A Killing Resurrected by Frank Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

mouth. ‘Don’t think you’re the first one to ask me
that
question,’ he said as he chewed. ‘And I’ll tell you the same as I told them. It wasn’t just the cards or the burnt-out van, it was the timing of the jobs, the planning – and the gut feeling that it was the same mob. Not that you can put
that
in a report.
    â€˜See, these blokes were different,’ he went on. ‘You know what it’s like. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, robberies, break-ins, assaults, are run of the mill done by amateurs. Even killings are usually pretty simple when it comes down to it: family members, a fight over a girlfriend or boyfriend, pub brawls. But it was different with this lot. Professional, they had everything worked out – except of course for the unexpected, like the baker walking in on them and putting up a fight. Otherwise, they knew exactly who would be there when they went in, and they knew how to use those iron bars to scare the shit out of their victims, making noise, smashing them down so hard they gouged chunks out of the tables so everyone could see what could happen to them if they failed to cooperate.’
    Rogers swallowed and scooped up another forkful. ‘And all this without so much as uttering a sound themselves. That was a nice touch.’ There was just a hint of admiration in his voice. He popped the food into his mouth.
    â€˜Did you ever establish a connection between the people who were robbed?’
    Rogers paused to pry a piece of meat out of his teeth with a fingernail. ‘Oh, we looked into that angle all right,’ he said, ‘but you have to remember the victims were mostly local businessmen, so they all knew one another. Besides, almost anyone could have found out when that poker game was on, or when the take was counted at the pub. And Sam Bergman had been leaving the shop by the back door at nine thirty every morning for years, so almost anyone could have known that.’
    â€˜Considering how well organized they were, it seemed odd to me that they hadn’t hit more profitable targets before hitting Bergman’s,’ said Paget. ‘Which made me wonder if they had another objective, and one of the possibilities that occurred to me was that the first two robberies were intended to make us believe that robbery was the motive in all three cases, but the real objective was the killing of Emily Bergman. I may be completely wrong, but we had such a case earlier this year, which is why the thought crossed my mind.’
    Rogers set his fork aside, picked up his drink, and nodded slowly. ‘Funny you should say that,’ he said, ‘because much the same thought crossed my mind back then, but there wasn’t a shred of evidence pointing in that direction. But I think you’re right in a way about the first two jobs. I think they were practice runs to make sure they had the technique down pat before going on to bigger things. But when the robbery turned to rat shit, and they realized they’d be facing a murder charge if they were caught, I think it scared them off and broke up the gang, because we never heard of them again, nor did anyone else as far as I know.’
    The pub was becoming crowded. The doors were wide open as more people pushed their way in, bringing with them the midday heat from outside, and suddenly, the hotpot no longer appealed to Paget. He pushed his plate away.
    Rogers picked up his glass, then pushed it across the table and said, ‘It’s your shout and I’ll have the same again.’
    When Paget returned from the bar with the drink, Rogers was mopping up the gravy with the last of the chips. ‘What was your impression of Sam Bergman?’ Paget asked as he sat down. ‘Any problems with the business at the time? Any problems at home that you knew of?’
    Instead of answering the question, Rogers picked up his beer and drank almost half of it before setting it down and wiping