Free The Cloned Identity by David Hughes Page A

office.
    â€œGot him tucked up, Joe?”
    â€œYes, boss. Look – are you sure? I mean, we don’t have a lot in the way of evidence.”
    â€œJoe, I know it’s all circumstantial, but it all fits. Sit down. This is what I am sure happened: he did call on his way back from the park; she let him in as she had done many times before, only this time she was in her dressing gown, according to Forensic, having just got out of a bath. They went into the front room and sat down; then he saw a bit of bare leg or whatever. He got excited, got her upstairs and couldn’t stop himself. That’s why he came back the next day. He would have realised that she couldn’t have phoned us or we would have been hammering on his door, so he thought there was a chance to throw himself on her mercy – beg for forgiveness and all that. He must have nearly died when he saw you were already there. That’s why he was so irate with you and didn’t give you his name. Did you notice, from the WPC’s notebook at the hospital, that he has visited Miss Wood every day – not out of concern, I’ll wager. He wants to be there in case she wakes up so he can convince her it was an act of God or something. It all fits, Joe.”
    â€œI know, boss, but what worries me is are we making it fit?”
    I nodded. I could see Joe’s point.
    â€œLook, Joe – get a warrant and take Mike and Jenkins down to the vicarage. See what you can find. I don’t think we will be allowed to search the church – not officially anyway.”
    â€œOK, boss. I’m on my way.”
    Joe knew I was probably right, but he would have felt a lot happier with some good solid evidence behind him.
    They got back from the vicar’s just after lunch. Joe never enjoyed going through people’s lives. It made him realise how shallow life was and how little in the way of personal possessions most people actually have. He knocked and entered my office, and placed a labelled plastic bag on my desk. I looked hopefully at the bag.
    â€œFind something?” I asked.
    Joe pointed to the bag. “There are some cards and letters from females (nothing incriminating), two packets of condoms (one opened, two missing, one still sealed), a mail-order sex catalogue and a couple of girlie magazines. That’s about it.”
    I looked at Joe. “Well, what did I tell you? What would an unmarried vicar want with condoms?”
    â€œSearch me, boss.”
    â€œGood work, Joe. Get this stuff over to Mel and ask her to work her magic. Tell her that if she gets an answer to me this afternoon, she can have me as a slave for a day.”
    â€œI don’t think you would last a day – not with Mel, boss.”
    Joe grinned as he left and I smiled to myself. I was feeling quietly confident. A few minutes after Joe had left, Bert Sole rang me. He told me the vicar wanted to give his bishop a ring to arrange a relief for some of his duties. He was also worried about his dog. I told Bert to tell the vicar I would inform the Bishop. There was no way I was going to let him talk to the Bishop. I didn’t want him pulling any strings. I asked Bert if he could arrange to have the vicar’s dog collected and looked after. I asked the switchboard to get me Bishop Woodley. A few minutes later the phone rang and he was on the line. I was going to enjoy this – spoil my day off, would you!
    â€œSorry to bother you. DI Watson. I am in charge of the Miss Wood case. Yes, sir. I’ve just called to let you know that we have made an arrest and the suspect is in custody now.”
    I listened as he heaped on the praise – how wonderful the British police were, etc., etc.
    â€œOh, by the way, I have a message from the Reverend Thomas Wright. He asks if you could arrange for someone to stand in for him at his parish. Oh – didn’t I say? – he is the one we have arrested in connection with the attack on