“This chap Miller,” he said to Carver, “know anything about him?”
“Not a thing.”
“Then start digging. I want to know everything — everything there is to know.”
“Any special reason?” Carver said.
“Well, let me put it this way. The only other copper I’ve ever met who made a practice of wearing sixty-guinea suits is doing a five stretch in the Ville for corruption.”
Carver’s eyes widened and Vernon closed the glass panel, leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette, a slight smile on his face.
CHAPTER 3
Henry Wade was fat and balding and his several chins and horn-rimmed spectacles gave him the deceptively benign air of a prosperous publican or back street bookie. He was neither. He was head of the department’s Forensic section with the rank of Detective Inspector and the ready smile concealed a brain that in action had the cutting edge of a razor.
When Miller went into the small office at one end of the police lab, he found Wade at his desk filling in a report, covering the paper with the neat italic script that was his special pride.
He turned and smiled. “Hello, Nick, I was wondering when you’d turn up.”
“Anything for me?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Come on. I’ll show you.”
Miller followed him into the lab., nodding to the bench technicians as he passed. The girl’s clothing was laid out neatly on a table by the window.
Wade went through the items one by one. “The stockings are a well-known brand sold everywhere and the underwear she bought at Marks & Spencer’s along with just about every other girl in the country these days.”
“What about the dress?”
“Reasonably expensive, but once again, a well-known brand name available at dozens of shops and stores. One interesting point. Just below the maker’s label, a name tab’s been torn out.”