A Cool Head Read Online Free PDF Page B

to be believed. There were big dollops of the stuff. Masters had suffered a shot to the head. There should have been a spray of blood and brain matter, but cars had been parked here. Probably two of them, judging by the tyre marks.
    Jane Harris had asked one of her team to look in Masters’ office. He would have bookings. She wanted to know which car or cars he had been working on. Maybe someone had wanted them. Cars got stolen all the time, didn’t they? But carjackers didn’t normally resort to guns. And why had the garage owner carried a gun of his own?
    Her colleague Bob Sanders had a different theory. Bob had been on the force for almost as long as Jane had been alive. She trusted him when he mentioned the name George Renshaw.
    ‘Explain,’ was all she said, folding her arms.
    ‘Raymond might look clean these days, but in the past he was a bit of a lad. Ran with Albert Renshaw’s crew. Albert was George’s dad. Raymond’s done time inside. Word is that he’s still friends with Gorgeous George, and I can see why he’d be useful . . . George might sometimes have a car that needs cleaning.’
    ‘I thought he got rid of them at his scrapyard. ’
    ‘Maybe.’
    Bob left her to think about it. He knew she would think about it. The guy who’d been wounded . . . someone would know. A doctor or hospital. An all-night supermarket where he could buy compresses and bandages. Someone would know. Or he could be nearby, hiding, biding his time. Maybe in a garden or a flat. He could have burst his way in. Jane knew that the first few hours were crucial, knew that the trail started to go cold after that. She needed people to go knocking on doors. She needed at least a couple of sniffer dogs.
    One member of the forensic team was taking a photo of a footprint. The footprint was bloody. It got fainter as it neared the garage doors. The wounded man? No, because he’d been twelve feet further away. But the pool of blood vanished too. There were no signs that it led outside. So, one man heading outside, one man taking a car. Had they been partners? Or was one a bystander?
    ‘Might be a car theft after all,’ another detective said, emerging from the office. ‘Full valet this afternoon on a big Bentley. They cost a hundred grand plus. Owner’s number’s in the diary. I’ve just talked to him. He was picking the car up in the morning.’
    ‘Put out a call,’ Jane said. ‘Let everyone know the registration. Box of chocolates for the first one who spots it.’
    ‘And a hug and a kiss from yourself, Jane?’ Bob joked.
    ‘Unless you’re the winner,’ she told him. Another officer had appeared from the forecourt.
    ‘Parked car, recently damaged. Maybe by the getaway vehicle.’
    ‘Get forensics on to it,’ Jane said.
    An hour later, she was heading back to HQ. Her boss had been woken up and was on his way there from his home. He would want a report. She would ask him for more officers. He would start doing the sums. Everything cost money, and even murder came with a budget attached. Jane parked in an empty bay, just as a police van was drawing up. People were singing inside. Drunks, probably, on their way to a night in the cells. She pushed open the door to the police station and went in. The desk sergeant nodded and waved.
    ‘Busy night?’ he guessed.
    ‘You heard about the shooting?’
    He nodded. ‘Thought it was funny, actually . . .’
    She stared at him. ‘Funny?’
    ‘Odd, I mean. You know that Ray Masters has links to George Renshaw?’
    ‘Bob told me.’
    The desk sergeant smiled. ‘Well, Bob knows everything, doesn’t he?’
    ‘Meaning I don’t?’
    ‘You’re a quick learner, though, ma’am. So tell me this, who’s Don Empson?’
    She walked towards him. ‘No idea,’ she confessed.
    ‘Only, we had him in here a few hours back. Patrol car picked him up in a graveyard. He spun them a story and we had to let him go.’
    ‘So who is he then?’ Jane asked.
    ‘He’s George Renshaw’s