Free Wolf to the Slaughter by Ruth Rendell Page A

stone and hoisted himself up until his head and shoulders were above the grass-grown top of the wall. The brown simian face was still there. Its eyes met his and there appeared in them a look of terror, surely out of proportion to the offence or to the retribution for that offence the occupants of the house might be supposed to have committed. The face disappeared quickly and Drayton returned to the car.
    ‘There’s someone in,’ he said to Burden.
    ‘I daresay there is. Apart from the fact that we can’t force an entry over a thing like this, making a rumpus would rather defeat the object of the exercise, wouldn’t it?’
    Theirs was just one of twenty or thirty cars lining Sparta Grove. At this end of the street there were neither garages nor space for them.
    ‘Someone’s coming now,’ Drayton said suddenly.
    Burden looked up. A woman pushing a shopping basket on wheels was opening the gate of the corner house. Her head was tied up in a coloured scarf and she wore a coat with a huge showy fur collar. As the door closed behind her, he said:
    ‘I know her. Her name’s Branch, Mrs Ruby Branch. She used to live in Sewingbury.’
    ‘Is she one of our customers?’
    This use, on Drayton’s lips, of one of Wexford’s favourite terms, displeased Burden. It seemed not so much an accidental echo as a calculated and ingratiating mimicry of the Chief Inspector’s racy style. ‘We’ve had her for shoplifting,’ he said stiffly, ‘larceny as a servant and various other things. This is a new departure. You’d better go in and do your stuff.’
    She subjected him to a careful and at first alarmed scrutiny through the glass panel of the door before opening it. The alarm faded and the door gave a few inches. Drayton put his foot on the mat.
    ‘I understand you have a room to let.’ He spoke pleasantly and she was disarmed. She smiled, showing excellent false teeth with lipstick on them. The scarf and the coat had not yet been removed and between the feather boa-like sides of her collar he could see a frilly blouse covering a fine bosom. The face was middle-aged – early fifties, Drayton thought – and bravely painted particularly about the eyelids. ‘I happened to see your advert in Grover’s window, Mrs Er . . . ?’
    ‘No names, no pack drill, dear,’ she said. ‘Just call me Ruby.’
    ‘OK, Ruby.’
    The door was closed behind him and he found himself in a tiny narrow hall, its floor covered in cheap bright red nylon carpet. On the threshold of the front room he stopped, staring, and his face must have shown his astonishment, for she said quickly:
    ‘Don’t take any notice of the bare boards, duckie. I like everything to be spick and span, you see, and I’m just giving the carpet a bit of an airing.’
    ‘Spring-cleaning, eh?’ Drayton said. All the furniture had been moved back against the walls. There was a three-piece suite, covered in moquette, whose pattern showed what seemed like, but surely could not be, blue fishes swimming through a tangle of red and pink climbing roses. On a huge television set stood a naked lady in pink porcelain whose eternally raised right arm held aloft a lamp in a plastic shade. The wallpaper was embossed in gilt and the single picture was of the late King George the Fifth and Queen Mary in full court regalia. ‘I can see you keep it nice,’ he said heartily.
    ‘You wouldn’t get things nicer in any of your hotels. When did you think of coming? Any night would be convenient to me.’ She gave him a long look, partly coy, partly assessing. ‘You’ll be bringing a young lady with you?’
    ‘If you haven’t any objection. I thought perhaps this evening. Say eight till eleven. Would you . . . ?’
    ‘I’ll get my things on by eight sharp,’ she said. ‘If you’ll just tap on the door you needn’t bring the young lady in till after I’ve gone. Some do feel a bit shy-like. Say a fiver?’
    Burden had agreed to give him ten minutes. Things could hardly have