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  “Time of death?” Theo asked.

  “Around seven this morning give or take a half hour or so. For now, that’s all I have for you. However, after the postmortem is complete, I should be able to tell you more.” Waynton made his way to his car, but stopped. “Uh, Blackwell, I forgot. There is something else. Talk to SOCO. I bagged a note found in our victim’s robe pocket. We couldn’t understand what it meant but it might be key to the case.”

  “Thank you.”

  Immediately, Theo headed off in the direction of the SOCO van. Four or five men were loading totes of supplies and evidence. A young man in a blue jumpsuit, clearly SOCO, turned and gave Theo a nod.

  “You’re here about the note,” the man said and held out his hand. “Woolsey, Ryan Woolsey.” He removed his latex glove and grabbed Theo’s hand to shake it heartily. From a box in the bus, he retrieved a clear bag. Inside was a small nicely cut and laminated square piece of paper.

  Theo looked down at the note: Why Run Backward You’ll Vomit.

  “That’s it?” Theo asked. He turned the note over a few times as if the movement might reveal more words. “What does it mean?”

  “I’ve asked everyone on the scene if they’ve heard this expression and it’s a no. Sorry. Perhaps we’ll find a key to the note in the papers we took from his house.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  “We have collected a fair bit but it may not all be relevant. It really is hard to say at this point. No reliable footprints and we’re not sure if there were any fingerprints on the knife, we still have to clean it up a bit. That will all take time.”

  Typical. There was a flurry of updates with absolutely nothing updated. He wasn’t closer to finding a motive to this senseless homicide. With all the information he gathered, all he had was that some person walked up to an old man in the street early in the morning and stabbed him then disappeared into thin air.

  No one just stabs a person, not in this neighborhood, not like this. He was missing something and he really hoped that the upstairs flat contained a wealth of information he could use. Sadly, he doubted it. But, random, senseless violence was not what he wanted to write down in the report. That would be running backward and why would he want to run backward? He’d vomit.

  “Boss,” Dorland yelled behind him. “Found them.” When Theo turned, Dorland jangled the keys in front of his face.

  “Wonderful.” He walked up to Dorland and handed him the note. Dorland read it a few times just to make sure he had read it right and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Doctor’s note?” Dorland hazarded a guess.

  “Obviously,” Theo said, “and with such wise advice, it is only natural one would want to laminate it and keep it in their pocket in case a one-legged man would have the desire. Then he could easily pull out the note and read it and remember, that not only could he not run forward without vomiting, that yes, he could also not run backward without vomiting either. It’s clear to me why you’re a detective.”

  “Funny. Shall we?” Dorland rattled the key in front of Theo’s face again.

  “Ladies first,” Theo replied.

  “So did SOCO or the other officers find anything? Any other witnesses?”

  “A menagerie of responses from a menagerie of people,” Theo replied. “One, in a group of women, insists she saw a large scary man walk by her house but didn’t know when. That started the group on a tirade of similar stories, each thinking they saw the man but each time the story became a bit scarier and a bit more far-fetched. One man thought it was a woman; two others didn’t know whom it was that lived in the house. And all the children interviewed apparently thought the one-legged man was creepy.”

  Theo followed Dorland into the front hall, where there was a door leading upstairs to the first floor. Theo pushed the key in and turned the handle. The door opened easily, and the musky smell of a flat that hadn’t been occupied, hit them immediately. Dorland took the stairs two at a time.

  Poking his head around the door frame, Dorland looked back at Theo, and said, “I think you’re going to find this interesting.”

  “Does it answer some of our questions?” No reply. Theo bounded up the stairs after him. The entire first floor was one room with a sink and some cupboards in one corner. The room obviously belonged to the deceased. It was incredibly neat. More paintings lined the walls, the same as on the main floor, and one table filled the length of the room. Laid out in ten separate bins were small colored tiles: white, black, red, purple, brown, blue, green, yellow, orange, and gray. Bags of white mortar with a thick layer of dust lay neatly piled below the table.

  “This is obviously where he does his artistic carpentry.” Theo ran his fingers through a tray of red half-inch tiles. “He really is an odd person. One-legged artist. I wonder what will happen to all his art?”

  “Perhaps it is stated in his will. He may have had relatives.”

  “Do you think they’re worth something?”

  “This art?” Dorland laughed. “Although you never know. There are artists I do not like and they make money. Some may actually like what this artist had to offer. Who can say?”

  “We may have to do some further digging to find the answer.”

  The nurse was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when they descended. “Was there anything interesting up there?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted to see what he kept up there.”

  “That was his studio, where he created his art. We are looking for any reason he might have been killed this morning. I know you told us that he had no enemies, but did he ever disclose to you what his Last Will and Testament contained or anything that may have been on his mind lately?”

  “No, but I have only been with him for about four months. I try with all my patients to find out as much as I can about their family or past. It makes spending the day with them easier, but Mr. Tipring, he was quiet. Never spoke about his family or friends, ever. No, that is not true. When I asked about the earrings he told me they belonged to his mother. How fond he must have been of her. I’ve never known a man to keep earrings like that. But then again, I’ve never known a man to keep art like that.”

