Death of a Cave Dweller Read Online Free PDF Page B

Pollard’s doorman.
    Alice looked down longingly at the whisky bottle which was resting on the counter. It was a bit early in the day for her first drink, but what with the murder and everything, she reckoned she deserved one. She poured herself a generous measure, and knocked it back in one gulp.
    â€œI’d go bit easier on that if I was you, Alice,” Rick Johnson advised her.
    Ignoring the warning, the woman poured herself a second shot.
    â€œIt said in the paper that the local bluebottles have given up trying to solve the case themselves and have called in Scotland Yard,” she said.
    â€œYou don’t have to tell me that,” Johnson replied irritably. “I can
read
, you know.”
    â€œCourse you can,” Alice Pollard said in a soothing voice. “The thing is, it’s obvious that these fellers from London are going to be a lot more thorough than the bobbies we’ve had to deal with so far.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” Johnson demanded.
    â€œYou know what it means. It means they’ll be taking a much closer look at you than the Liverpool Police did.”
    â€œAn’ what if they do? I had no reason to kill Eddie Barnes,” Johnson protested.
    Alice Pollard sighed loudly. “They won’t see it like that, and you know it,” she said.
    â€œThen to hell with them!”
    â€œIt’s not that easy, luv. I only wish it was. They’ve got to arrest somebody for this murder, and the way things are looking you’re a pretty good candidate.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do?” Rick Johnson asked, more sulky than annoyed now.
    â€œJust keep your head down for a while. Don’t go charging around like a bull in a china shop like you usually do. If they talk to you, try smiling at them now and again, instead of looking like you’d like to catch them alone down a dark alley.” She reached across and put her hand on his arm. “I’m only saying this because I care about you. I care about you very much.”
    â€œI know you do, Alice. An’ I care about you an’ all.”
    â€œSo you’ll follow my advice, will you?”
    â€œYes, I’ll follow your advice,” Johnson said, without much conviction.
    Babysitting the men from London had not been a job anyone else had wanted, Inspector Brian Hopgood thought, as he watched the Birkenhead-to-Liverpool ferry docking – but that only showed what a lack of foresight his colleagues had.
    Woodend’s reputation had put the others off, and prevented them from seeing the fact that this investigation presented a tremendous opportunity. At the very least, the officer who worked with the men from Scotland Yard would get some of the kudos if the case were solved. And that
was
the very least. At best, if all went according to plan, Hopgood could take Woodend’s findings, add his own local knowledge, and make the arrest himself.
    He could imagine the newspaper headline – ‘ Local inspector succeeds where Scotland Yard fails ’! Oh yes, this was the chance he’d been looking for ever since he’d joined the force, and he wasn’t about to blow it just because a few of the spineless bastards back at the station had been muttering about just how difficult Cloggin’-it Charlie Woodend could be.
    The ferry mooring ropes had been tied firmly around the capstan, and now, slowly and creakingly, the gangplank was being lowered. Hopgood lit up a Player’s Navy Cut, and steeled himself to meet the ogre whom lesser men stood in dread of.
    His first sight of Woodend was reassuring. Certainly he was a big feller, as ogres are supposed to be, but from the way he was looking around him with obvious – almost naïve – interest, he seemed more like a rustic on his first visit to a large city than he did a hotshot up from New Scotland Yard.
    The inspector stepped forward and held out his hand. “Brian Hopgood,