The Mushroom Man Read Online Free PDF

a digestive biscuit and manoeuvred the soggy mass into his mouth just before it collapsed.
    ‘That’s a disgusting habit,’ I protested.
    ‘One of life’s little comforts, Charlie. Help yourself.’ He swallowed the remainder and went on: ‘Annabelle’s a nice girl. Too good for you, if the truth be known. You’ll lose her if you don’t watch it.’
    ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence; it’s just what I need.’
    ‘No, you don’t understand. It’s not you, it’s the job. Just look at yourself; take stock. You went to art college, got a degree in batik dyeing or something—’
    ‘It was in art.’
    ‘OK, art. You pretend to like decent music, appreciate good food. The fact that you listen to jungle drums and eat rubbish is due to circumstances. You could look reasonably tidy if you changed your clothes more often—’
    ‘I change my clothes as often as anyone,’ I protested.
    ‘Well, you always look crumpled. Sometimes I don’t know if you’re supposed to be a Hell’s Angel or an out-of-work violinist.’
    ‘I like looking crumpled. I feel comfortable when I’m crumpled. And look at yourself. You had that shirt on yesterday.’
    ‘No I didn’t.’ It was his turn to be indignant.
    ‘Yes you did.’
    He looked down at it. ‘Did I? Must have picked the wrong one up this morning. Blame it on the early start. Anyhow, we’re not talking about me. The point I’m making is that you’ve some hard thinking to do. Charlie the Artist could just about pull Annabelle. Charlie the Policeman never will. She needs more than you can give her as you are at present, but she’s worth the effort. If I were you, I’d make it.’
    I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. ‘Are you telling me I ought to resign?’ I asked, incredulously.
    He shook his head. ‘No, of course not.’ He dunked another biscuit. ‘But outside that door all hell’s breaking loose, and I’m in here trying to sort out your love life. Last night, if I’d been in your shoes, I’d have gone round to Annabelle’s for supper.’
    I stared at him for several seconds. ‘No you wouldn’t,’ I declared.
    ‘Yes I would, if I wanted her.’
    ‘I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you and I think you’re wrong.’
    ‘Maybe, maybe not. Now, what are we doing about finding this kid?’
    I left Gilbert concocting a speech for the television cameras and drove round to see Mr Dewhurst. A patrol car was parked in the lane. I pulled in behind it and had a word with the driver:
    ‘Is he in?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Any problems with the press or passing ghouls?’
    ‘No, but it suddenly seems a popular road for dog- walkers to use.’
    ‘Does it? Is anybody talking to them?’
    ‘Yes, sir, we are. Most of them say they didn’t come this way yesterday, but the few who did didn’t see anything.’
    ‘Fair enough. Keep at it.’
    There was a Toyota Supra parked on the drive as well as the Nissan. The registration plate bore Dewhurst’s initials, MJD. Personal number plates should be compulsory – they are a lot easier to remember. I glanced round the garden at nothing in particular, then pressed the bell push. I was just considering whether it would be polite to ring again when the door was opened by an elderly lady. I fished in my pocket for my ID card.
    ‘Good morning, I’m Inspector Priest. Is Mr Dewhurst available?’
    ‘Have you found her?’ she demanded, and for a brief moment her face lit up with hope.
    I shook my head. ‘No, I’m sorry, we’ve no news yet. You must be…?’
    ‘Mrs Eaglin. Georgina’s grandma.’ Her face sagged back to the hopeless expression it had borne a moment earlier. ‘You’d better come in.’ She took me through to the sitting room and invited me to sit down. ‘Miles is asleep,’ she told me. ‘We waited up until about four o’clock this morning and then I insisted that he take one of my pills. Do you want me to wake him?’
    ‘No, I’ll catch him later. If we have no success today