Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) by Rodney Hobson Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rodney Hobson
replied without hesitation. “Have I got news for you. You know, that quiz programme about the papers and where they’re all rude to each other. I like that. Then there was never mind the buzzards or something like that. It's about pop music but I don't understand half of it. I don't even know what the name of the programme is supposed to mean. I got a bit fed up of it so I turned it off and went to bed. I was tired out. I’d been working all day.”
“Did you hear anything during the night?” Swift asked.
“Nothing that all,” Foster replied rather too eagerly. “I told you, I was tired out. Slept like a log. Well, I'm not the night watchman,” he added with a little unnecessary aggression. “It's not my job to check who comes and goes. I wasn't the one deserting my post.”
“What do you mean?” Amos asked sharply.
“That night watchman who was on duty on Friday night. That’s who I mean. Always nipping around the back for a fag. They’re not supposed to smoke on duty, you know. That's why he got me to watch out for him all afternoon.”
“Surely he wouldn't still have been here late at night if he was on duty during the day,” Swift ventured.
“Course he was,” Foster retorted with a note of contempt. “They don't pay ‘em much. That's because they're all thick. They only have to sit there and press a button. They employ anyone. Imbeciles, criminals ... and pay peanuts. They don't run any proper checks on who they employ. So the guards work double shifts to bump up their wages. The same chap who came in at noon was there till midnight. At least, that’s what he told me.
“So who manned the gate when he went for a ciggie after nine o'clock?" Foster triumphantly left the question hanging in the air.
Swift shot Amos a glance but he deliberately ignored her look.
"Thank you, Mr Foster," he said calmly. "You have been most helpful. We know where to find you if we need you again."
“Can't see why you should," Foster replied truculently. "I’ve already given you your two top suspects."
“I’ll be the judge of that," Amos responded coldly. "But thank you for your cooperation, anyway."
Foster was clearly not sorry to see them go. Once they were out on the landing with the caretaker’s door closed behind them, Swift turned to Amos.
“You realise if what he says is true anyone could have walked in and murdered Jones," she said. “It doesn't have to have been one of the residents."
“The point had crossed my mind," Amos said dejectedly.
Chapter 12
Amos sauntered casually up to the sentry box as the guard watched him with a cautious eye.
Neither spoke until the officer was at the door of the little hut.
"You were on duty on Friday night," Amos said more as a statement than a question.
"Yes." The reply was perfunctory.
This is going to be heavy going, Amos thought, but at least he had the guard trapped inside the box.
"Did anyone come in that evening who was not a resident?"
The guard took out a red covered book.
"All visitors are recorded here," he said, opening the book at the relevant page.
Amos could see just three entries. A young lady had visited 7B, arriving at 7pm and leaving next morning, collaborating the story of the young man in that flat, who said that the woman had been in his flat all night.
A couple had called for 9C about a quarter of an hour later. They were booked out at 11 pm. This, too, fitted in with the statement given by the residents of the relevant apartment.
No-one else in Killiney Court had admitted to having outside company that evening. Yet one person was shown to have signed in at 9pm on Friday evening without any record of his or her departure, either that night or subsequently. Amos sighed. The record keeping was so haphazard it was pointless.
Amos scrutinised the childlike scrawl that passed for a signature.
“Joan … Jean … John,” Swift ventured over his shoulder.
The surname was illegible but the box
“Did you hear anything during the night?” Swift asked.
“Nothing that all,” Foster replied rather too eagerly. “I told you, I was tired out. Slept like a log. Well, I'm not the night watchman,” he added with a little unnecessary aggression. “It's not my job to check who comes and goes. I wasn't the one deserting my post.”
“What do you mean?” Amos asked sharply.
“That night watchman who was on duty on Friday night. That’s who I mean. Always nipping around the back for a fag. They’re not supposed to smoke on duty, you know. That's why he got me to watch out for him all afternoon.”
“Surely he wouldn't still have been here late at night if he was on duty during the day,” Swift ventured.
“Course he was,” Foster retorted with a note of contempt. “They don't pay ‘em much. That's because they're all thick. They only have to sit there and press a button. They employ anyone. Imbeciles, criminals ... and pay peanuts. They don't run any proper checks on who they employ. So the guards work double shifts to bump up their wages. The same chap who came in at noon was there till midnight. At least, that’s what he told me.
“So who manned the gate when he went for a ciggie after nine o'clock?" Foster triumphantly left the question hanging in the air.
Swift shot Amos a glance but he deliberately ignored her look.
"Thank you, Mr Foster," he said calmly. "You have been most helpful. We know where to find you if we need you again."
“Can't see why you should," Foster replied truculently. "I’ve already given you your two top suspects."
“I’ll be the judge of that," Amos responded coldly. "But thank you for your cooperation, anyway."
Foster was clearly not sorry to see them go. Once they were out on the landing with the caretaker’s door closed behind them, Swift turned to Amos.
“You realise if what he says is true anyone could have walked in and murdered Jones," she said. “It doesn't have to have been one of the residents."
“The point had crossed my mind," Amos said dejectedly.
Chapter 12
Amos sauntered casually up to the sentry box as the guard watched him with a cautious eye.
Neither spoke until the officer was at the door of the little hut.
"You were on duty on Friday night," Amos said more as a statement than a question.
"Yes." The reply was perfunctory.
This is going to be heavy going, Amos thought, but at least he had the guard trapped inside the box.
"Did anyone come in that evening who was not a resident?"
The guard took out a red covered book.
"All visitors are recorded here," he said, opening the book at the relevant page.
Amos could see just three entries. A young lady had visited 7B, arriving at 7pm and leaving next morning, collaborating the story of the young man in that flat, who said that the woman had been in his flat all night.
A couple had called for 9C about a quarter of an hour later. They were booked out at 11 pm. This, too, fitted in with the statement given by the residents of the relevant apartment.
No-one else in Killiney Court had admitted to having outside company that evening. Yet one person was shown to have signed in at 9pm on Friday evening without any record of his or her departure, either that night or subsequently. Amos sighed. The record keeping was so haphazard it was pointless.
Amos scrutinised the childlike scrawl that passed for a signature.
“Joan … Jean … John,” Swift ventured over his shoulder.
The surname was illegible but the box
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