over the grass toward a squat stone shepherdâs shelter about eighty yards off the road, upthe daleside, and she didnât think he was nervous because he was breaking the government foot-and-mouth regulations.
When he got there, he ducked inside the shelter, and when he came out he wasnât carrying his briefcase. Annie watched him walk back to his car. He stumbled once over the uneven ground, then glanced around again and drove off in the direction of Gratly.
âBirds, is it?â a voice asked, disturbing Annieâs concentration.
âWhat?â She turned to face the deliveryman, a brash gelhaired youngster with bad teeth.
âThe binoculars,â he said. âBird-watching. Canât understand it, myself. Boring. Now, when it comes to the other sort of birdsââ
Annie flipped him her warrant card and said, âMove your van out of the way and let me pass.â
âAll right, all right,â he said. âNo need to get shirty. Thereâs no one home, anyway. Never is in this bloody godforsaken hole.â
He drove off and Annie got back in her car. Armitage was long gone by the time she reached the spot where he had stopped, and there were no other cars in sight, save the delivery van, fast disappearing ahead.
Annie was the one who felt nervous now. Was someone watching her with binoculars the way she had watched Armitage? She hoped not. If this was what she thought it was, it wouldnât do to reveal police interest. The air was still and mild, and Annie could smell warm grass after rain. Somewhere in the distance, a tractor chugged across a field, and sheep baaed from the daleside as she ignored the posted warnings and made her way to the shelter. The place smelled musty and acrid inside. Enough light spilled through the gaps in the drystone for her to see the used condom on the dirt, empty cigarette packet and crushed lager cans. A local ladâs idea of showing his girlfriend a good time, no doubt. She could also see the briefcase, the inexpensive nylon kind.
Annie picked it up. It felt heavy. She opened the Velcrostrips and inside, as she had expected, found stacks of money, mostly ten- and twenty-pound notes. She had no idea exactly how much there was, but guessed it must be somewhere in the region of ten or fifteen thousand pounds.
She put the briefcase back where it was and returned to her car. She couldnât just sit there by the roadside waiting for something to happen, but she couldnât very well leave the scene, either. In the end, she drove back to Mortsett and parked. There was no police station in the tiny hamlet, and she knew it would be no use trying to use her UHF hand radio behind so many hills, and at such a distance. Besides, it only had a range of a couple of miles. She was driving her own car, as she often did, and she hadnât got around to having the more powerful VHF radio installed. It hardly seemed necessary, as she wasnât a patrol officer and, more often than not, she simply used the car to drive to work and back, and perhaps to interview witnesses, as she had done that morning. Before she headed out on foot to find a good spot from which to watch the shelter without being seen, Annie picked up her mobile to ring the station and let Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe know what was going on.
And wouldnât you know itâthe damn mobile didnât work. Out of cell range. Bloody typical. She should have known. She was quite close to Gratly, where Banks lived, and her mobile didnât work there, either.
There was an old red telephone box in the village, but the phone had been vandalized, the wires torn from the cash box. Damn! Unwilling to take her eyes off the shelter for too long, Annie knocked on some doors, but the van driver had been right; nobody seemed to be home, and the one old lady who did answer said she didnât have a telephone.
Annie cursed under her breath; it looked as if she was on her own for
When he got there, he ducked inside the shelter, and when he came out he wasnât carrying his briefcase. Annie watched him walk back to his car. He stumbled once over the uneven ground, then glanced around again and drove off in the direction of Gratly.
âBirds, is it?â a voice asked, disturbing Annieâs concentration.
âWhat?â She turned to face the deliveryman, a brash gelhaired youngster with bad teeth.
âThe binoculars,â he said. âBird-watching. Canât understand it, myself. Boring. Now, when it comes to the other sort of birdsââ
Annie flipped him her warrant card and said, âMove your van out of the way and let me pass.â
âAll right, all right,â he said. âNo need to get shirty. Thereâs no one home, anyway. Never is in this bloody godforsaken hole.â
He drove off and Annie got back in her car. Armitage was long gone by the time she reached the spot where he had stopped, and there were no other cars in sight, save the delivery van, fast disappearing ahead.
Annie was the one who felt nervous now. Was someone watching her with binoculars the way she had watched Armitage? She hoped not. If this was what she thought it was, it wouldnât do to reveal police interest. The air was still and mild, and Annie could smell warm grass after rain. Somewhere in the distance, a tractor chugged across a field, and sheep baaed from the daleside as she ignored the posted warnings and made her way to the shelter. The place smelled musty and acrid inside. Enough light spilled through the gaps in the drystone for her to see the used condom on the dirt, empty cigarette packet and crushed lager cans. A local ladâs idea of showing his girlfriend a good time, no doubt. She could also see the briefcase, the inexpensive nylon kind.
Annie picked it up. It felt heavy. She opened the Velcrostrips and inside, as she had expected, found stacks of money, mostly ten- and twenty-pound notes. She had no idea exactly how much there was, but guessed it must be somewhere in the region of ten or fifteen thousand pounds.
She put the briefcase back where it was and returned to her car. She couldnât just sit there by the roadside waiting for something to happen, but she couldnât very well leave the scene, either. In the end, she drove back to Mortsett and parked. There was no police station in the tiny hamlet, and she knew it would be no use trying to use her UHF hand radio behind so many hills, and at such a distance. Besides, it only had a range of a couple of miles. She was driving her own car, as she often did, and she hadnât got around to having the more powerful VHF radio installed. It hardly seemed necessary, as she wasnât a patrol officer and, more often than not, she simply used the car to drive to work and back, and perhaps to interview witnesses, as she had done that morning. Before she headed out on foot to find a good spot from which to watch the shelter without being seen, Annie picked up her mobile to ring the station and let Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe know what was going on.
And wouldnât you know itâthe damn mobile didnât work. Out of cell range. Bloody typical. She should have known. She was quite close to Gratly, where Banks lived, and her mobile didnât work there, either.
There was an old red telephone box in the village, but the phone had been vandalized, the wires torn from the cash box. Damn! Unwilling to take her eyes off the shelter for too long, Annie knocked on some doors, but the van driver had been right; nobody seemed to be home, and the one old lady who did answer said she didnât have a telephone.
Annie cursed under her breath; it looked as if she was on her own for
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