turned to face Xylia. She put her arms on her shoulders.

“Xylia, you have my word”. With that she smiled and showed herself out.

X

“Splendid work Hartmann” Campbell replied “Absolutely first rate”.

“She seemed like such a delicate flower” Tracey said “I hope she’ll be alright”

“She will be” Campbell said “Beneath that aching heart, lies the soul of a tigress. She got in touch with me after hearing about the deaths of Nicodemus and Miss Cavendish”.

“How many aliases do you think Miss Duvall had?” Tracey asked

“It’s rather difficult to say” he replied “First Mary Dawson, then Isabelle Gladstone and now Marcie”

“She’s also covered all the jobs along the spectrum” Tracey commented “From doctor, to titled lady, to actress to an adult entertainer”

“I thought she was something more than just a doctor” Campbell replied.

Tracey smiled. The past few days had indeed been interesting. She’d originally thought moving to back Bath alone would prove to be an adventure; how wrong she was. She looked at her watch, it was twenty five past three. Miss Jameson was pottering around in her little room at the front of 26 Millmead Road; she was always up to something.

This little tea party of Campbell’s promised to be big reveal. He had nipped out for a few moments to get the necessary elements to make this an appropriate occasion for such distinguished guests.

“He’s basically gone for three boxes of French Fancies, two boxes of Bakewell Tarts and a sponge cake” Miss Jameson said “That’s his idea of high tea”

“At least he won’t charge exorbitant prices like they do off Pultney Bridge” Tracey remarked. They both laughed. “How long have you known Campbell?”

“He first came into my orbit five years ago” Miss Jameson said “He had just been involved in that dreadful Thanatos murder spree. He wasn’t in the best of shape; but I had a problem with a tenant of mine who refused to come out of their room and left short utterances on his messenger. Mr. Campbell was very efficient in clearing up the matter”. She smiled and was about to head back into her room when she stopped. “How do you know him?”

“Mutual friend” Tracey replied “I’d never even heard of him until the first day I moved here”

“That sounds about right” Miss Jameson said. She shrugged and retreated back into her room. Tracey went into the kitchen and started preparing the cups and tea plates. She tried to find a teapot, but had no success. At that moment Campbell returned.

“Any luck with your supplies?” Tracey asked

“Four boxes of French Fancies under five pounds” Campbell murmured “Not to mention a rather appetising carrot cake and some fig rolls”

“That’ll be a yes then” Tracey replied. Campbell walked into the kitchen, struggling with four rather full shopping bags. “That surely can’t all be for this afternoon?”

“Indeed it is” Campbell replied “Only one bag contains perishable goods. The remaining contents are gifts from Chief Inspector Todd and my dear brother Kinsey”.

“Anything interesting?” Tracey asked, starting to get excited

“Indeed” Campbell replied with a sly grin. He deposited on bag on the kitchen counter then walked through to the lounge and placed the other three on the table. He slowly removed the items from each bag. Tracey looked on and watched what was being put out on the table:

Chequebook belonging to a Mister J.M. Gallagher

Service Revolver with engraved initials M.D.

’Tis Pity She’s A Whore by John Ford - inscribed by Maria Duvall and Joseph Gallagher

Edition of Youth Bible - tattered and well used - inscribed to Jemima with love Dad

Three soiled pairs of lace lingerie from Ann Summers

A dirty and faded white rag

A tyre iron

“Interesting” she mused “So, have you raided a charity shop or this actual evidence?”

“Very amusing” replied Campbell through gritted teeth. Tracey could sense that he was close to capturing his quarry. “Now, is Miss Jameson about?”

“She should be” Tracey replied “Any particular reason?”

“You’ll see” Campbell replied with a sly grin. He quickly checked his watch and left the room. Just then the shrill ring from the front door sounded. Tracey walked to the front door. She opened it to find a rather small crowd assembled on the front step. She looked through the sea of faces and there wasn’t one she didn’t recognise. At the front of the group was Chief Inspector Todd, backed by a bewildered looking Sergeant Benton. Behind them was a rather indignant looking Sir Walter Cavendish who was trying to avoid any glances from a nervous and edgy Robin Gallagher; and they both were trying to avoid any contact with Reverend McCarthy and Joseph Asher who were already locked into a deep theological discussion.

