Free A Spider in the Cup (Joe Sandilands Investigation) by Barbara Cleverly Page B

difference. If that will be all, sir, I will surrender my notes to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other things waiting for my attention.” He rose slightly in his seat, awaiting dismissal.

    Joe had been impressed by the man’s speed of reaction, his workman-like methods, his sure-footed control throughout the whole difficult and unusual recovery of the body. He’d spotted with a flash of sympathy the tide line of oily Thames water reaching up over the knees of the inspector’s smart grey trousers, the soggy state of the black Oxfords on his feet. And, lastly, Joe had appreciated the man’s pluck in speaking up in a tone that bordered on mutiny to his Assistant Commissioner.
    “No, that won’t be all, inspector. Remain seated, will you?” Joe said pleasantly. “This is your case. I’m handing it straight back to you.” He reached down and opened the murder bag he always kept to hand by his desk. “Look, I can’t offer much in the way of fresh trousering and clean shoes, but these might help.” He found and handed over a pair of black woollen socks. “Always keep a spare pair by me.”
    Guardedly, the officer tugged off his shoes and squelching socks and pulled on the fresh pair. His face melted into an expression of bliss as he eased the soft fabric up to his knees. “Cor! That’s a good moment! Nothing like the feel of dry socks sliding up your shins. My old Ma used to send me a pair every month. I think you must have been in the trenches, too, sir?”
    “Long enough to appreciate dry feet. As good for the spirits as a cease-fire.”
    Joe picked up the shoes and, talking as he went, strolled over to park them on the sunny window sill where they sat, steaming gently. “You ought to know, Orford, that there are things going on in London even I have no knowledge of. The city’s full of important foreigners, some here with evil intent. There’s clearly something about this body that someone …” he stabbed a forefinger upwards at the ceiling, “wants kept quiet. If I were you, I’d be grateful that some other bugger with more gold frogging on his uniform has been shoved in to carry the can, which may well turn out to be full of worms.”

    The inspector stared in surprise and sat back more easily in his chair.
    “I’ll look into it. Think of me as advisor and can carrier, will you? Now fill me in on a few more details in the car. We’ll go straight there. Which hospital have they taken her to? St. Mary’s? St. Bartholomew’s?”
    “Neither. She’s on the premises, so to speak. A few yards down the embankment in the police lab.” Orford paused, noted Joe’s raised eyebrow and answered his unspoken question. “Dunno, sir. It’s all a bit hush-hush. I’d guess somebody at the end of the line decided that until identity is established it might be more discreet to keep this one under wraps on our own premises. Even though conditions aren’t perfect.”
    Joe nodded. “Hospitals being rather soft targets for the gentlemen of the press … easy of access and bribable informants behind every screen?”
    “And this body being one as would be likely to get the flash bulbs popping and the headlines shrieking … Just wait till you’ve seen her, sir, you’ll start composing headlines yourself. I did!” Orford sighed. “The only reason the press hasn’t got wind of it is this group of witnesses knows how to keep their mouths shut. They’re not the sort who’d go blabbing. Members of some society or other … dowsers—that’s it. And the female in charge is a lady you’d not disobey if she told you to keep shtum. The Home Office has appointed a pathologist and he’s at it right now …” He put up a hand to ward off Joe’s objection. “No, no! Preliminary inspection only. He’s awaiting the arrival of the appointed case officer at the slab side before he gets down to any serious slicing. You don’t need to spell out the rules to a St. Bartholomew’s man.”
    Joe grunted.