essence of this strangely effective partnership. Dawn, she’d concluded, had a passion for lost causes, and in Rick Stapleton she’d found herself the perfect specimen. The guy was superglued to his partner. Even Dawn, with her wardrobe of trophy rugby shirts, didn’t have a prayer.
‘I’ve got an address on the Donald Duck job,’ Faraday said at last. ‘Definitely worth a visit.’
Stapleton was studying the slip of paper Faraday had handed over.
‘Who’s Beavis?’
‘He’s the guy who made the complaint. Thinks his daughter’s at it with her teacher.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘That makes it legal, doesn’t it?’
‘Not if he’s wandering around at night in a mask.’
Dawn looked briefly troubled. Faraday, for once, was sounding like Rick Stapleton. Assumptions first, evidence a distant second.
‘Why would we put him in the frame?’ she enquired.
‘We might not. It’s a punt, that’s all. He lives close by. The father thinks he’s over-sexed. He might be into dressing up. Run last night past him, and the other dates, too. Joyce is sitting on the file.’
Joyce was perched on a corner of her desk, demolishing a doughnut. Tuned in to the conversation, she licked the sugar from her fingers and reached back to open a drawer. Dawn Ellis got there first, grabbing Joyce’s arm moments before she toppled onto the floor. A second or two later, the contents of the open drawer caught Dawn’s attention.
‘What’s this?’ She began to giggle. ‘And this?’
She pulled out a handful of magazines, full colour. Well-muscled young men in a variety of come-on poses. All of them naked, and most of them in a state of some excitement. Faraday joined her. The magazines were German.
Der Fleisch
.
‘Are these yours?’ Faraday was gazing at Joyce, amazed.
‘Of course they’re mine. Three pounds a month including postage. A little man in Hamburg sends them over.’
Stapleton reached for one of the magazines, flicking through it with growing interest. He kept himself in trim with near-nightly runs along the seafront, bounding along in wraparound sunglasses and a pair of scarlet shorts. Dawn was watching him carefully.
‘Speak German do you, Rick?’
‘No chance.’ He was looking at Joyce. ‘How about you?’
‘Me neither.’ Joyce beamed at him. ‘Be my guest.’
Cathy Lamb found Winter beside the coffee machine at Fratton police station. Just back from the Marriott hotel, he was trying to work out why his thirty pence had failed to produce a shot of Gold Blend, creamer, two sugars.
‘How’s your wife?’
Winter didn’t take his eyes off the cash read-out.
‘Fine,’ he said stonily. ‘Why doesn’t this bloody thing work?’
‘You need another ten.’ She pointed at the price tag alongside the Gold Blend logo. ‘Here. Have one on me.’ She put a coin in the slot and watched the plastic cup drop into place. ‘There’s a stack of stuff come in. We need to talk.’
‘No can do, boss.’ Winter shook his head. ‘I’m buggered for the rest of the day.’
‘How come?’
Winter, waiting for the cup to fill, wouldn’t look at her. He had paperwork going back the best part of a week, he said. He had two CPS files to sort and neither would wait. On top of that, she’d sent him to the Marriott.
‘And?’
‘Very dodgy. There’s evidence of a fight and the bloke’s disappeared.’
‘What evidence?’
‘Blood all over the bathroom.’
‘You want to get a SOCO in?’
Winter ducked his head towards the cup. SOCO was CID-speak for Scenes-Of-Crime Officer. Putting a SOCO into the Marriott was the equivalent of pressing the alarm button, and though Cathy wouldn’t think twice about giving him the go-ahead if circumstances justified it, there were serious financial implications. A full forensic search of the hotel suite would carry a hefty price tag.
‘The manager’s sealed the room off,’ he lied, ‘but I thought I’d make a few calls first.’
Kevin
‘I’ve got an address on the Donald Duck job,’ Faraday said at last. ‘Definitely worth a visit.’
Stapleton was studying the slip of paper Faraday had handed over.
‘Who’s Beavis?’
‘He’s the guy who made the complaint. Thinks his daughter’s at it with her teacher.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘That makes it legal, doesn’t it?’
‘Not if he’s wandering around at night in a mask.’
Dawn looked briefly troubled. Faraday, for once, was sounding like Rick Stapleton. Assumptions first, evidence a distant second.
‘Why would we put him in the frame?’ she enquired.
‘We might not. It’s a punt, that’s all. He lives close by. The father thinks he’s over-sexed. He might be into dressing up. Run last night past him, and the other dates, too. Joyce is sitting on the file.’
Joyce was perched on a corner of her desk, demolishing a doughnut. Tuned in to the conversation, she licked the sugar from her fingers and reached back to open a drawer. Dawn Ellis got there first, grabbing Joyce’s arm moments before she toppled onto the floor. A second or two later, the contents of the open drawer caught Dawn’s attention.
‘What’s this?’ She began to giggle. ‘And this?’
She pulled out a handful of magazines, full colour. Well-muscled young men in a variety of come-on poses. All of them naked, and most of them in a state of some excitement. Faraday joined her. The magazines were German.
Der Fleisch
.
‘Are these yours?’ Faraday was gazing at Joyce, amazed.
‘Of course they’re mine. Three pounds a month including postage. A little man in Hamburg sends them over.’
Stapleton reached for one of the magazines, flicking through it with growing interest. He kept himself in trim with near-nightly runs along the seafront, bounding along in wraparound sunglasses and a pair of scarlet shorts. Dawn was watching him carefully.
‘Speak German do you, Rick?’
‘No chance.’ He was looking at Joyce. ‘How about you?’
‘Me neither.’ Joyce beamed at him. ‘Be my guest.’
Cathy Lamb found Winter beside the coffee machine at Fratton police station. Just back from the Marriott hotel, he was trying to work out why his thirty pence had failed to produce a shot of Gold Blend, creamer, two sugars.
‘How’s your wife?’
Winter didn’t take his eyes off the cash read-out.
‘Fine,’ he said stonily. ‘Why doesn’t this bloody thing work?’
‘You need another ten.’ She pointed at the price tag alongside the Gold Blend logo. ‘Here. Have one on me.’ She put a coin in the slot and watched the plastic cup drop into place. ‘There’s a stack of stuff come in. We need to talk.’
‘No can do, boss.’ Winter shook his head. ‘I’m buggered for the rest of the day.’
‘How come?’
Winter, waiting for the cup to fill, wouldn’t look at her. He had paperwork going back the best part of a week, he said. He had two CPS files to sort and neither would wait. On top of that, she’d sent him to the Marriott.
‘And?’
‘Very dodgy. There’s evidence of a fight and the bloke’s disappeared.’
‘What evidence?’
‘Blood all over the bathroom.’
‘You want to get a SOCO in?’
Winter ducked his head towards the cup. SOCO was CID-speak for Scenes-Of-Crime Officer. Putting a SOCO into the Marriott was the equivalent of pressing the alarm button, and though Cathy wouldn’t think twice about giving him the go-ahead if circumstances justified it, there were serious financial implications. A full forensic search of the hotel suite would carry a hefty price tag.
‘The manager’s sealed the room off,’ he lied, ‘but I thought I’d make a few calls first.’
Kevin
Similar Books
Different Seasons
Stephen King
Christmas Moon
Sadie Hart
Darkover: First Contact
Marion Zimmer Bradley
Guarded Heart
Jennifer Blake
Moscardino
Enrico Pea
Kickoff for Love
Amelia Whitmore
Fatal Fairies (Renaissance Faire Mystery Book 8)
Joyce Lavene, Jim Lavene
When the Fairytale Ends
Dwan Abrams
Killer Gourmet
G.A. McKevett
After River
Donna Milner