“Welcome to our humble abode” Tracey stated warmly “Do please follow me through to the lounge. Mr. Campbell will be with us shortly”

“Why isn’t he here to greet us?” Sir Walter piped up

“He’s just sorting a couple of things out” Tracey replied “I promise he will be in attendance”

“I should damn well hope so” Gallagher replied “I’ve got to meet a director in an hour”. Just then Campbell appeared in the doorway quite transformed in appearance. He was in a dark grey suit jacket with a white collarless shirt and black tank top. He had combed his hair and was wearing cologne. Tracey was a bit amazed; anybody would think he was going on a date.

“I assure you Mr. Gallagher this will only take a few minutes of your valuable time. Now if you’ll all just do as the good doctor told you all will be over in a jiffy”. Slowly the small group moved from the uneven step into the house. Tracey led the way and Campbell hovered by the doorway. He waited until everybody was in the lounge before knocking on Miss Jameson’s door.

“Yes?” Miss Jameson said

“Could you possibly start serving tea for our guests?” Campbell asked

“Of course” Miss Jameson smiled. She winked at him. Campbell winked back. He then followed her through into the lounge. His guests were already quite comfortable and were each enjoying a cup of tea.

“Good afternoon gentlemen” Campbell replied “I can’t thank you all enough for accepting my invitation to this little soirée”

“Can you cut the fine glass humour?” Todd snapped

“As you wish Chief Inspector” Campbell replied. He walked towards the table and rested against it. “I’m sure you all know why you’re all here”. He paused for a brief moment. “I’ll take that as a yes. So it only leaves me to tell you that one of the people in this very room is a cold-blooded murderer who has warmed their hands in the bodies of four innocent people”. There was another brief silence.

“When I first started my investigation into these singular yet un-seemingly linked deaths, I first struggled to understand why the victims were set alight in the first place. The blow to the head would surely have been more than enough to kill any of them. Even the strong armed Miss Maria Duvall would have gone down with one blow; but she didn’t. So our killer had to improvise”.

“Okay we get that” Todd interrupted “But what does any of this have to do with the burning and the bleach?”

“I was just coming to that” Campbell responded, glaring at Todd. “Our killer is a religious fanatic”

“That’s rather a bold claim to make sir” Reverend McCarthy replied “How can you say that any man felt he was acting for God?”

“I can sir and I do!” Campbell snapped “Now please, if you all continue to interrupt me then we will be here all night!”

Tracey then entered the room. She walked towards Campbell and started speaking.

“What my colleague is trying to convey is that the killer’s use of bleach could be seen as a way to rid the victim of their sin; when that didn’t work, the killer then struck them with a cross shaped instrument which I’m assuming was something like a tyre iron, and then set them alight post mortem to try to redeem them before meeting judgement”.

“What Doctor Hartmann said is absolutely correct” Campbell replied. “Thank you Tracey” he whispered to her. “The question is who could do such a heinous thing as the good reverend himself pointed out. Well the thing is each of you had a motive for killing at least one of them”

“This is ridiculous!” Sir Walter snapped “I’m a peer and one of her Majesty’s knights”

“Who had married a young lady claiming to be a nurse who in reality had posed in nude pictures with both your daughter and a third girl. You had a motive for killing your wife for the act of betrayal and your daughter for the shame she had brought on you in this act”

“Leave him alone!” Gallagher snapped “Yes I hated my brother, but I would never…”

“You could have easily traced your brother’s whereabouts, travelled to Bath and killed him. Then all it would take after we came to visit you would be to track down the fake Doctor Gladstone and silence her”

“You’re talking complete nonsense!” Reverend McCarthy snapped “None of these men that you’re accusing could have done these things”

“And just because you stand in a pulpit on a Sunday, you think that you aren’t tempted by sin?” Campbell sneered “You had access to each victim. You also had the opportunity to attack each one; particularly Miss Cavendish and Nicodemus as they were both found within minutes of your church”

“And what would his motive be?” Asher snapped “Because you can’t honestly find one. You’re literally throwing ideas into the air and hoping someone will…” He stopped mid sentence.

“Precisely” Campbell replied in a hushed manner “You, Mr. Asher. You are the Forum Prophet. You killed four people with your Cleansing Fire”

“Really?” Todd replied. Asher started to laugh. Gallagher and Sir Walter sat stunned looking at this rather unattractive man in his mid thirties giggling like a naughty schoolboy.

“Oh yes indeed Inspector” Campbell replied “Joseph Asher killed Joseph Marshall Gallagher, the Honourable Jemima Cavendish, Ettore Nicodemus and Maria Duvall. Whats more I can prove how he did it”. There was another hushed silence. Campbell turned back to the table and picked up the first item that came to hand.

