Blackstone and the Wolf of Wall Street by Sally Spencer Page A

Meade replied.
    And maybe there wasn’t, Blackstone conceded – yet.
    Maybe most people – in both the police and the scientific community – still refused to accept that science and crime detection could work hand in glove. But Ellie would change all that – even if it killed her.
    He looked around the study again.
    What was missing?
    What should have been there – and wasn’t?
    â€˜Where’s the tray?’ he asked.
    â€˜The dinner tray?’ Meade said. ‘It’s right over there on the desk.’
    â€˜Not the dinner tray – the breakfast tray!’
    â€˜You’ve lost me,’ Meade admitted.
    â€˜Put yourself in Fanshawe’s shoes,’ Blackstone said. ‘You’re taking your master his breakfast. You knock on the door to the guard room, and find that not only is it open, but there’s no sign of the guards. You open the door to the study, and see the guards – drenched in blood – lying on the rug.’
    â€˜And you still have the breakfast tray in your hands!’ Meade said, getting the picture.
    â€˜So what do you do with the tray?’
    â€˜Chances are, you’re so shocked that you drop it on the floor.’
    â€˜Or maybe, if you’ve got more nerve and self-control than most people, you put it down somewhere.’
    â€˜But what you don’t do is run off to raise the alarm with the tray still in your hands.’
    â€˜So what’s your conclusion from all that?’ Blackstone asked.
    â€˜That when Fanshawe came down here this morning, he didn’t bring a tray with him. Because he knew it wouldn’t be necessary! Because he knew what he was going to find!’
    â€˜I think we’ve just discovered who told the guards to let the kidnappers in,’ Blackstone said grimly.
    Blackstone stood at the back of the house, looking at the black clouds over the ocean. Some of them, it might have seemed to any other observer, were intent on buffeting their rivals out of the way. Others adopted a more placatory approach and tried to meld into the bigger neighbours. And there were yet others which, having recently formed a union, soon found that union unsatisfactory, and began to drift away.
    None of this great natural drama registered with the inspector. Though he was looking, he was not seeing . All he actually saw – in whatever direction he looked – was his own stupidity.
    â€˜You should never have allowed it to happen, Sam Blackstone,’ he told himself angrily.
    When he’d suspected that he’d caught Fanshawe out in a lie, he should have begun a deeper interrogation of the butler immediately. Instead, he’d made the decision to let the man stew in his own juice for a while.
    And that had been the wrong decision!
    Meade appeared round the corner of the house. ‘The servants have completed the search of the building,’ he said.
    â€˜And they haven’t found him?’
    â€˜No.’
    Of course they hadn’t found him! Fanshawe had realized what danger he was in – and had made a run for it.
    â€˜We haven’t lost him yet,’ Alex Meade said, with forced cheerfulness. ‘I’ve just been on the phone to the police in Brooklyn, and they’re going to watch both the railroad station and the streetcar terminal. If he’s used either of those to make his escape, we’ll have him.’
    Unless he’s donned some sort of disguise, Blackstone thought.
    Unless the policemen assigned to watch out for him happen to be looking the other way when he walks past.
    Unless he hasn’t used the streetcar or the railroad at all, but instead has found some other way to get off Coney Island.
    Unless . . . unless . . . unless . . .
    There were too many imponderables – far too bloody many!
    Inspector Flynn was still on the bench in the garden. He seemed not to have moved an inch since the last time Blackstone and Meade