Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) by Rodney Hobson
Authors: Rodney Hobson
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in tears over the inspector’s desk.
"I love her so much," he gasped between uncontrollable sobs. It would have seemed unreal to Amos - indeed, it had done so the first time it happened - but this was at least the third such performance and the officer knew it was only too real.
Jason controlled himself with difficulty. Amos was aware from past experience that it was best to let nature take its course. Then the torrent began.
"She wasn’t back until gone 11 last night it’s the third time this week I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing or when she’s coming home there’s no food in the place I can’t manage without her."
The words tumbled out as if in one sentence. Jason took his first pause for breath. A moment later he was on to the earnest pleading.
"Why does she have to be on this case? Why can’t she just do burglaries and come home at a proper time? It isn’t safe for a woman. You work her too hard. You expect too much of her."
It was time to pause for a second breath. Amos wished the young man was less fit so that he would have to breathe more often. The momentum was building again.
"She had left already when I woke up this morning. I can’t live without her, I can’t sleep without her, I can’t eat without her."
Not much more to go, thought Amos.
Jason slumped over the desk again and shook violently. More sobs, this time without tears, emitted from his body. After a few moments he was still and drained.
Amos walked found the desk and helped him to his feet. Then he gently escorted the young man out through the back entrance in silence and watched him shuffle forlornly out though the gate that the police cars used.
The inspector had not been in his office long before Det. Sgt Swift, who had been out interviewing a couple of possible, though not particularly promising, leads burst into his office without knocking. She looked flustered.
“He’s gone,” Amos said simply.
“They told me at the front desk he was here,” Swift said with embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.”
Chapter 20
If the owners of the Killiney Arms hoped that they were off the hook, they were disabused of the notion at 10.45 that morning. Swift had informed Amos of the suspicious behaviour of Jim Berry and the allusion of the landlord to his knowing about the murder.
“It isn’t much to go on,” Swift confessed at the regular morning meeting of the murder team, “but I really did feel there was something going on there. And Berry did figure in all the Jones files we looked at.”
Amos was equally frank: “We haven't got very far in any other direction so we might as well give it a try.”
Amos was now hammering on the closed, solid front door of the pub. A vacuum cleaner was buzzing away in the background.
Amos knocked again, louder.
“We’re not open until 11,” came the reply. The face of the landlord’s wife appeared at the lounge window. Amos swiftly flashed his warrant card in front of her face. She grimaced.
A few moments later heavy bolts could be heard being withdrawn behind the barricades and the door was opened to reveal the figure of the landlord.
“Thanks,” said Amos perfunctorily as he pushed his way past the startled figure and into the pub. Swift followed, leaving the landlord to close the door and follow them.
This time the landlord's wife was in close attendance to protect her husband from over-indulgence in providing unguarded information.
“I understand you have reason to believe that one of your customers knows something about the murder at Killiney Court,” Amos said without embroidery. There was a pause. It was the woman who replied.
“All our customers claim to know something about everything,” she said tartly. “Not many of them know anything about anything, but it is our job to humour them.”
“But Jim Berry seems to know something the others don't,” Amos persisted.
The landlord's wife stuck stubbornly to her line. “We
"I love her so much," he gasped between uncontrollable sobs. It would have seemed unreal to Amos - indeed, it had done so the first time it happened - but this was at least the third such performance and the officer knew it was only too real.
Jason controlled himself with difficulty. Amos was aware from past experience that it was best to let nature take its course. Then the torrent began.
"She wasn’t back until gone 11 last night it’s the third time this week I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing or when she’s coming home there’s no food in the place I can’t manage without her."
The words tumbled out as if in one sentence. Jason took his first pause for breath. A moment later he was on to the earnest pleading.
"Why does she have to be on this case? Why can’t she just do burglaries and come home at a proper time? It isn’t safe for a woman. You work her too hard. You expect too much of her."
It was time to pause for a second breath. Amos wished the young man was less fit so that he would have to breathe more often. The momentum was building again.
"She had left already when I woke up this morning. I can’t live without her, I can’t sleep without her, I can’t eat without her."
Not much more to go, thought Amos.
Jason slumped over the desk again and shook violently. More sobs, this time without tears, emitted from his body. After a few moments he was still and drained.
Amos walked found the desk and helped him to his feet. Then he gently escorted the young man out through the back entrance in silence and watched him shuffle forlornly out though the gate that the police cars used.
The inspector had not been in his office long before Det. Sgt Swift, who had been out interviewing a couple of possible, though not particularly promising, leads burst into his office without knocking. She looked flustered.
“He’s gone,” Amos said simply.
“They told me at the front desk he was here,” Swift said with embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.”
Chapter 20
If the owners of the Killiney Arms hoped that they were off the hook, they were disabused of the notion at 10.45 that morning. Swift had informed Amos of the suspicious behaviour of Jim Berry and the allusion of the landlord to his knowing about the murder.
“It isn’t much to go on,” Swift confessed at the regular morning meeting of the murder team, “but I really did feel there was something going on there. And Berry did figure in all the Jones files we looked at.”
Amos was equally frank: “We haven't got very far in any other direction so we might as well give it a try.”
Amos was now hammering on the closed, solid front door of the pub. A vacuum cleaner was buzzing away in the background.
Amos knocked again, louder.
“We’re not open until 11,” came the reply. The face of the landlord’s wife appeared at the lounge window. Amos swiftly flashed his warrant card in front of her face. She grimaced.
A few moments later heavy bolts could be heard being withdrawn behind the barricades and the door was opened to reveal the figure of the landlord.
“Thanks,” said Amos perfunctorily as he pushed his way past the startled figure and into the pub. Swift followed, leaving the landlord to close the door and follow them.
This time the landlord's wife was in close attendance to protect her husband from over-indulgence in providing unguarded information.
“I understand you have reason to believe that one of your customers knows something about the murder at Killiney Court,” Amos said without embroidery. There was a pause. It was the woman who replied.
“All our customers claim to know something about everything,” she said tartly. “Not many of them know anything about anything, but it is our job to humour them.”
“But Jim Berry seems to know something the others don't,” Amos persisted.
The landlord's wife stuck stubbornly to her line. “We
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