Hard Going by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Read Free Book Online Page B

Joanna was his tranquil garden of refreshment. But she might not want to hear that just now, so he used his lips without words instead.
    Morning brought Bob Bailey, calling in himself with the fingerprints. This was not kindness or especially good service, more that he was running a campaign of trying to get into Connolly’s pants. He was recently separated and keen to get back in the saddle. He wasn’t a bad-looking bloke – though not as good-looking, according to the women in Slider’s firm, as he thought he was – and evidently reckoned he had a chance with Connolly, despite her undisguised hostility.
    Slider’s door was open and he heard the exchange from the CID room. Bailey’s opening gambit was straightforward. ‘Where’s the lovely Rita? Lovely Rita, meter maid ,’ he warbled. ‘When are you going to give me that date?’
    Connolly managed to be quite robust without raising her voice. ‘Go out with you? What are you, headless? I wouldn’t date you if it was gold plated.’
    ‘Ah, come on. I’m not talking about a cheap date. I’m ready to spend money on you. Anywhere you like. You can name your place.’
    ‘And you can feck right off with yourself,’ Connolly returned firmly. She crossed Slider’s vision as she went out of the room.
    Bailey appeared in Slider’s doorway.
    ‘There are baboons with more subtle mating rituals,’ Slider said, glaring at him. ‘How many times does she have to say no?’
    Bailey was unabashed. ‘She’ll come round. Persistence pays.’
    ‘Not if you call her a meter maid. She’ll deck you, and I for one will cheer.’
    ‘I like a girl with spirit,’ he said with a mixture of lust and sentiment.
    ‘Well, I won’t have you harassing my staff.’
    ‘Asking a girl out isn’t harassing.’
    ‘It is in the workplace,’ Slider warned, and saw it sink in. Bailey was a civilian and not under his command, but employment law applied to him just the same.
    Bailey became brisk and professional. ‘Right, I’ve got the lifts for you. The place is very clean – that housekeeper does her job all right – so there aren’t as many marks as you might expect. A lot of marks and smudges up the staircase wall and the handrail. Marks on the desk that may be the victim’s. Recent marks in the kitchen look like a woman’s, so probably the housekeeper’s. And a lot of marks on the door of the Murder Room.’
    ‘Can we not call it that,’ Slider intervened in a pained voice.
    Bailey shrugged. ‘Whatever. Study, if you like. Like I said, madam housekeeper cleans and wipes, but nobody polishes up a door, do they? Now the doorknob’s been wiped clean, both sides, but on the edge of the door there’s quite a few marks, and about shoulder height there’s a fresh thumb and all four fingers which are over the top of anything else, making them the latest. Like this.’ He demonstrated the position on Slider’s office door.
    Slider got it. ‘He gripped the door to steady it while he wiped the doorknobs?’
    ‘In my humble opinion,’ said Bailey with an unhumble smirk.
    ‘So,’ said Slider, ‘if they were left by the murderer, he didn’t wear gloves, but having done the deed, tried to cover himself by wiping the weapon where he’d held it, and the door knobs. He managed to think that far, but not far enough.’
    ‘It’s a fair assumption,’ said Bailey.
    It wasn’t as much as that. Anyone could have gripped the door by the frame in the act of closing it, and the fact that there were no marks over the top of these didn’t give any evidence about when they had been made. But it was something. And if they came up with a match in records …
    ‘It’s a lead,’ Slider allowed. ‘Possibly.’
    Bailey shrugged at such parsimony. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’
    ‘I’m ecstatic,’ said Slider.
    Bailey trickled out, hoping for Connolly to come back. ‘Contents of the safe and the desk are on their way. And I’ve brought the diary and address book, and his