Making A Killing (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

what?’
    ‘Violence. Lots of it.’
    ‘Are you suggesting that your phone-calls and this incident are related?’
    ‘No. I don’t know. I doubt it. It’s probably just coincidental, don’t you think?’ There was a shadow of a desperate hope in the man’s eyes.
    Romney’s interest in the man was re-kindled. ‘You’re sure you don’t know him?’
    ‘I don’t recognise him as he is.’
    ‘He might be Phillip Emerson, the club captain. Do you know him?’
    Smart smiled. ‘Only by reputation. Out of my league professionally, socially and as a golfer. Our paths have never crossed to my knowledge. I’m an artisan. They tend n ot to let us mix with the elite, those who can afford the full membership.’
    Now Romney smiled. ‘How long have you been getting the calls?’
    ‘Since the day after my most recent divorce. Not long.’
    Romney’s interest was extinguished. ‘You’ll have to come into the station and make a formal statement about this,’ he said, indicating the scene behind him. ‘Ask to s peak to someone about the phone-calls.’
    Marsh returned with a uniformed officer.
    ‘I’ve just started three days off. I’ll come in tomorrow,’ said Smart.
    ‘Good. By the way, is that your vomit?’
    ‘Afraid so. Must have been something I ate.’ Smart dipped his head at the officers and wandered after the constable just a little unsteadily.
    ‘Anything?’ said Marsh.
    ‘No. Says he doesn’t know him. I wouldn’t call him quite reliable right now, anyway. But I doubt that there’s any connection between them. Someone had to find the body. It just happened to be him. He says he’s been receiving threatening phone calls. Something to do with an ex-wife.’
    Grimes’ shout floated to them across the open ground. He was signalling for them to join him. Within a minute Romney and Marsh were stood in the semi-rough where Grimes had in dicated they should wait. Ten metres of waist high weeds and grasses separated them from where Grimes stood on the other side of the four foot fence that penned in the golf course.
    ‘What is it?’ said Romney.
    ‘There’s a snag of fabric caught on the barbed wire here, gov,’ called Grimes. ‘And, if you move to your left a few feet. Can you see? Looks like someone has cut through recently.’
    There was a clear and recently trodden-down channel leading from the fence to the edge of the course. Romney picked his way into the overgrown area and headed towards Grimes. Half-way in he stopped and disappeared. When he stood up he was holding a suit jacket hooked over a finger. It’s resemblance to the trousers of the dead man was strong. He continued on towards Grimes. At the fence he compared the fabric to the threads dancing in the faint sea-breeze. Another good match. They quickly found the little tear where the material had caught on the barbed wire.
    ‘Well done,’ said Romney. He felt in the pockets of the jacket withdrawing a wallet and a mobile phone. As well as a couple of hundred in cash there were cards that identified Phillip Emerson as the wallet’s owner. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll send someone over to collect that sample.’
     
    ***
     
     
     
    3
     
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Mrs Ellen Emerson?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’m Detective Inspector Romney, this is Detective Sergeant Marsh. May we come in, please?’
    One hand came quickly up to her mouth. ‘Oh Christ. Tell me it’s not William.’ The knuckles of her other hand stood out white against the heavy dark wood of the door frame. For a moment it seemed she would collapse.
    ‘We’re here for your husband, Phillip,’ said Romney.
    The hand went to her chest. ‘Oh, thank God.’ She smiled weakly, embarrassed for her outburst. ‘You must know how it is. You see it all the time on the television – the police on your doorstep, only means one thing: bad news. Usually someone’s dead.’
    Romney gave a weak i dea of a smile. ‘May we come in, Mrs Emerson?’
    ‘He’s not here,’ she