himself.â
âBut suppose he does give way to the temptation,â the watchman argued. âI could be in danger.â
âIf we thought there was any danger, we wouldnât entrust the security of the place to an old feller like you,â the site manager had said, exasperatedly.
âThanks for the vote of confidence,â Turner said.
And he was thinking: I may be old, but I reckon I could still drop you if I had to, you thin streak of piss anâ wind.
âYouâre still looking worried,â the site manager had said, mistaking anger for fear. âFor Godâs sake, Harry, nobodyâs going to put you in hospital for a couple of pipes or a few yards of copper wiring, now are they?â
And so it was that Turner was dog-less and alone when he discovered the breech in the chain-link fence that surrounded the site.
It was perfectly obvious what had happened, Harry Turner thought, as he examined the breech in the light of his torch. Some bastard had taken a pair of wire cutters, sliced his way through the chain link, and then peeled back a flap so he could get access. And now he was somewhere on the site, in any one of the dozen or so places he could have chosen to hide.
There should be searchlights I could switch on, Harry Turner thought.
But there were no lights, just as there was no dog.
He was not afraid, he told himself, but it would probably wise to be a little
cautious
.
He turned away from the fence, to face the site.
âThe police have been called!â he bawled out in that same loud voice that had sung a thousand dirty rugby songs. âThereâs no gettinâ away, anâ if you give yourself up now, theyâll probably go easy on you.â
He heard a single foot-fall from somewhere to his left, and was just about to turn again when his head suddenly seemed to explode. And then everything went black.
Rutter had finally arrived at the Drum and Monkey. He was looking somewhat flustered, but also a little triumphant.
âOne of the nannies who I was supposed to be interviewing couldnât make it this afternoon,â he explained.
âWell, that
is
a promisinâ start,â Woodend said dourly.
âIt wasnât her fault,â Rutter said, completely missing the warning signal. âApparently, there was some kind of domestic crisis in the place where sheâs currently employed. And since â on paper at least â she looked the best of the bunch, I thought Iâd better allow a little leeway.â
âVery good of you, Iâm sure,â Woodend said. âAnâ since we seem to be discussinâ leeway, is there any reason you couldnât have phoned to tell us you were goinâ to be late?â
âI did make a call to the station, but youâd already left, sir,â Rutter said defensively.
âThis pub has a phone,â Woodend pointed out. âWeâve all used it, often enough.â
âI didnât want to disturb you here, especially since I knew that within half an hour or so â¦â Rutter trailed off. âYouâre quite right, sir,â he continued. âI could have phoned, and Iâm sorry I didnât.â
His problem was that Bob was feeling very guilty about the way heâd behaved towards his daughter, Woodend thought. For quite a while after Mariaâs death, heâd not believed he was able to take care of Louisa at all, and the grandparents had been forced to bear the burden. And now he finally felt he could handle it, he was trying to compensate for that earlier neglect by giving her his total commitment.
âDid you hire a nanny in the end?â Paniatowski asked.
âYes, I did,â Rutter told her. âI actually hired the one who I interviewed last â the one who made me late. I think sheâs going to be really excellent.â
âWell, thatâs all right then,â Woodend said â though his tone made it clear
Susan Isaacs
Charlotte Grimshaw
Elle Casey
Julie Hyzy
Elizabeth Richards
Jim Butcher
Demelza Hart
Julia Williams
Allie Ritch
Alexander Campion