Why Pick On ME? Read Free Page A

coat; a slouch hat, not a Homburg.”
    “Pity,” Rawlins said, and rubbed his jaw reflectively. “You’re usually good at spotting people, aren’t you? Well, it can’t be helped.”
    Corridon stubbed out his cigarette, and lit another. He stood staring out of the window, frowning. His mind shifted away from Milly to Milly’s daughter. He’d have to do something about the child. He knew Milly hadn’t saved a bean. That made his urgent need for money even more pressing.
    “Pretty messy death,” Rawlins said quietly. “Probably a maniac. These girls ask for trouble.”
    Corridon glanced round.
    “What happened?”
    “Cut her throat and ripped her,” Rawlins said. “The fella must have gone off his head. Well, we’ll have to watch the other girls, I suppose. These motiveless sex crimes are the devil.”
    “Sure it was motiveless?”
    “It conforms to pattern. This isn’t the first time a tart’s been killed by a sadist,” Rawlins said, and snorted. “And it won’t be the last time.” He looked up sharply. “Do you know anything about a motive?”
    “Anything stolen?” Corridon asked. “Was her handbag there?”
    “Yes. As far as I know there’s nothing missing. What are you getting at?”
    “Maybe nothing,” Corridon said. “Last night, she showed me a jade ring she had picked up inter room. She said one of her visitors must have dropped it. She wanted to know if it was valuable.
    “A jade ring?” Rawlins was staring at Corridon, his eyes intent. “What kind of ring?”
    It was Corridon’s turn to stare at Rawlins.
    “It was a copy of an archer’s thumb ring in white jade. At least I think it was a copy. If it wasn’t, then it would be pretty valuable. Those things were made around 200 B.C.”
    “Were they?” Rawlins stood up. “Well, well, and she showed this ring to you?”
    “That’s right. What’s the matter with you? You look as if you’ve swallowed a hot potato.”
    “Do I?” Rawlins stubbed out his cigarette. “Like to come over to Milly’s flat and help me look for this ring?”
    “If you want me to. What’s the matter with you?”
    “Nothing. Come on, let’s get moving. It won’t take us five minutes. I have a police car outside.”
    As they walked down the stairs, Rawlins said, “Life’s full of the damnedest coincidences, isn’t it?”
    “I suppose it is,” Corridon said. “But why particularly now?”
    “Just thoughts,” Rawlins said darkly.
    They climbed into the police car, and as they were whisked through the park, Rawlins went on, “Was she going to sell the ring?”
    “If she could have found a buyer I think she would have sold it. I told her to give it to a copper. After I had drummed it into her head it was too easily traced to monkey with, she said she’d give it to the first policeman she met. Maybe she did.”
    “I hope so,” Rawlins said.
    There was scarcely any traffic along Piccadilly at that hour, and it only took them a few minutes to reach Milly’s flat in Albermarle Street.
    “They’ve taken her away by now,” Rawlins said as he climbed the stairs, breathing heavily, “but the room isn’t very pretty.”
    “I can stand it if you can,” Corridon said sarcastically.
    “I suppose you can. I was forgetting you’re used to horrors.”
    A constable saluted smartly as they reached the top floor.
    “Yates still here?” Rawlins asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Come on in,” Rawlins went on to Corridon. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
    “Not to her flat,” Corridon returned, following the Inspector’s broad back into a little hall.
    Rawlins turned a door handle and pushed open the door. He walked into a big, airy bedroom where Detective-Sergeant John Yates with two other plain clothes detectives were using insufflators, distributing graphite on the bathroom door and the window-sills.
    At the far end of the room stood the bed. Corridon came into the room, his hands in his trouser pockets, his face set and hard. The