“This is a copy of John Ford’s Jacobean tragedy Tis Pity She’s A Whore which was put on in late September of last year by the Gallagher brothers at the Alma Tavern Theatre which turned out to be a flop. Joseph Gallagher was already heavily in debt and needed a way to escape his creditors. He came into contact with Maria Duvall who was a covert agent with the British Secret Service and was originally undercover to expose a drugs ring within Sir Walter Cavendish’s shipping company. However, she found that her skills for acting would come in very handy as she got talking with Joseph and enlisted him as a way of finding out how drugs were distributed in cities such as Bath. This however required him to escape and assume the identity of Joe Muggins, the beloved beggar of Bath. Miss Duvall assumed the identity of his physician Doctor Gladstone so she was able to keep tabs on him. However, at this time, she had also entered caught the attention of Sir Walter. She had some minor medical training so when she posed as Mary Dawson, the nurse at the Cancer clinic all she told you about your late wife’s condition was factual and accurate”. He paused for a brief moment. He returned the book to the table and then gingerly grabbed the lace underwear.

“Furthermore, she now had a stepdaughter who she could easily use at her disposal; and use her she did. These silken panties were found on your daughter’s person; she was probably still involved with the photographer that Miss Duvall; who called herself Marcie during this period as a pornographic model to entice a third member into this circle of intrigue through an unsuspecting ex-university student called Xylia who also posed in these pictures. The disgraced university lecturer Ettore Nicodemus, who was making ends meet working in a barbershop was a client of the dealer working within Cavendish shipping. The dealer is Mr. Asher; whom I believe is an employee of the Radstock offices and occasionally moonlighted as a cheap smut photographer. He realised that Miss Duvall was a threat to his whole operation; so he became consumed by a towering religious mass hellbent on destroying this one link to his life full of sin. How’m I doing so far?”

“A very interesting piece of literacy so far Mr. Campbell” Asher mused “Carry on”

“I intend to” Campbell replied “The first thing that drew me to you as the murder became apparent after we had been introduced. From the body of Joseph Gallagher the marks on his forehead were in the shape of a cross; but yet no sign of robbery or struggle, merely just a kindly evangelical street walker who offers a homeless man a drink laced with bleach. When he was choking, you picked him up and then struck him with the tyre iron. The fire was a nice touch. The kerosene was concealed in a little plastic bottle you carry around in your coat pocket, and then to put a light to it with a lighter from the church office”.

“What would benefit me in killing somebody I hardly even knew?” Asher replied

“Technically speaking” Campbell replied “You did know him. He came to one of your soup kitchen sessions and apparently asked a lot of questions about you in particular. The doorman at your church is very helpful. Now that you had got Gallagher out the way, the young Jemima Cavendish came into play. She would be relatively easy to get rid of. You’d been bribing her with some extra money; not to mention access to high quality lingerie and perfume. Her silence was vital; but you saw what a pious young woman she was and; consumed with jealousy at her ascension in the church membership, which you so sorely sought after, you offered her a new bottle of perfume which was laced with bleach and hydrochloric acid. When she sprayed it on her wrist, it started to burn and then you struck her with the tyre iron. You got a little more creative with Miss Cavendish; making it appear the killer was also a rapist. Fortunately there was no sign of sexual assault on the body; just a warped mind at work”

“You’ll pay for this sir!” Sir Walter snapped

“He’s talking out of his hat!” Asher snapped back. Campbell glared at Asher as he returned the lingerie to the table and then continued.

“Then there was Nicodemus. An interesting character within this little drama. He was a heavy addict who drained your resources; but he had also become entangled with Miss Duvall’s narcotics crusade and you decided to strike at his weakest point. The day you murdered him, you visited the salon where he worked and offered him a new supply which he would send with a cup of coffee from somewhere like Starbucks. You made sure that it would be laced with bleach and you followed him to make sure he drank it. You didn’t realise however, that he would call me. Your little scuffle was overheard. Knowing that I would be swift to react, you set him alight just as the first set of sirens were heard approaching. You finally were closer to your quarry. A dangerously attractive young lady who had won the heart of your employer and was so close to destroying your entire network. She had to die. You called her to meet you to discuss terms at the train station. Once again, you had something prepared with bleach that would cause her to react and then you would attack her with the tyre iron and set her alight. She had just spoken to me and left the phone on in her pocket when you started to attack her. However, Miss Duvall had been trained in dealing with armed opponents. She drew her firearm, but in the struggle the gun went off killing her instantly. This scuppered your entire plan. So after making sure that the coast was clear, you doused her body in the remains of the kerosene and set her alight. You took the gun and tossed it in the tunnel near the station. You then quickly made your escape walking up through Walcott and then back round to the Forum with just enough time to tidy yourself up before the church meeting”.

