Lovelace and Button (International Investigators) Inc. by James Hawkins

Goldsmith had wrapped up his address by saying, “It is my client’sintention to take action against the officers involved for unlawful arrest and unreasonable detention, and to demand a public enquiry into the laxity of the prison service.”
    â€œThe Lord gave…” continues the bishop with reverence, “… and the Lord hath taken away.” Though Bliss can’t help wondering if it might not be more appropriate to hold the railway company responsible for that.
    â€œAshes to ashes. Dust to dust,” concludes the bishop, and Daphne sniffs loudly as the coffin containing a substantial amount of Minnie is slowly wheeled past them on her way to her final resting place.
    â€œI hate to say it, David,” says Daphne, as she takes Bliss’s arm to escort the entourage out of the cathedral to the waiting hearse, “but I can’t help feeling that young Master Stapleton got exactly what he deserved. Poor Minnie was so looking forward to that trip.”
    â€œObviously,” responds Bliss, and for that reason he hunts out D.I. Mainsbridge from amongst the throng of mourners.
    â€œLet’s have another look at that tape from the railway station, Mike,” says Bliss. “It’s not that I buy Stapleton’s mouthpiece’s story, but something doesn’t add up here.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell,” starts Bliss, “we have the remains of the deceased’s coat, her handbag and her purse. Yet we don’t have a railway ticket.”
    â€œAnd…?”
    â€œI’ve checked at the station. There is no record of anyone buying a ticket around that time.”
    â€œSo…?”
    â€œSo, what was she doing there without a ticket?”
    â€œMeeting someone, perhaps.”
    â€œThen they should have shown up on the next train.”
    â€œStapleton could have stolen the ticket with the money…”
    â€œ
If
he stole the money.”
    â€œBut, if he didn’t, who did?”
    The missing money is still plaguing Bliss an hour later as he and Mainsbridge rerun the digitalized version of the surveillance tape for the
n
th time.
    â€œIt doesn’t look as though her bag’s particularly stuffed,” says Bliss, peering closely as a smudgy figure moves across the platform one frame at a time.
    â€œTen grand in big bills doesn’t take much space, Dave.”
    â€œTrue,” agrees Bliss, then he follows Stapleton’s progress as the shadowy teenager creeps out of the darkness and begins his run.
    â€œSee,” explains Mainsbridge, pausing the image. “She starts to turn just as he reaches for her bag, then, ‘Bang!’”
    â€œHe reckoned she jumped.”
    â€œI s’pose it’s possible,” admits Mainsbridge. “It’s dark, foggy. The old bird is miles away in Kathmandu or Kuala Lumpur. He sneaks up behind her at a run and scares the crap out of her — ‘Boom!’ — she leaps like a rabbit with a shotgun shell up its bum.”
    â€œSo, you think he might not have planned it.”
    â€œHey, Dave. Don’t worry. It’s still manslaughter, even if he gets away with murder, and it won’t matter a monkey’s fart how much steam his mouthpiece blows.”
    A phone call cuts into their conversation, and Mainsbridge hands the receiver to Bliss. “It’s a Chief Superintendent Edwards for you, Dave.”
    Bliss’s face falls as he briefly cups his hand over the mouthpiece and mutters, “Damn!”
    â€œDave, old chap…” explodes Edwards with uncharacteristic bonhomie. “Congratulations — that was a good collar, well done.”
    â€œThank you…”
    â€œWhat’s all this crap from his lawyer? Is he smoking something, or is he talking out of his backside?”
    â€œWell, there are a few —”
    â€œRubbish, Dave. I’ve seen the video. Christ! The whole damn world’s seen the