Riot Act by Zoe Sharp Read Free Book Online

bright almost to the point of manic. “How are you, darling?”
     
    “I’m fine,” I said.
     
    She heard the mental step back and toned down her manner. “So, tell me all your news,” she said, still heartily. “How are you keeping? What have you been up to?”
     
    “I’m fine,” I said again. “I’m house-sitting for a friend. Well, dog-sitting actually.” The dog in question, who’d been spark out on the rug in the middle of the living room, sat up long enough to scratch behind his ear with one hind foot, then flopped back down again.
     
    That launched us into a conversation about her dogs, two elderly Labradors. She seemed relieved to be on neutral ground and had nearly started to relax by the time I got round to the real reason for my call.
     
    “I need to pick your brains,” I said.
     
    “About dogs?”
     
    “No, not really, although I suppose that comes into it,” I replied, thinking of the part Friday had unwittingly played in last night’s events. “I need to pick your professional brains.”
     
    There was silence again, and this time it went on for a while. My father’s lucrative job as a consultant surgeon has meant my mother never needed to work after she married, but to pass the time she’d become a local magistrate.
     
    That had turned out not to be as much use as you’d imagine when it came to my own trial, but sordid little cases like mine didn’t crop up too regularly in the stockbroker belt of Cheshire. Burglary, however, was another thing.
     
    “Of-of course I’ll help, Charlotte, if I can,” she said now, wary, but still amenable.
     
    Before she could change her mind, I jumped right in and explained about the botched burglary by Roger and his mates, including the injury to Fariman, but glossing over any active part I’d played in the proceedings.
     
    I finished by telling her about my feeling that Roger should end up in court, and O’Bryan’s opinion that a caution would better keep him on the straight and narrow. “But, he’s already had cautions before,” I said. “I don’t know what to do for the best and I was hoping for some advice.”
     
    “Not exactly the sort of advice mothers are usually called upon to dispense,” she said wryly, and for the first time there was a trace of humour in her voice.
     
    “No, I suppose not,” I agreed.
     
    “I’ll do a little research, if that’s all right. I never applied to sit on the juvenile bench, but one of my colleagues deals with that type of case and I’d like to check my facts absolutely before I speak. Can you wait a few days. Maybe a week?”
     
    I thought of O’Bryan and wasn’t sure how long I could stall him without making a decision.
     
    My mother heard the hesitation and mistook the reason for it. “He’s not threatening you is he, Charlotte?” she demanded. “Are you quite sure you’re safe where you are?”
     
    “Oh yes,” I said, glibly. “I don’t think anything’s going to happen for a while on this one.”
     
    Honestly. There are days when I only open my mouth to change feet.
     

Four
     
    It may have been a coincidence, but the trashing of Eric O’Bryan’s Mercedes seemed to mark the beginning of a step-up in the usual level of crime on the Lavender Gardens estate. The next day all the cars which were left parked overnight on Kirby Street had been vandalised.
     
    I made a mental inventory of the damage when Friday took me out for his regular morning walk. I had to keep him on a short lead to stop him from paddling about in the debris with a blatant disregard for vet’s bills.
     
    By the sounds of the shouting going on, the kids of the street were getting it in the neck for the damage. I supposed it was difficult for them to convince anyone they were blameless in this exercise, when just about everyone with a net curtain to lurk behind had seen them pulling the Merc apart the previous day.
     
    As I waited for Friday to finish his minute nasal examination of a tree