Asher started to clap sarcastically. Everybody else, including the two policemen sat in awe of Campbell’s analysis.

“A highly amusing theory Mr. Campbell” Asher replied “But you’re lacking one strong piece of your puzzle. Proof”.

“I have all the proof I need” Campbell replied “Doctor Hartmann, is the CCTV footage from Matchbox ready for viewing?”

“It should be by this evening” Tracey replied “Lets not forget the finger prints we found”

“Of course” Campbell replied “Thank you for reminding me”

“What finger prints?” Asher asked

“The ones we found of Miss Cavendish’s bible cover. They were rather clear”

“That’s impossible!” Asher snapped “Because I was wearing…”

“Gloves” Tracey replied “You sought after money, and a place in the holy realm. Neither of which I imagine are waiting for you”.

“Quite right” Campbell replied “Inspector Todd, Sergeant Benton here is your killer as promised and it is not even four thirty”.

“Alright” Todd replied “Thank you Mr. Campbell”. He then turned to Benton who approached Asher and cuffed him. “Take him out to the car. I’ll be there in a minute”.

“Righto sir” Benton replied as he started reading Asher his rights.

“Thank you once again Mr. Campbell” Todd replied “I honestly don’t know how we could have solved this without your efforts”

“I can’t take all the credit” Campbell replied grandly “I had a very good pair of hands and eyes in Hartmann here. She’s a real asset”

“That she is sir” Todd replied “Well, if you’ll excuse me”

“Of course Inspector” Campbell replied “Hopefully we’ll cross paths again”

“Here’s hoping” Todd replied. He waved and then left. The door slammed behind him.

Sir Walter, Robin Gallagher and the Reverend McCarthy were still sat down looking dumbfounded. The Reverend immediately rose in pursuit of Asher and the police. He rushed out and slammed the door behind him. Campbell didn’t seem surprised. He had probably expected it.

“You’ll have to excuse my eccentric ways” Campbell replied “To you Mr. Gallagher and to you Sir Walter, may I once again offer my sincerest condolences and hope that you may have some comfort knowing that the man who brought you so much sadness will be facing an eternity of it”

“Yes well” Gallagher replied rising “Thank you for all you’ve done. I must be off. I’ve got a train to catch. But thank you all the same”. He then dashed out and once again the door slammed.

“Damned impertinent fellow” Sir Walter grumbled. He extended a shaking hand to Campbell. “Thank you sir for all your hard work. If there is anything either you or your colleague ever require, don’t hesitate to ask”

“Well” Tracey piped up “As a matter of fact there is. Could I ask you a special favour?”
“Certainly my dear” Sir Walter replied “Always happy to help if I can”

“The young girl that became embroiled with your daughter and Miss Duvall is in desperate need of a job and…”

“Say no more” Sir Walter said “Tell her from me that she starts work next Monday in my office. Would three thousand a month be okay to start off with?”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted” Tracey replied “Thank you”

“My pleasure” he replied. He took Tracey’s hand, kissed it and graciously exited making sure that the door didn’t slam.

“Well Campbell” Tracey replied “It certainly has been a trying experience these past few days”

“Indeed it has” Campbell replied “Now its back to boredom and misery until the next one comes along”

“You weren’t being serious about the CCTV footage were you?”

“Of course not” Campbell replied laughing “It was a little extra touch. But Asher will be shopped by our Miss Xylia who agreed to testify against him in court”

“How did she find out that Joseph Asher was the murderer?” Tracey asked

“I went to see her this morning. It was after your little visit. She said that she would have come to the house this afternoon to prove it; but I feared for her safety. She’s been with a very dedicated police guard”. Just then Miss Jameson appeared.

“Just look at you two” she remarked “Like bits and bobs found in a drawer; you seem all battered and bruised, but put you both together and you can really kill ‘em”

“A rather interesting allegory” Campbell replied through gritted teeth. Tracey and Miss Jameson laughed. It was the first time since losing her job with the Metropolitan Police that she could be herself again, that she could use her skills to help others again. It was a good feeling. Campbell smiled at her.

“Thank you Tracey” he said quietly

“What for?” she asked

“Just being you” he replied “Miss Jameson is quite right. Without you, I probably wouldn’t have solved this case. You’re a real gem”.

Tracey felt a warm glow inside. She was finally back in the game; and loving every minute of it.