predictions of his career.
Not at the time knowing this, he set off to collect Crosby and met that worthy as he was coming back down the path of Canonry Cottage. ‘Everything all right over there, Crosby?’
The constable shook his head and sounded puzzled. ‘I can’t quite make it out, sir. There looks to have been a bit of a break-in at the back of the cottage – there’s a broken window to the larder with quite a lot of glass about and a bit of blood. All the other doors and windows are secure but someone’s been in there through the front door as well but with a key. No doubt about it.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Sloan, suddenly alert.
‘Come and take a look through the letter box, sir.’Crosby led the way back up the path to the front door of Canonry Cottage and carefully pushed open the flap of the letter box with a pencil. ‘See?’
Sloan bent down and took a look for himself. He saw what the constable meant. Letters that had been pushed through the letter box by the postman and landed on the doormat had been swept back as the door had been opened and stayed where they had then lain when the door had been closed again.
‘Someone’s been in this way, sir, I’m sure, and then come back out again.’
‘With a key,’ agreed Sloan.
The two detectives reached the same conclusions at the same time although they expressed them differently.
‘Not a professional at the front,’ decided Detective Inspector Sloan.
‘An amateur at the back,’ reasoned Detective Constable Crosby. ‘Glass everywhere and blood on a sharp bit.’
There was, though, complete unison in what they said next.
‘This’ll need a search warrant, sir,’ said Crosby.
‘And Forensics,’ said Sloan.
Superintendent Leeyes took a little persuading. ‘A search warrant?’ he barked. ‘On what grounds?’
‘A missing person whose house has been entered in her absence, twice,’ Sloan said. ‘Once with a key,’ he added fairly. ‘And once without.’
‘So?’
‘A key which she told a neighbour she hadn’t left with anyone else.’
Leeyes grunted. ‘That all you want?’
‘A check of all the hotels and boarding houses in Carmarthenshire for an Enid Osgathorp would be a help, sir. She’s retired and,’ he said as an afterthought, ‘as far as we know, travelling alone.’
The superintendent added something else. ‘And presumably under that name.’
It was something else, agreed Sloan, which they would have to consider.
CHAPTER SIX
‘More coffee, Jack?’ Mandy Lamb hovered near the kettle, concerned about the unusual immobility of her employer. Jack Haines had sat, motionless, at his desk ever since the two policemen had left his office.
‘What’s that?’ he jerked himself out of his reverie. ‘Oh, no thanks.’
She pointed to a stack of letters. ‘What about the post?’
He waved a hand. ‘You see to it, Mandy.’
‘Two whole greenhouses gone are going to set us back quite a bit,’ she mused presently.
‘You can say that again,’ he said, a tiny bit more animated.
‘It’s bad, this loss, isn’t it?’
‘Very bad.’ He continued to sit quite still, shoulders hunched.
‘But it’s not only the money, is it?’ said Mandy perceptively,automatically herself turning to the kettle on the counter in the corner. Jack Haines was a widower and, although Mandy was years younger than he was, she often found herself in the same position of sympathetic listener and maker of comfortable responses as many a wife.
‘No,’ he roused himself to answer her, ‘although that’s bad enough.’
Since he would not do so, Mandy Lamb voiced a name herself. ‘Norman Potts?’
‘No, not Norman,’ he said roughly. ‘Norman knows exactly where he stands with me all right. Always has ever since the beginning. Nothing’s changed there.’
‘You surely don’t mean that it’s Bob Steele who’s worrying you?’
Jack Haines, impatiently pushing aside a pile of old seed catalogues, inclined his head
Not at the time knowing this, he set off to collect Crosby and met that worthy as he was coming back down the path of Canonry Cottage. ‘Everything all right over there, Crosby?’
The constable shook his head and sounded puzzled. ‘I can’t quite make it out, sir. There looks to have been a bit of a break-in at the back of the cottage – there’s a broken window to the larder with quite a lot of glass about and a bit of blood. All the other doors and windows are secure but someone’s been in there through the front door as well but with a key. No doubt about it.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Sloan, suddenly alert.
‘Come and take a look through the letter box, sir.’Crosby led the way back up the path to the front door of Canonry Cottage and carefully pushed open the flap of the letter box with a pencil. ‘See?’
Sloan bent down and took a look for himself. He saw what the constable meant. Letters that had been pushed through the letter box by the postman and landed on the doormat had been swept back as the door had been opened and stayed where they had then lain when the door had been closed again.
‘Someone’s been in this way, sir, I’m sure, and then come back out again.’
‘With a key,’ agreed Sloan.
The two detectives reached the same conclusions at the same time although they expressed them differently.
‘Not a professional at the front,’ decided Detective Inspector Sloan.
‘An amateur at the back,’ reasoned Detective Constable Crosby. ‘Glass everywhere and blood on a sharp bit.’
There was, though, complete unison in what they said next.
‘This’ll need a search warrant, sir,’ said Crosby.
‘And Forensics,’ said Sloan.
Superintendent Leeyes took a little persuading. ‘A search warrant?’ he barked. ‘On what grounds?’
‘A missing person whose house has been entered in her absence, twice,’ Sloan said. ‘Once with a key,’ he added fairly. ‘And once without.’
‘So?’
‘A key which she told a neighbour she hadn’t left with anyone else.’
Leeyes grunted. ‘That all you want?’
‘A check of all the hotels and boarding houses in Carmarthenshire for an Enid Osgathorp would be a help, sir. She’s retired and,’ he said as an afterthought, ‘as far as we know, travelling alone.’
The superintendent added something else. ‘And presumably under that name.’
It was something else, agreed Sloan, which they would have to consider.
CHAPTER SIX
‘More coffee, Jack?’ Mandy Lamb hovered near the kettle, concerned about the unusual immobility of her employer. Jack Haines had sat, motionless, at his desk ever since the two policemen had left his office.
‘What’s that?’ he jerked himself out of his reverie. ‘Oh, no thanks.’
She pointed to a stack of letters. ‘What about the post?’
He waved a hand. ‘You see to it, Mandy.’
‘Two whole greenhouses gone are going to set us back quite a bit,’ she mused presently.
‘You can say that again,’ he said, a tiny bit more animated.
‘It’s bad, this loss, isn’t it?’
‘Very bad.’ He continued to sit quite still, shoulders hunched.
‘But it’s not only the money, is it?’ said Mandy perceptively,automatically herself turning to the kettle on the counter in the corner. Jack Haines was a widower and, although Mandy was years younger than he was, she often found herself in the same position of sympathetic listener and maker of comfortable responses as many a wife.
‘No,’ he roused himself to answer her, ‘although that’s bad enough.’
Since he would not do so, Mandy Lamb voiced a name herself. ‘Norman Potts?’
‘No, not Norman,’ he said roughly. ‘Norman knows exactly where he stands with me all right. Always has ever since the beginning. Nothing’s changed there.’
‘You surely don’t mean that it’s Bob Steele who’s worrying you?’
Jack Haines, impatiently pushing aside a pile of old seed catalogues, inclined his head
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