“What have you got?”
“Well, one of our technicians failed to blow up one of our camera films straight away. Not ideal, admittedly, but he has been told. Anyway, on inspection of the roll, we discovered another example of the bloodstain that had been preserved in the fire.”
“Different blood?” Joseph asked.
“I’m afraid we can’t say for certain. I’ve sent a couple of the boys down to the scene now to see if there’s anything left of it, although I will say that my hopes of retrieving anything intact now, after it’s been exposed to the elements these last few ghastly days, are slim to say the least. Thankfully, it’s not the make-up of the blood that caught my eye.”
“What was it then?”
“When we blew it up properly, we spotted a pattern in the blood. A footprint.”
“A footprint?”
“Yes, from what looks like a work boot. Not a full print, hence why it was missed at first, so it will be hard for us to ascertain the size. However, there was one distinguishing feature on it. What looks like a large slash across the sole of the boot.”
“A slash?”
“Yes. A definitive cut going diagonally from the lower right to the lower left. A stroke of luck, but as the saying goes, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.”
Joseph thanked Campbell and hung up, heading straight down to the interview room. He rapped on the door and let himself in. Ray nodded, Harry looked at him, his eyes rimmed red from where he’d been crying. As Joseph sat, he noticed that Harry squirmed, just a little, as if he expected worse news.
“Mr Jones,” he said as he sat down. “I just wondered if I could interrupt and ask you a quick question?” He peered around the table as he did so, looking at Harry’s footwear. Boots.
“Of course,” Harry sniffed.
“The boots you’re wearing. Are they your work boots?”
“Yeah. Can’t afford to have two pairs of shoes,” he explained.
“Do you mind showing me the soles of your boots?”
Ray looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Sure,” Harry said, although it sounded more of a question than a statement.
“Thank you.”
Harry lifted one foot, then the other to show Joseph.
There was no slash.
33.
“It’s going to be all right, you know.” Dziko squeezed his hand firmly, making him realise how clammy his palms were. Normally when they held hands, he could feel her warmth radiating through him, but today, he gave off the heat. Not a warmth though. A nervous, sweaty heat. He swallowed as they stood on the doorstep of the Cribbs’ residence.
He looked at her and smiled. “Okay,” he said, more to himself than her.
The door opened and the expansive smile of Susan Cribbs greeted them. “Good evening both, delighted to meet you,” she said, stepping aside to let them into the room. They exchanged pleasantries and she kissed first Dziko and then Joseph on the cheek, which did little to soften his anxiety.
Ray shuffled into the hallway behind her, dressed the same as he would have been for work. Shirt with sleeves rolled up, tie, braces, hands stuffed into pocket. He nodded.
“Ray, Susan. This is Dziko.” Joseph might not enjoy socialising, but he did at least know the etiquette, as he placed his hand on Dziko’s back and introduced her.
“So wonderful to meet you both, Joseph has told me a lot about you,” Dziko stepped forward to Ray, offering out her hand. He took it and shook it, though Joseph could tell just from experience that his grip would be far lighter for her that it would have been had a man been on the receiving end.
“A pleasure,” he replied. He didn’t say Dziko’s name. If he had been practising, he’d either never mastered it, or given up trying.
Susan had no such problem. “Now, Dziko, would you do me the honour of coming into the kitchen and casting your eyes over what I’ve got prepared? I know that plain old English cuisine doesn’t exactly tick the boxes of most foreign folk, but if you would be so kind as to tell me some of your voodoo magic, well, I think that might just help take me to the next level.” Susan looked every part the housewife as she beamed at Dziko. Her immaculately curled hair bounced down around her shoulders, whilst her make-up could have been applied by one of Hollywood’s top stylists.
Dziko tilted her head and smiled, a look Joseph had been on the receiving end of, especially in the earlier days of their relationship, when everything about Dziko had been so alien to him. “Of course,” she replied politely and enthusiastically.
With that, the two women left and headed into the kitchen, leaving Ray and Joseph in the hallway.
“Drink?” Ray asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” Joseph said, and Ray gestured towards the sitting room.
“Susan has some wine in for the dinner. I’m not much of a wine drinker, if I’m honest, so luckily, I’ve got a couple of bottles of mild in reserve.”
Joseph would have preferred wine, but he said nothing and thanked Ray anyway.
“Wanted to run a couple of things past you for what comes next, if you don’t mind talking a bit of shop.” Ray handed Joseph a bottle of beer, not offering a glass.
“Not at all,” Joseph said, holding the beer, unsure whether he was supposed to wait for something to drink it from or not.
Ray took a sip of his before he spoke, solving that conundrum. “I’d love to talk to Peters and soon. Fancy some overtime tomorrow?”
“Is that wise? It might put Harry in the firing line.”
“The more I think of it, the more it seems regrettably unavoidable, and we’ve got a murder to solve,” Ray pointed out. “That has to come first.”