  Ignoring her question, Theo went on, “What about a solicitor? Did he have a solicitor or anyone that handled his personal matters?”

  “I don’t know,” the nurse answered in barely a whisper. “Maybe his last nurse could tell you more.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “No, but she may have worked at the same agency I work for. A placement agency that matches home care needs with patients. He may have chosen the same agency for his last nurse. I don’t know.” She reached into her purse and handed them a very old card crumpled up in hundreds of tiny folds until it was almost the consistency of toilet tissue. “You can try ringing them at that number.”

  “He did not seem worried to you, nothing unusual over the last couple of days?”

  “Nothing. In fact, he seemed happier. I don’t know what it was but he actually seemed cheerier. If he knew today was the day he was going to die, he never showed it, not once. In fact, he was planning a trip, not an extravagant excursion, but he wanted to go to the place where he was born. A trip of about a hundred miles but for one who never leaves his house, quite a conquest. One morning when I arrived, he informed me of his plans. I wonder what could be so important there . . .”

  Chapter Nine

  By noon, Sophia was ready to strangle someone and she kicked the radiator again. Damn heat, or rather lack of it. Although it wasn’t raining, a nippy wind whistled in from the poorly insulated windows. She buttoned up her double-breasted cardigan and began to pace the dingy East End flat. Either she would die of boredom or freeze to death. She lighted the gas hob for a few minutes but with strict orders not to open the windows, she shut it off for fear she would suffocate.

  The music didn’t help either. She spent ten minutes trying to imagine what it would take for the roof to topple down on her. Would it be the ear-splitting elect
ro funk or the karaoke dancer accompaniment? Could she run to the doorway in time? She tried the run—if only to keep herself warm—and managed to get herself sweaty and colder. Though tempted to run upstairs and bang on the door, it was one of Liam’s strict instructions for her to stay in the flat. Someone had to be watching the monitors, though Sophia didn’t quite understand why. It wasn’t like the camera’s didn’t record bloody everything. Some days, she wanted to kill that man.

  The other task, which involved scanning the previous night’s footage, only took forty-five minutes to review because the woman only awoke six times during the night. Once for the loo, and the other five to push her cat off her face. As far as Sophia was concerned, the woman in house 412 was the most uninteresting person on the planet . . . or perhaps the second most, after herself. Why the hell was she so important? Perhaps it was Liam’s way to slowly wear her down so that when he finally asked her for dinner, she wouldn’t refuse, not for the hundredth time.

  As Sophia continued to debate her existence, Crystal lumbered into the flat and dropped two brown bags of groceries on the kitchen worktop and headed out of the flat again. She returned with a box.

  “What did you buy?” Sophia asked.

  “Things,” Crystal signed. After stuffing the bags into the small fridge without emptying them, she took the box, laid it at Sophia’s feet, and began rifling through the contents. “What did you do to the floor?”

  “I had some fun with masking tape.” She had taped a body outline on the floor, right where the stain on the carpet was. “I imagine the poor soul was shot in the chest.”

  Crystal laughed.

  Sophia turned her attention back to the box. “What’s this?” Sophia signed. “How much did you spend? I gave you my credit card.” She sat cross-legged on the floor.

  “It’s a mobile phone. But, I need it.”

  “What for?” asked Sophia.

  “To make your life easier, of course.” Crystal tapped her friend on the shoulder and rose to her feet. She took a mobile phone from the box and unwrapped it. She plugged it into the wall and immediately started for her laptop. “You constantly complain that Liam remotely bugs your mobile. Well, I think I’ve found a solution.”

  “How will you do that?” Sophia continued to unpack the box which held thin wires, a mini soldering iron, and other micro-electronic parts.

  “Coding, my friend, what we do best. By the way, I think you should disable your GPS tracker.”

  “I’ve considered that option but I do want people, especially you, to know where I am when in an emergency. And although I don’t want the government—or Liam—to have access to my every conversation, I do take comfort in knowing they can protect me if they know what I’m up to.”

  “Then, let me just tweak it a bit.”

  “At least you can work. I’m envious, you can’t hear the noise coming from the flat above.”

  “Oh, I feel it. Just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I can’t feel.”

  “Just because you’re deaf doesn’t mean you can steal my credit card to buy yourself a new mobile phone. I see you bought two.” Sophia gave Crystal a wink. The first year the two worked together, they carried on a long-running “just because you’re deaf” joke. It had bonded the two women working in a mostly male environment. When they met condescending, chauvinistic attitudes from their male counterparts, they expressed their anger and frustration through sign.

  “Has the woman done anything while I was gone?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Sophia said, sliding her notepad down off the table and laying it at her feet. “She’s made six cups of tea, peed five cups worth, washed the dishes, made her bed, showered, crocheted a little more on the blanket, watched an episode of Corrie, rolled pennies, and loads of other boring things. I think she knows we’re watching and is torturing us. Now she’s vacuuming the hall carpets.”

