Bad Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

easy. I said “me too” and we had a laugh about that.’
    â€˜At his age? What sort of age would that be?’ Savage replied.
    â€˜Hey?’ Serling opened his eyes. ‘About mine. Mid-forties. Looked pretty fit to me. Short and stocky, not much hair, but plenty of muscles, not running to fat like most of the rest of the world.’
    â€˜What about payment? Contact details?’
    â€˜He gave me a mobile number and he paid cash, upfront.’
    â€˜Isn’t that unusual these days?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ Serling smiled. ‘But not without some advantages.’
    â€˜Tax?’
    â€˜Yes. Forget I told you.’ Serling raised a hand and brushed his hair. A few pieces of sawdust fell on to his shoulder like flakes of oversized dandruff. ‘Mr Evershed said he was going to be away for a while and thought it best to settle up beforehand. Seven fifty in an envelope. He said he was trusting me and that I wasn’t to mess him around. The job had to be done Monday, come rain or shine. Well, I thought, for seven fifty you could add in hell or high water too.’
    â€˜Wasn’t it over the odds? Seven hundred and fifty?’
    â€˜Yes. Although to be fair it was going to take my lads all day to lift the slabs and dig out to the required depth.’
    â€˜Have you still got the envelope or the money?’
    â€˜What? You want it back?’
    â€˜For fingerprints. You’ll get a receipt.’
    â€˜Yes. It’s at home.’ Serling smiled again. ‘I wasn’t going to bank it, was I?’
    Savage thanked Serling and directed Calter to go with him, retrieve the money and take a full statement. Then she went back to the rear of the house where the entire panoply of police resources were now in evidence. Three of Layton’s team of CSIs were working on excavating the rest of the patio, carting barrow-loads of soil round to the front of the house where they were sieved into a skip. A photographer recorded any item recovered as it was removed and an exhibits officer bagged and catalogued those of interest. Away from the patio a woman pushed what looked like a small grass mower back and forth over the lawn.
    â€˜Ground-penetrating radar,’ Layton said when Savage asked. ‘Should tell us if anything else is buried there. Let’s hope she’s wasting her time.’
    â€˜And inside?’
    â€˜We’ll see.’ Layton turned to look at the house. ‘The place is due for a refurb which means, luckily, the decor hasn’t been touched for years. We should be able to ascertain if anything has been disturbed recently. And before you ask, no, nothing in the loft. Thank God.’
    DCI Mike Garrett turned up an hour later, looking, as always, as if he had arrived direct from an upmarket tailor. Not so much as a piece of fluff on the dark surface of his suit, his shirt brilliant white, the collar starched, tie perfect, Garrett’s hair not far off the colour of the shirt. Unblemished was a moniker which could be applied to the older detective’s career too. He had taken a while to climb to the rank of Chief Inspector but had done so without stepping on toes, without getting his fingers dirty. Colleagues respected him and he was well-liked among all ranks. Sometimes though, Savage found him a little too stuffy.
    Once Garret had clambered into his protective clothing, he came round to the back armed with a friendly greeting and a name for the operation.
    â€˜
Brougham
,’ he said, as he stood over the hole, gazing down at the rubble. The plastic crate and its contents had gone, accompanied to the morgue by Nesbit and Layton, but several numbered markers lay scattered around, and Garrett’s eyes moved from one to another as if he was playing a perverse game of join the dots. ‘I’m Senior Investigating Officer,’ he said to Savage, ‘you’re my deputy. As you can imagine, Hardin wants a quick result on this one.