Java Spider by Geoffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

… I don’t think he’s in. I’m next door you see. I heard his bell just a moment ago. It’s been going on and off all afternoon.’
    ‘That was me. Just now anyway. Tell me, is there a caretaker for these flats?’
    ‘Yes, but today’s Sunday so he’s not here.’
    ‘Madam, I’m a police officer.’ He turned his back towards the press photographers and showed her his warrant card. ‘Can we step inside a moment?’
    She wound the dog’s lead round her wrist, then put on half-moon glasses to check his ID.
    ‘Do you by any chance have a key to his flat?’ he asked. ‘It’s because of the bombs. We’re checking the homes of MPs who’ve been away for a few days. Just in case … you know?’
    She looked a little doubtful but led the way to the second floor, dragging her protesting animal. She went into her own flat briefly and re-emerged with a key.
    Inside Bowen’s flat, the first door was the kitchen. Next , a small bathroom. At the end of the hall a living room on the left and bedroom on the right. Bed made. All neat and tidy.
    ‘Everything all right?’ the woman called from the stairwell.
    ‘So far, yes.’
    The living room was chintzy sofas, and repro antiques. No bodies on the floor, no sign of trouble. On a rosewood card table by the door, a fax and answerphone. He touched the replay. A woman’s voice, decidedly ‘county’, was coldly telling him to ring. The wife probably. Then a second message which caught his interest.
    ‘
Greenfield here, Mr Bowen. Ringing at four thirty on Saturday
.’
    The voice sounded north London Jewish.
    ‘
I know you’ve been away this week, but I need to remind you that you’ve missed your payment deadline again. This really can’t go on. I don’t want to go public, but you’re forcing my hand, Mr Bowen. We’re not a charity. We’ve got to have our money. I’d be obliged if you’d call me first thing Monday. Please don’t make me have to ring you at the House or the Foreign Office
.’
    Money problems it was, then. Pity. Sex would have been more interesting.
    One more message from the wife, concerned this time rather than angry. Then two from lobby journalists asking Bowen to call. Randall spooled back the tape and played it again, taking a verbatim note.
    As he reappeared at the front door, the woman looked relieved his arms weren’t full of stolen silver.
    ‘Thanks for your help, ma’am. Everything’s in order.’
    Out in the street he was eyed with curiosity by the snappers. Back in his car he called DCI Mostyn’s direct line on his mobile and told him what he’d learned.
    ‘Well that’s something,’ the Midlander mumbled. ‘Gives us somewhere to start if he’s not turned up by tomorrow morning. Better get yourself back in here and draw up an action plan.’
    Nick checked his watch. A quarter to five. He could see this dragging on all evening.
    He dialled his home in Wimbledon. The voice that answered sounded sleepy.
    ‘It’s me, Debs. Were you snoozing?’
    ‘Mmm … Just a little lie down.’ They’d been living together for the past two years. Debbie worked in personnel at a local police station. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘I’ve been caught for duty.’
    ‘Oh yeah?’ Always a little suspicious of him when he went to his ex-wife’s house. ‘How was Sandra?’
    ‘Never saw her. They rang when I was parking. Had to phone the house from the car to say I couldn’t make it.’
    ‘Oh no … So when are you coming home?’ Her voice sounded flat.
    ‘No idea, chuck. You know what it’s like.’
    ‘No peace for the wicked, eh?’
    ‘Something like that. See you later. OK?’
    ‘OK.’
    He rang off and turned on the ignition.
    Debbie was a divorcee too. No kids though. She was good for him. Easy-going like himself, never nagging about where they were heading as a couple, never getting into a paddy over anything. Above all, she let him be himself. Women sucked blood, given half a chance, and he wasn’t a willing donor.
    M4