Spend Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

friendliness as we passed. He watched us go between the tyre marks.
    ‘Why do you
do
it, Lovejoy?’ Margaret was furious, slamming her gears. ‘Why?’
    ‘Shut it.’ I watched the trees flit past. ‘Leckie’s not going to be shelved in some crummy office file and forgotten. The poor sod’s taxes paid Maslow’s wages. It’s time Maslow earned some of it.’
    ‘You frighten me.’ She was quite pale.
    ‘Then get out and let me drive.’
    We coursed into town like tiffed lovers, lips squeezed and not speaking.
    Margaret dropped me by the War Memorial. I’d seen Tinker as we passed, waiting outside the Sailor’s Return on East Hill, twenty minutes before opening time. I wonder where he waits if it’s raining.
    ‘Wotcher, Lovejoy,’ he croaked, a horrible lazaroid spectre so early. It looked touch and go whether he’d last out.
    ‘Get my crate from the cottage, Tinker.’
    ‘Bleeding hell. Right now?’ He kicked the pub door in distress.
    I relented. ‘In half an hour, then. Look. Who told you?’
    ‘About Leckie? Patrick. I phoned Margaret.’ He was peeved I’d taken no notice.
    ‘Where’ll he be now?’ Knowing this sort of thing’s a barker’s job. He rummaged around in his mind.
    ‘Just left Lily’s,’ he decided finally. ‘You’ll catch him at St Nicholas.’
    That was odd, but I know better than argue with Tinker’s mental radar. I hesitated.
    ‘Black Fergie,’ I said. ‘Suss him out, eh?’
    ‘And that bird?’ He was grinning all over. ‘Her with the big knockers?’
    ‘Charmingly put, Tinker. Her too.’
    I left him thirsting and cut across by the remains of the Roman Wall. Pneumatic drills were going. Another car park, more progress. St Nicholas is a late-Saxon church, rescued from destruction by conversion into a museum. It specializes in farm crafts and rural occupations. I’d given it a set of three ladies’ decorated clay pipes, seventeenth-century, to help get it started. I must have been off my rocker. They’re worth a fortune now.
    Patrick was there as Tinker said, arguing in the foyer and stamping his foot. I don’t know how Tinker does it. I waited impatiently for Patrick’s tantrum to subside. Lily was catching it good and proper for buying some old Indian playing-card counters of mother-of-pearl made for some officer in the days of the Raj.
    ‘You won’t be told,’ Patrick was wailing. He spoiled the effect by seeing how dramatic he was being in his handbag mirror. ‘I said don’t pay more than sixty quid.’
    ‘But, darling –’
    ‘Don’t.’ He closed his eyes and reeled about a bit. Lily gasped and propped him up. ‘I can’t
bear
it.’ They’re partners. She’s married to this engineer but loves only Patrick – and so does Patrick. I’d explain further but it’s too complicated.
    I lost patience with all this drama, partly because sixty quid for a complete vintage set of officers’ 1878 counters is a gift.
    ‘Look, girls,’ I interrupted. ‘About Leckie.’
    Patrick recovered and shook Lily off.
    ‘Lovejoy.’ He glared and shook a finger. ‘I’ve a good mind to smack your wrists. You and that cow Margaret
ignored
me last night. You – you barbarian.’
    ‘Who told you about him?’
    ‘You don’t deserve to know,’ he pouted. He’s like this all the time. Lily thinks he’s marvellous. Why women go about looking for a crucifix to carry heaven knows. Life’s difficult enough.
    ‘Speak up,’ I said, not smiling. ‘Or I’ll be narked.’
    He looked at me. ‘Well. It was Bill, Bill Hassall.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Lovejoy,’ Lily cut in. ‘Patrick’s emotionally disturbed about Leckie. Couldn’t you leave it to some other time?’
    ‘Where?’ I said again.
    ‘The King Hal at Medham. I went back for some stuff and popped in for drinkies.’ He vapoured again, tottering on to Lily’s arm. ‘And you’re a heartless beast, Lovejoy, so there.’
    ‘Come on, darling. Rest.’ Lily gave me a reproachful glance. I left them doing