soon unleash a drowning shower of rain on the Leyburn Road parade. But the shops were rarely so busy that the assistants wouldn't have time to glance outside occasionally.
The technician backed carefully out of the Audi and straightened up with a groan of relief.
Pascoe said, 'Anything?'
The man shook his head and said, 'Sorry. Looks like he was careful. Everything wiped clean.'
'Thanks, anyway,' said Wield. 'What now, Pete? I'm out of ideas.'
Pascoe smiled as if at an absurdity and said, 'OK, let's suppose this guy left his own car here and walked round to watch my house because he felt he'd draw less attention on foot. He steals Daphne's car because he needs to get back here quick, but he isn't panicking. He still takes time to wipe his prints. If he's as cool as that, he wouldn't park next to his own car because that's the kind of thing that draws attention, a man jumping out of one car and getting straight into another. So he parks, gets out, and walks.'
As if doing a reconstruction, Pascoe set off at a brisk pace with Wield in close pursuit.
'Doesn't help us unless we get a witness saw him walking,' panted the sergeant.
'I know. But listen, parking's bad around here. Not a lot of room.'
Wield could see he was right, but not what he was getting at. In front of the shops there was kerbside parking space for only half a dozen cars. In one direction Leyburn Road curved into a double-yellow-line bend and in the other it ran into the busy ring road via a roundabout, beside which stood a pseudo-Victorian shiny-tiles-and-leaded-lights pub, the Gateway.
It was the pub Pascoe was heading for.
As he walked he explained, 'When it's busy here, shoppers often use the pub car park. Billy Soames, the landlord, wants to avoid getting into dispute with the shopkeepers, so he's put up a sign at the entrance: No charge to shoppers, hut it helps if you at least buy a packet of crisps in the bar! Could be that's where chummy parked his own car. Let's ask Billy if he noticed a small suntanned man with a moustache using his facilities this morning.'
'Why not?' said Wield.
His mobile rang. He put it to his ear and listened. When he switched off, Pascoe, who, like an astronomer after a lifetime's study of the pocked and pitted surface of the moon, had learned to interpret a few of the sergeant's expressions, said, 'You look pleased.'
'Something I recalled from house-to-house yesterday. One of your neighbours, Mrs Cavendish, noticed a car stopping at the end of the street then turning back when all the troops had turned up. Didn't seem important then. But it popped into my mind just now when we got Mrs Aldermann's description of the man who attacked her, so I checked it out.'
'And?'
'Her words were, the man was swarthy, moustachioed and sinister.'
'That sounds like old Mrs C.,' said Pascoe. 'And the car?'
'Metallic-blue. Sounds like a Golf. Could be owt or nowt but the description fits, sort of. She half remembered a bit of the number too, so if it turns out there was a blue Golf in the pub car park . . .'
'Anyone ever tell you you're a treasure?' said Pascoe.
'Not since breakfast. By the by, that guy we talked about this morning, the student, Franny Roote. I never saw him. This sound anything like?'
'Not like the way he was back then. Size might fit, but he was blond.'
'Perhaps prison's turned him black.'
'Perhaps. I'll find out tomorrow. Somehow I doubt he's got anything to do with this, but if he has, could be the sight of me will make a good gloat irresistible.'
'You still fancy Cornelius, do you?'
'Don't know. Maybe. There's something odd going on there. You know that they found this message on her computer at the bank? It just said, TIME TO GO . And there was another on her e-mail at her apartment, STILL HERE? OH DEAR . Unsourced, but dated the day she took off. So there's someone in the background.'
'Ollershaw, you think? Trying to scare her into making a run for it? But he didn't want her caught and talking, so now he wants to pressure you
The technician backed carefully out of the Audi and straightened up with a groan of relief.
Pascoe said, 'Anything?'
The man shook his head and said, 'Sorry. Looks like he was careful. Everything wiped clean.'
'Thanks, anyway,' said Wield. 'What now, Pete? I'm out of ideas.'
Pascoe smiled as if at an absurdity and said, 'OK, let's suppose this guy left his own car here and walked round to watch my house because he felt he'd draw less attention on foot. He steals Daphne's car because he needs to get back here quick, but he isn't panicking. He still takes time to wipe his prints. If he's as cool as that, he wouldn't park next to his own car because that's the kind of thing that draws attention, a man jumping out of one car and getting straight into another. So he parks, gets out, and walks.'
As if doing a reconstruction, Pascoe set off at a brisk pace with Wield in close pursuit.
'Doesn't help us unless we get a witness saw him walking,' panted the sergeant.
'I know. But listen, parking's bad around here. Not a lot of room.'
Wield could see he was right, but not what he was getting at. In front of the shops there was kerbside parking space for only half a dozen cars. In one direction Leyburn Road curved into a double-yellow-line bend and in the other it ran into the busy ring road via a roundabout, beside which stood a pseudo-Victorian shiny-tiles-and-leaded-lights pub, the Gateway.
It was the pub Pascoe was heading for.
As he walked he explained, 'When it's busy here, shoppers often use the pub car park. Billy Soames, the landlord, wants to avoid getting into dispute with the shopkeepers, so he's put up a sign at the entrance: No charge to shoppers, hut it helps if you at least buy a packet of crisps in the bar! Could be that's where chummy parked his own car. Let's ask Billy if he noticed a small suntanned man with a moustache using his facilities this morning.'
'Why not?' said Wield.
His mobile rang. He put it to his ear and listened. When he switched off, Pascoe, who, like an astronomer after a lifetime's study of the pocked and pitted surface of the moon, had learned to interpret a few of the sergeant's expressions, said, 'You look pleased.'
'Something I recalled from house-to-house yesterday. One of your neighbours, Mrs Cavendish, noticed a car stopping at the end of the street then turning back when all the troops had turned up. Didn't seem important then. But it popped into my mind just now when we got Mrs Aldermann's description of the man who attacked her, so I checked it out.'
'And?'
'Her words were, the man was swarthy, moustachioed and sinister.'
'That sounds like old Mrs C.,' said Pascoe. 'And the car?'
'Metallic-blue. Sounds like a Golf. Could be owt or nowt but the description fits, sort of. She half remembered a bit of the number too, so if it turns out there was a blue Golf in the pub car park . . .'
'Anyone ever tell you you're a treasure?' said Pascoe.
'Not since breakfast. By the by, that guy we talked about this morning, the student, Franny Roote. I never saw him. This sound anything like?'
'Not like the way he was back then. Size might fit, but he was blond.'
'Perhaps prison's turned him black.'
'Perhaps. I'll find out tomorrow. Somehow I doubt he's got anything to do with this, but if he has, could be the sight of me will make a good gloat irresistible.'
'You still fancy Cornelius, do you?'
'Don't know. Maybe. There's something odd going on there. You know that they found this message on her computer at the bank? It just said, TIME TO GO . And there was another on her e-mail at her apartment, STILL HERE? OH DEAR . Unsourced, but dated the day she took off. So there's someone in the background.'
'Ollershaw, you think? Trying to scare her into making a run for it? But he didn't want her caught and talking, so now he wants to pressure you
Similar Books
