A Very Private Murder by Stuart Pawson Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t tall enough. Tennis matches, like presidential elections, always go to the taller candidate. I was on my way back to the office before the evening rush started, with both visors down against the low glare of the sun. The lights changed and we moved off. I was disappointed that I hadn’t questioned Ghislaine more, but she was in an odd position. I could have gone to any of the celebrity magazines and sold anything she confided in me for a year’s salary, so her answers to my questions would have been guarded and worthless. No matter, fingerprints would have it all sewn up by now. They’d have found some prints on the paint tube and matched them against the database. If they hadn’t lifted the culprit already it was only because they’d decided to wait until I could be in on the action.
    Working the lump, it was called. After the war thousands of Irishmen came over to England to repair the damage done by the Luftwaffe, and, later, to build the motorway network. They worked in gangs, for gang masters, and didn’t bother with inconveniences like health and safety, or taxation. It was a hard-drinking culture, with tales of thirty pints of beer per day quite common. If you didn’t fit in, you were out on your neck. The smart ones sent their money home and returned to the Old Country as rich men, the dumb and the gullible wrecked their bodies and paid the price. It looked as if Threadneedle senior was somewhere in between, but his son had been more ambitious, had seen beyond where the next drink was coming from, had glimpsed the distant, sunlit uplands and decided he wanted to bask there. And who could blame him?
     
     
    Jeff Caton was in the office when I arrived back at the nick, looking harassed.
    ‘Tell me about the robbery,’ I said. It was closer to my heart than chasing vandals and pandering to high society.
    ‘It’s frightening, Chas,’ he replied. ‘The kids are terrified and their parents are not much better. I don’t think there’ll be much sleeping done in that household for a week or two. The villain with the dog babysat the husband and children while the other one took the mother to the cash machine. It was straining at its leash and foaming at the mouth, trying to get at them. The tosspot holding its chain was barely in control, they said.’
    ‘Descriptions?’
    ‘Both above average height and well built. Wearing overalls and wrap-round shades, with NY baseball caps pulled down over their faces. And they wore surgical gloves.’
    ‘Great,’ I said. ‘I’m coming to the conclusion that the general public know more about forensics than we do. How’ve you left it?’
    ‘Serena’s still with them. I’m seeing West Pennine in the morning to compare notes. A couple of neighbours report seeing a Jaguar that might be interesting. Dark grey, no number. We’re checking for stolen ones.’
    ‘So nobody local springs into the frame?’
    He shook his head. ‘No, but it will be interesting to see where the other robberies were. It might give us an idea where they’re coming from.’
    ‘Their locus of operations . Don’t hold your breath. It might be easier to find the dog.’
    ‘I know. Pit bulls are not everybody’s idea of a four-legged friend.’
    His phone rang and a second later Dave and Brendan came bustling through the door.
    ‘Caton,’ Jeff said.
    Dave walked to the coffee-making table and held a cup up and I nodded a ‘Yes, please’.
    ‘We haven’t taken delivery yet, Mr Wood,’ I heard Jeff say, then: ‘Yes, it’s a pity this morning’s victims hadn’t been supplied with it. OK, I’ll chase it up.’ He replaced the phone.
    ‘What was that about?’
    ‘SmartWater. Mr Wood wondering if we were any nearer to getting some.’
    ‘Neighbourhood Watch will have complained,’ I said.
    SmartWater is a magic liquid that you spray on valuable items and around windows, et cetera. We weren’t sure how it worked but it made villains glow in the dark, and therefore more easily