protested. “Shouldn’t
we wait for them?”
“You’ve taken photos, haven’t you, Andrea?”
“Yes, but…”
“Right. I want those cuffs off her. Now!”
Blackaby took a deep breath as if to argue, but then thought
better of it. “Yes, Sir,” he mumbled, as he headed back into the bedroom.
Chase continued his tour of inspection of the flat. It didn’t
take long. At the far end of the hallway was a utility room, with a double
sink, a washer-dryer, a kettle, and a fridge containing several bottles of Veuve Cliquot La Grande Dame champagneand a half-full litre container of Waitrose semi-skimmed milk. A cupboard
contained china mugs, tea and coffee, sugar, and an opened bottle of mouthwash.
Next to the utility room was a large wet room, the walls covered in iridescent
dark blue tiles, with a toilet, bidet, twin hand-basins, and an
expensive-looking black and chrome power shower. An array of lotions and
potions stood proudly on a high glass shelf. Attached to the walls were a
number of substantial grab handles.
That left the room on the opposite side of the hall to the
dungeon. It was kitted out as an office, with a large pine desk, a black
leather rotating chair, and an anglepoise lamp. Chase
noticed, with a pang, her white cashmere cardigan draped over the back of the
chair. On the desk was a small key, threaded on to a fine silver chain.
“Blackaby!” called Chase.
A few moments later PC Blackaby appeared in the doorway.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Got those cuffs off her yet?”
“No, Sir.”
Chase smiled wryly as he handed Blackaby the key. “This
might help,” he said.
“Thanks,” mumbled Blackaby, and went on his way.
Chase looked around the study. A shelf on the far wall
contained a small selection of reference books and a wireless router, the
lights flickering. Underneath the shelf was a small but solid safe. The safe
door was locked and there was no sign that it had been forced. Next to it stood
a tall, beige metal filing cabinet. Chase tried the drawers. Again, the cabinet
was locked. And again, there was no sign that anyone had tried to force it.
He returned to the hallway. Greenaway was in a corner,
murmuring into her mobile phone, and Neville was leaning idly against the wall.
When he saw Chase appear he attempted, rather half-heartedly, to stand to
attention.
Chase waved a hand at him dismissively. “Where’s her
computer?” he asked.
“What?” replied Neville.
“You heard. There’s an internet thing in there...”
“You mean a modem, Sir? Or a router?” Neville almost managed
to conceal the scorn in his voice.
“You know what I mean! Why would she have that unless she
had a computer? And where’s her printer, come to that?”
Blackaby appeared in the bedroom doorway, and the two
constables looked blankly at one another. “Never saw one,” Neville grunted,
eventually.
“What about a laptop bag?
“No, Sir.”
“A briefcase? A handbag? Anything like that?”
“No, Sir.”
Chase turned on his heel, returned to the office, and tried
each desk drawer handle in turn. One side proved to be a cupboard, occupied by
a compact HP laser printer, the drawer fronts dummies.
The top drawer on the opposite side contained stationery: a
blank notebook, a role of Sellotape, and a selection of pens and pencils. The
middle drawer was filled to overflowing with old mice, network cables, and the
like. Chase upended the drawer on to the desk and found an old PC keyboard, but
no disks or memory sticks. The bottom drawer contained a box of tissues, a
wizened apple, a bottle of contact lens fluid, a pack of tampons, and a small
plastic box.
Chase took out the box and lifted the lid. The box was half
full of business cards, which read:
Lucy Faith, BSc
Accredited Life Coach
6
Geoff Bean, a lanky young man with curly fair hair, a broad
smile, and a South African twang, answered the door immediately. “Hello,
officer,” he said. “We wondered when you’d call round. Come
we wait for them?”
“You’ve taken photos, haven’t you, Andrea?”
“Yes, but…”
“Right. I want those cuffs off her. Now!”
Blackaby took a deep breath as if to argue, but then thought
better of it. “Yes, Sir,” he mumbled, as he headed back into the bedroom.
Chase continued his tour of inspection of the flat. It didn’t
take long. At the far end of the hallway was a utility room, with a double
sink, a washer-dryer, a kettle, and a fridge containing several bottles of Veuve Cliquot La Grande Dame champagneand a half-full litre container of Waitrose semi-skimmed milk. A cupboard
contained china mugs, tea and coffee, sugar, and an opened bottle of mouthwash.
Next to the utility room was a large wet room, the walls covered in iridescent
dark blue tiles, with a toilet, bidet, twin hand-basins, and an
expensive-looking black and chrome power shower. An array of lotions and
potions stood proudly on a high glass shelf. Attached to the walls were a
number of substantial grab handles.
That left the room on the opposite side of the hall to the
dungeon. It was kitted out as an office, with a large pine desk, a black
leather rotating chair, and an anglepoise lamp. Chase
noticed, with a pang, her white cashmere cardigan draped over the back of the
chair. On the desk was a small key, threaded on to a fine silver chain.
“Blackaby!” called Chase.
A few moments later PC Blackaby appeared in the doorway.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Got those cuffs off her yet?”
“No, Sir.”
Chase smiled wryly as he handed Blackaby the key. “This
might help,” he said.
“Thanks,” mumbled Blackaby, and went on his way.
Chase looked around the study. A shelf on the far wall
contained a small selection of reference books and a wireless router, the
lights flickering. Underneath the shelf was a small but solid safe. The safe
door was locked and there was no sign that it had been forced. Next to it stood
a tall, beige metal filing cabinet. Chase tried the drawers. Again, the cabinet
was locked. And again, there was no sign that anyone had tried to force it.
He returned to the hallway. Greenaway was in a corner,
murmuring into her mobile phone, and Neville was leaning idly against the wall.
When he saw Chase appear he attempted, rather half-heartedly, to stand to
attention.
Chase waved a hand at him dismissively. “Where’s her
computer?” he asked.
“What?” replied Neville.
“You heard. There’s an internet thing in there...”
“You mean a modem, Sir? Or a router?” Neville almost managed
to conceal the scorn in his voice.
“You know what I mean! Why would she have that unless she
had a computer? And where’s her printer, come to that?”
Blackaby appeared in the bedroom doorway, and the two
constables looked blankly at one another. “Never saw one,” Neville grunted,
eventually.
“What about a laptop bag?
“No, Sir.”
“A briefcase? A handbag? Anything like that?”
“No, Sir.”
Chase turned on his heel, returned to the office, and tried
each desk drawer handle in turn. One side proved to be a cupboard, occupied by
a compact HP laser printer, the drawer fronts dummies.
The top drawer on the opposite side contained stationery: a
blank notebook, a role of Sellotape, and a selection of pens and pencils. The
middle drawer was filled to overflowing with old mice, network cables, and the
like. Chase upended the drawer on to the desk and found an old PC keyboard, but
no disks or memory sticks. The bottom drawer contained a box of tissues, a
wizened apple, a bottle of contact lens fluid, a pack of tampons, and a small
plastic box.
Chase took out the box and lifted the lid. The box was half
full of business cards, which read:
Lucy Faith, BSc
Accredited Life Coach
6
Geoff Bean, a lanky young man with curly fair hair, a broad
smile, and a South African twang, answered the door immediately. “Hello,
officer,” he said. “We wondered when you’d call round. Come
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