“So any other questions about the gambling ring in Dagenham?” Sergeant Michaels asked of the constables and inspectors assembled before him. This morning meeting with the staff at Scotland Yard was usually my favourite, but today I felt a queasiness in my belly at what I was about to do.
“Good.” The rotund sergeant said, looking down at his clipboard, the ash from his cigar falling on to it like a snowfall.
I took a deep breath and spoke up, “Sergeant, I wonder, the unidentified body Lancaster and Whiggins found down in Wandsworth...”
“Eh?” Michaels said, his mouth still clamped around the cigar, “what about it Dawes?”
“Well, I just wondered, we haven’t identified him yet have we?” I answered, feeling sweat gather on my forehead at all the eyes now directed my way.
Michaels swung his gaze towards Lancaster, who shook his head before saying, “No one has come by to claim him, and as you know, we found no wallet or other identifying evidence on the man.”
Michaels turned back towards me with a raised eyebrow, “Right, so why d’ya ask Dawes?”
“I was just thinking,” I replied, calling to mind the way Portia had put it last night when we talked about the case, “you mentioned finding a whole ring of keys did you not?”
All eyes swung back to Lancaster.
“Sure’n we did.” He said, looking confused, “but without any sort of address for them, they aren’t that useful to figuring out who the man was.”
“It’s not the address actually. It’s the number of keys.” I replied, gaining confidence as I remembered Portia’s arguments, “how many of us carry a whole ring of keys around?”
Lancaster shrugged but Bonhomme spoke up, “I know I only have one or two – but my sister has a about twenty in her bag, she’s a teacher.”
“Right, so a teacher, is one example, but he’s a bloke so maybe not a teacher,” I said, “but who else carries around bunches of keys?”
Whispers started around the room as everyone speculated at once, but no one actually had an idea good enough to announce to the room.
“Custodians.” piped up a constable Whiggins after a few minutes, stepping forward from the back of the room to stand beside me, “I wouldn’t have said anything before, but the man’s clothing had a curious smell – like cleaning solvents! Wouldn’t custodians have bunches of keys to open the doors of rooms they had to clean?”
That started everyone talking at the same time, and I turned to Whiggins to agree with his speculation but Michaels gave a whistle to bring us under control.
“Right then – good lead Dawes – that’s the kind of thinking that I like to see in my men,” he said, tapping his cigar so that the ash fell to the floor, his grin wide, “Whiggins, Lancaster, you two need to follow-up with schools and offices in the area – find out if anyone’s missin’ their custodian. That’s all for today men, get out there and do some work for us!”
Several of my peers stepped over to clap me on the back or give me a grin, but my thoughts were centered on a certain lovely Canadian who had cleverly seen this connection and how I would thank her for it.
YOU ARE READING
And In Walked Portia Adams
Historical Fiction"Jewel of the Thames" tells the story of young Canadian Portia Adams' arrival in London and follows the amateur detective through her first three cases as the newest owner of the 221 Baker Street offices. You've read her side of the story. Now read...
