The Picasso Scam by Stuart Pawson Read Free Book Online Page B

faintest inkling of being rumbled he’s to cut and run. I’ve also warned him that he might be dealing with dumbos at present, but the next tier will be a different league, they’ll have brains. Just a name, that’s all I’ve told him to get.’
    Gilbert was calm now. He shook his head slowly. ‘Rather him than me,’ he said, then asked: ‘Do you worry about them, Charlie?’
    ‘Mmm, I worry myself sick. They seem to lap it up, though.’
    ‘And what about John Rose?’
    ‘John is cultivating a couple of contacts in a gang who call themselves the Fusiliers. Plenty going off but all small stuff. Thieving, some drugs, a bit of football hooliganism, racist overtones. Nothing organised, though.’
    ‘God, what a healthy environment to put our best recruits into. What would his mother think? Call him off if he’s wasting his time.’
    ‘I’ll leave him a bit longer, if you don’t mind. No doubt we’ll get something out of it. I’m having to be flexible with them both, though, because they’re supposed to be unemployed. That’s leaving me short in other areas.’
    ‘OK,’ agreed Gilbert, ‘do what you think is best. How are you getting on with your dad’s Jaguar? Is it nearly ready?’
    ‘It’s going well. The wheels have just been done up and now they’re back at Jimmy Hoyle’s for new tyres and balancing. All we need then is an MOT and we’re away.’
    I stood up to leave. ‘Don’t forget the Procurator Fiscal,’ I reminded him. His reply tripped off the tongue with similar ease.
     
    Nigel Newley was back with us. He’d shown a definite aptitude for detective work and started to fit in when he realised that we weren’t complete barbarians north of Hemel Hempstead. We just like to pretend we are. He’d even acquired a taste for the beer, and no longerdiluted it with brown ale. I’d had him in, together with another DC, Jeff Caton, to give them a grilling in preparation for their promotion panels. When we’d finished I asked Jeff to find the names of the Traffic boys who had escorted the Art Aid convoy, and to check which security company was involved.
    ‘A fart to a Ferrari it was Housecarl, but check anyway,’ I told him.
    Nigel had a report to type. He’d caught a pickpocket in the New Mall. She was a sixty-seven-year-old alcoholic. We both agreed that this burst of success was unlikely to get the Super off our necks, but we’d go through the motions by giving her a caution and alerting the Social Services. Tony Willis was busy at the typewriter keys, too, preparing some court reports. Tony’s typing has all the intermittency of some dastardly Chinese water torture. After a longer than average pause he asked: ‘Does buggery have a g-g in it?’
    ‘A gee-gee, a moo cow, usually something like that,’ I told him.
    ‘Thanks, boss. We’d be lost without you.’
    ‘Any time, Anthony.’
    Nigel was gazing at us both with a vacant expression when Gilbert Wood burst in. ‘Haven’t you got anything to do?’ he demanded of Nigel. Without waiting for a reply he hurled a screwed-up ball of paper at me and sat down. I smoothed out the sheet and saw it was the Procurator Fiscal’s name and number that I had given him. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke. ‘I justrang your friend Jock McPillock. Made me feel like a bloody schoolboy. How dare I have the temerity to ring him on the electric telephone? Any second I expected him to call me “wee laddie”.’
    I waited until Gilbert had calmed down. ‘Do I get the impression he’s not willing to cooperate?’ I asked, stifling a laugh.
    ‘Him and me also. Not without hard evidence. A crime would be a good starting point. My advice is drop it, Charlie, we’ve enough on our plates chasing real villains without inventing them.’
    ‘OK, boss, but thanks for ringing him. I’ll cross it off my list of Jobs I Must Do. Kettle’s just boiled if you want a coffee.’
    ‘No thanks. Wife’s got me on decaffeinated. Tastes just the same to