  Sophia’s mobile phone vibrated on the floor. Crystal picked it up and finger-spelt L-i-a-m before handing it to her co-worker. Sophia was about to put her mobile into her pocket but Crystal waved her hands about.

  “Answer it,” she signed. “You might find him to be the most irritating person on planet Earth but he is still your superior.”

  Sophia sighed. “Hello, Liam, to what do I owe the honor of hearing your voice?”

  “I was wondering if you needed me to bring you two some lunch?” he asked. “Chinese take-away or something.”

  “That’s all right, Liam. Crystal has bought us food for our incredibly exciting assignment. You won’t believe what a laugh we’re having.” She related all the suspect’s activities, including trips to the loo and putting the kettle on. If she had to suffer, he might as well be made to hear it.

  “I really appreciate that you’re doing this for me.”

  She could hear him breathing deeply on the other end of the phone.

  Then, he continued, “I know this is not why you signed up for the security service, but with—”

  “You owe me, all right?” She cut him off. About once a day he came to her, or rang her up to thank her. Or apologize to her for his asinine remarks. She wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction this morning. “I have to get back to work.” She rang off.

  Crystal stared at her.

  “What?” Sophia asked.

  “Why are you always so rude with him? He fancies you, you know.”

  “I was perfectly civil. Besides, how do you know what I was saying?”

  “I can see your face when you talk to him. I know how you’re feeling.”

  Sophia sighed. “I don’t want him to get any ideas. Besides, he’s irritating as hell. Almost every day he asks me for coffee or dinner. I feel bad because I just can’t, it’s too soon. Everything . . . I want to leave dating behind for a while. Dating, love, men. The whole lot.”

  Crystal just signed, “Men.”

  Crystal had her share of bad relationships. She had never married, but raised two boys on her own. Even now that her sons were grown, Sophia had never seen her with any men. She never talked about them.

  “Would you like me to make you a sandwich?” Sophia asked, getting up and stretching her legs.

  Crystal nodded.

  Sophia walked to the fridge and pulled out the two bags and emptied the bread, ham, cheese, various condiments, and paper plates onto the worktop. A large spider crawled out from behind the coffee maker and Sophia threw a piece of bread down on it. “Gross.”

  Crystal watched and laughed silently at her.

  When Sophia returned with the food, Crystal signed, “Your friend Mr. Blackwell received a new case this morning: a sixty-two-year-old man was stabbed.”

  “Oh?” Sophia didn’t want to seem too interested, but she knew Crystal was too clever to fool. “That’s too bad. Why would anyone want to stab an old man? Was he mugged?”

  “No, murdered while fetching the paper. Do you want the details?” Crystal pointed at her computer screen.

  “Nah, it sounds unexciting. What is she doing now?” Sophia pointed at the monitor. Elaine Smith had moved on from vacuuming to the computer.

  “Tweeting.”

  “What’s she been tweeting?”

  Crystal turned the screen and Sophia read the list, The cat wants out. It’s 10:35 and I’m on my second pot of coffee. I can pay loads for the London look and look like a whore. I should be crying at the airport not watching the bloody airline commercials. The cat is going to scratch my screen door to shreds. Sophia turned to her aide and signed, “Do you think there’s a message somewhere in there?”

  “Sure. I see it loud and clear. Something to the effect that she needs a life.”

  “There’s no way she does this every day, does she?”

  Chapter Ten

  The only Tipring found in Maddock’s address book were Henry and Diane Tipring. A phone call revealed that Henry was father of the deceased and Diane his sister. The family lived not far outside of London so Theo and Dorland set an appointment to meet them
at one the same afternoon.

  Henry and Diane Tipring lived in luxury with gates, gardens, and stables. Theo drove his Jeep up the long gravel drive to an entrance porch held up by four columns. When they rang the large pull bell an older lady opened the door and ushered them into the entrance hall. Theo could imagine young ladies in Empire dresses making their entrance to the ball down the stone staircase with a detailed iron balustrade.

  “Diane Tipring?” Theo asked.

  “Follow me, please,” the woman said, and led them into a reception room to the right of the hall. An older man sat in a wheelchair by the bay window with a plaid blanket over his lap. His eyes were closed, and he seemed content letting the sun shine upon him.

  “Who is it?” the older man asked. “I don’t want any of it, you hear. Don’t you be buying any of their wares. You hear, Diane, do you hear me? Salesmen.”

  “It’s the police, Father. They’re here about Maddock.”

  “I don’t want to see the doctor.” He lifted the blanket to his chest and frowned a pitiful, childlike frown. “Why can’t they just leave me in peace?”

  Diane smiled weakly and gestured for the two officers to have a seat on the antique sofa. Theo sank deep into the cushions. “Daddy’s ninety-two this year. He’s getting a bit cantankerous in his old age.” She sat and flattened her brown wool skirt in front of her. “So what would you like to tell me about Doc?”

  Theo was about to reply when the housekeeper entered the room and placed her hands on her hips. Diane asked, “Would you like tea?”