on the pavement thinking no one would notice,’ finished Noble. ‘Presumably he blocked off the road from the other side as well – somewhere out of sight of the bridges.’
‘I think so.’
‘We should—’
‘I already looked, John. There’s nothing to see though I’ve got a picture of an impression in the road that could have been from a line of cones – all fairly pointless.’
‘We might get a fingerprint from the cones he left behind.’
Brook wrinkled up his nose. ‘Doubtful.’
‘At least we know he must have driven off south, towards Elvaston Castle, because if he parked on the river bridge to dump the body, he must have run the hundred yards back up to Station Road for his sign.’ Noble looked at the ceiling, thinking it through. ‘But when he drove away, he pulled up to his other road-block so it was easier to put the sign
and
the cones in his car.’
Brooksmiled approvingly at his DS. ‘There you go. Though if he’s transporting a body, some kind of van is more likely.’ He pushed the
A–Z
towards Noble. ‘All of which gets us to here, the junction of the B5010, where he turns right towards the A6 and A50, maybe heading for the M1 or back into Derby.’
‘Or left towards Shardlow – assuming he’s not from Thulston.’
Brook sighed. ‘You’re right. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s wait for Forensics and the post mortem to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.’
The middle-aged man in a crumpled white chef’s uniform stared in disbelief as Rusty spoke to him. He then turned and glared over at Kyle and the others, giving them a lingering look up and down. Finally he shrugged and a moment later followed Rusty to their table and set a tray of soft drinks down, before distributing them to the students. He wore an ID badge with the name
Lee
and the archaic title
Refectory Manager
.
Adele smiled for the first time that day. The uniform and the title seemed incongruous to her, since the pinnacle of culinary sophistication in the college café was cheese on toast. Nevertheless she added the word ‘Refectory’ to her mental list of arcane words for future use. Just in case.
Rusty smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he said, talking to the table.
‘Aye. Well, don’t get used to it,’ said Lee. ‘I’m not a fucking waiter.’
Rusty placed a pound coin on to the empty tray without looking up.
The Refectory Manager looked down at it in surprise, if not gratitude. ‘Blimey. Think I’ll have it framed.’ He nodded his appreciation before trudging back to his till.
‘Waiterservice, eh?’ teased Kyle.
‘Hark at Simon Cowell over here,’ added Becky.
Rusty was embarrassed. ‘My mum was a waitress for a while, and they earn a pittance, so I try to leave a tip if I can.’
Adele beamed at him. He squirmed under her gaze. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Rusty.’
‘Yeah, thanks for the drink, bruv,’ said Kyle, taking a swig of Coke.
Rusty examined the camcorder strapped to his right wrist. ‘No probs.’
‘I can’t imagine your mum as a waitress, Rusty,’ said Adele. ‘She’s so pretty.’
‘It wasn’t for long. And there was nothing else she could get in Chester.’
‘Don’t they need models in Wales then?’ asked Fern, turning to grin at Becky. To her surprise, Becky looked away, unsmiling.
‘She must be raking it in now though, if you’re such a moneybags,’ said Kyle.
‘Not really,’ said Rusty. ‘But it was my eighteenth last week so Mum’s spoiling me.’
There was an uncomfortable silence round the table from all except Fern. ‘Happy Birthday,’ she said gaily, missing the sudden mood-change. ‘Did you have a party?’
Becky and Adele rolled their eyes at Fern until she became vaguely aware she’d said the wrong thing.
Rusty smiled at the table, equally unaware of her faux pas. ‘No. But my mum bought me this new camcorder.’ He brandished it proudly. ‘And a cake.’
‘Your mum sounds nice,’ said Kyle warmly. He nodded
‘I think so.’
‘We should—’
‘I already looked, John. There’s nothing to see though I’ve got a picture of an impression in the road that could have been from a line of cones – all fairly pointless.’
‘We might get a fingerprint from the cones he left behind.’
Brook wrinkled up his nose. ‘Doubtful.’
‘At least we know he must have driven off south, towards Elvaston Castle, because if he parked on the river bridge to dump the body, he must have run the hundred yards back up to Station Road for his sign.’ Noble looked at the ceiling, thinking it through. ‘But when he drove away, he pulled up to his other road-block so it was easier to put the sign
and
the cones in his car.’
Brooksmiled approvingly at his DS. ‘There you go. Though if he’s transporting a body, some kind of van is more likely.’ He pushed the
A–Z
towards Noble. ‘All of which gets us to here, the junction of the B5010, where he turns right towards the A6 and A50, maybe heading for the M1 or back into Derby.’
‘Or left towards Shardlow – assuming he’s not from Thulston.’
Brook sighed. ‘You’re right. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s wait for Forensics and the post mortem to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.’
The middle-aged man in a crumpled white chef’s uniform stared in disbelief as Rusty spoke to him. He then turned and glared over at Kyle and the others, giving them a lingering look up and down. Finally he shrugged and a moment later followed Rusty to their table and set a tray of soft drinks down, before distributing them to the students. He wore an ID badge with the name
Lee
and the archaic title
Refectory Manager
.
Adele smiled for the first time that day. The uniform and the title seemed incongruous to her, since the pinnacle of culinary sophistication in the college café was cheese on toast. Nevertheless she added the word ‘Refectory’ to her mental list of arcane words for future use. Just in case.
Rusty smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he said, talking to the table.
‘Aye. Well, don’t get used to it,’ said Lee. ‘I’m not a fucking waiter.’
Rusty placed a pound coin on to the empty tray without looking up.
The Refectory Manager looked down at it in surprise, if not gratitude. ‘Blimey. Think I’ll have it framed.’ He nodded his appreciation before trudging back to his till.
‘Waiterservice, eh?’ teased Kyle.
‘Hark at Simon Cowell over here,’ added Becky.
Rusty was embarrassed. ‘My mum was a waitress for a while, and they earn a pittance, so I try to leave a tip if I can.’
Adele beamed at him. He squirmed under her gaze. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Rusty.’
‘Yeah, thanks for the drink, bruv,’ said Kyle, taking a swig of Coke.
Rusty examined the camcorder strapped to his right wrist. ‘No probs.’
‘I can’t imagine your mum as a waitress, Rusty,’ said Adele. ‘She’s so pretty.’
‘It wasn’t for long. And there was nothing else she could get in Chester.’
‘Don’t they need models in Wales then?’ asked Fern, turning to grin at Becky. To her surprise, Becky looked away, unsmiling.
‘She must be raking it in now though, if you’re such a moneybags,’ said Kyle.
‘Not really,’ said Rusty. ‘But it was my eighteenth last week so Mum’s spoiling me.’
There was an uncomfortable silence round the table from all except Fern. ‘Happy Birthday,’ she said gaily, missing the sudden mood-change. ‘Did you have a party?’
Becky and Adele rolled their eyes at Fern until she became vaguely aware she’d said the wrong thing.
Rusty smiled at the table, equally unaware of her faux pas. ‘No. But my mum bought me this new camcorder.’ He brandished it proudly. ‘And a cake.’
‘Your mum sounds nice,’ said Kyle warmly. He nodded
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