The Saint Valentine's Day Murders by Ruth Dudley Edwards

about?’
    ‘Can’t tell you now. I’ll explain later.’
    No chocolates. Was all this a figment of his overstrained imagination? Please God it was. But if it wasn’t? He’d concentrate on his own staff. Henry was next on the list. No answer. He wouldn’t be home yet, but where was his wife? Out of the house or dead?
    Tony: no answer.
    Graham: same again. Would no one answer him? Only Bill left. But he doesn’t have a wife. What has that to do with it? Why should this be directed only against women?
    To his relief, Bill answered. Amiss had time now to speak at greater length. By now the Yard would have taken over.
    ‘No. I haven’t had any. It’s dreadful about Tiny’s wife, Robert.’
    ‘We must just pray that she’s the only one, Bill.’
    ‘Of course. If there’s anything I can do…?’
    ‘There’s nothing any of us can do except wait.’
    ‘See you tomorrow, then,’ said Bill automatically. He sounded as stunned as Amiss had been.
    ‘Yes. See you tomorrow, Bill. Goodbye.’
    He put the receiver back and gazed at the phone, willing it to ring with the news that he had been jumping to wild conclusions. Within a couple of minutes it began to ring. He snatched up the receiver.
    ‘Your line’s been busy. I rang to thank you for…’
    ‘Oh God, darling. Something awful’s happened.’
    She listened as he poured out the story and then cut in. ‘I’m coming over. You’re not fit to be on your own. Stay put and I’ll be with you as quickly as I can. I love you, darling. Try to be calm.’
    As she rang off, Amiss had a moment of bitterness at the thought that the words he’d been waiting for her to say should come at such a ghastly moment. What could he do now? Should he try any of the numbers again? No. Keep out of it.
    When Milton got through a couple of minutes later, Amiss had slumped exhausted into a chair and taken a large slug of neat whisky.
    ‘What’s the news? Are they all all right?’
    ‘I’m afraid not, Robert. Brace yourself. One of Tony Farson’s children is dead.’
    ‘Anyone else?’ asked Amiss dully.
    ‘We don’t know yet. All those we got through to hadn’t received chocolates. The local police are sending cars to the other houses. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s any more news.’
    ‘Melissa’s all right. And Bill. It’s only Graham and Henry’s wives now. Or their children.’ He could hear the unsteady note in his own voice.
    ‘Have you anyone with you?’ asked Milton sharply.
    ‘No. Well, not at the moment. Someone’s coming later on.’
    ‘You can’t be alone. Ann’s already on her way. Just hang on till she arrives. I’ll be over when I can.’
    ‘Thanks, Jim. But don’t worry about me. Worry about the others.’
    ‘I am,’ said Milton grimly, and rang off.
    Rachel had made good time, but it was still almost ten o’clock before she rang the doorbell of Amiss’s flat. It was answered by a dark-haired woman with a haggard face.
    ‘Thank heavens you’re here. I haven’t known what to do with him. He’s in a terrible state. Just drinking and crying.’
    ‘So it’s not just Tiny’s wife, is it?’
    ‘No. Tony Farson’s son and Henry Crump’s wife. That was bad enough, but we’ve just had another call to tell us…’
    Rachel was already through the door of the living room. She flung herself beside Amiss, who clung to her in misery and despair.
    ‘Did Ann tell you? Charlie too. And it’s all my fault. I never thought of him.’

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    14
    « ^ »
    Tuesday, 15 February
    The alarm went at 7:15. Rachel snapped it off and looked anxiously at Amiss. Reassured by his complete immobility, she lay and contemplated her first job of the day. Unable in conscience to delay it any further, she climbed out of bed, found a dressing gown and went into the living room to hunt for his parents’ telephone number. She blessed his poor memory when she found it written in the address book that lay beside the telephone.
    She was relieved that the answering