The Enemy Within by James Craig Read Free Book Online

careful what you say right now.
    He stuck a big smile on his face. ‘If it wasn’t for you being so totally wonderful, I don’t know what I would have done.’
    ‘Don’t try and butter me up, Rob,’ she said sternly, trying to beat down a smile.
    ‘Would I?’ he grinned, knowing that he had done exactly that.
    ‘Yes you would. Anyway, all I am saying is that it is very convenient for the police to have found someone to take the rap for Beatrice Slater’s murder so quickly.’
    Take the rap? Holt frowned. It sounded like Fran had been overdosing on Hill Street Blues again.
    ‘After all,’ she continued, ‘this is the biggest crime there’s been here, on your patch, for God knows how long.’
    ‘By miles,’ he agreed. ‘It’s the first murder in the district for more than a decade.’
    ‘Quite . . . and you’ve managed to make an arrest in less than forty-eight hours.’
    ‘Well,’ he pouted, ‘it’s not like I’m some inexperienced village bobby. I did come up here from the throbbing metropolis, remember.’
    ‘Still, this is the first murder case that you’ve had since you’ve been here.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘And you’ve solved it almost immediately, even though the whole place is a war zone at the moment and all of your officers are stretched to the limit.’
    ‘It’s not that surprising,’ Holt shrugged. ‘If you’re going to catch the bloke who did it, you’re usually going to get him in the first day or so.’ He remembered reading an article about it in the
Police Review
.
    ‘Only when they are caught red-handed,’ Mullin protested, trying to resist the craving for another cigarette.
    ‘So, what are you saying?’ he snapped.
    ‘Who fingered Ian Williamson?’ she shot back. ‘Was it that gormless boy from MI5?’
    ‘Who says he’s from MI5?’ Holt stuck an exploratory foot over the side of the bed. He really did need that piss.
    Mullin let her gaze drift to a point near the window where the brown, orange and yellow Apollo wallpaper had started peeling off. ‘C’mon Rob,’ she said wearily, ‘it’s a bit late to be tight lipped.’
    ‘Mm.’
    ‘Anyway, the junior spook showed me his ID. He was very proud of it. It was quite sweet really.’
    Holt slumped back on the bed. ‘Christ! What a berk!’
    ‘It’s good to know our security is in the hands of people like that,’ Mullin laughed. ‘Just as well they’re only up against poor old Arthur Scargill.’
    ‘You cannot write any of this,’ Holt groaned. ‘Never, ever.’
    ‘I don’t want to write any of this,’ she replied, exasperated with her boyfriend’s total lack of faith in her powers of discretion. ‘However, there will be plenty of people writing the story when Ian Williamson is paraded in court tomorrow. And more than a few of them will ask the same questions as me.’
    ‘He did it,’ Holt said sullenly.
    ‘Uh-huh. Isn’t the idea that you’re supposed to prove that he did it?’
    ‘He did it.’
    Mullin raised her eyebrows. ‘Did he confess?’
    ‘We have two witnesses who saw him near Slater’s house.’
    ‘That’s very convenient. Who are they?’
    ‘C’mon,’ he frowned, ‘I’m not going to tell you that.’
    ‘Do they really exist?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘Have you spoken to them?’
    Holt hesitated.
    ‘Rob?’
    ‘Not yet,’ he admitted quietly.
    ‘And yet you’ve nicked this guy?’
    ‘I’ve seen the statements.’
    ‘How did you find them, the witnesses?’
    ‘They came forward.’
    ‘Very handy.’
    ‘They were concerned citizens.’
    ‘Yeah, right.’
    ‘They did,’ he protested. ‘They independently say that they saw Williamson entering . . . and leaving Slater’s house around the time that she was killed.’
    Unconsciously, Mullin eased into full-on journalist mode as she changed tack. ‘Beatrice was found in the woods. Are you saying that she was killed in her home?’
    ‘We think so.’
    ‘And your witnesses saw him leave with the