Death Line by Geraldine Evans, Kimberly Hitchens, Rickhardt Capidamonte Page B

in on your way out. I want him to go and pay a visit to the partners' bank. If we can get the numbers of those stolen notes, we might be able to trace them. Come back when you've set things in motion, as I want us to go and see this Ginnie Campbell next and find out why she didn't come into work this morning. We'll take a chance that she's at home.”
    There was no answer at Ginnie Campbell's door. As they turned to walk back up the path, the door of the next terraced house opened and a neighbour stepped out in front of them.
    “If you're looking for that Campbell woman, she's out.” Ginnie Campbell's neighbour was built on battle-tank lines and now she planted her solid, fluffy pink slippered feet more firmly on the shared path, blocking it as effectively as any armoured vehicle, and, managing to look marginally more threatening as she crossed meaty arms over her flowered pinny. Eyes as hard and dense as plum stones fixed avidly on them as she added, “I can give her a message, if you like.”
    “Thanks for the offer, but we'll come back.” Without success, Rafferty attempted to edge past her on the narrow path, but as she didn't give an inch, he was forced to retreat.
    “If you're looking for money, you'll be wasting your time,” she confided. “She's got tally-men and debt collectors on her doorstep morning and night, but few of them manage to catch her.” Her eyes darted from one to the other, and she speculated artfully, “You'll be the bailiffs, I suppose? They must be due about now.”
    Rafferty took a quiet satisfaction in disappointing her. Still, with £1000 missing from Moon's office, it was certainly interesting to discover that Virginia Campbell's circumstances were so straitened. “We do need to see Mrs Campbell urgently,” he said. “Have you any idea when she'll be back, Mrs...?”
    “Naseby. Mrs Naseby's my name. No, can't say I have.” She crossed her arms more firmly over her ample chest, dewlaps of mottled flesh on her upper arms wobbling, seemingly impervious to the chill wind that was steadily turning Llewellyn's ears bright red, and settled to gossip. “Comes and goes at all hours. Heard her drive back from God knows where before 8 o'clock this morning. Roared up in that car of hers with enough noise to wake the dead.” She sniffed. “Might be able to pay her rent if she stayed home occasionally.”
    “How do you know she's behind with her rent?” Rafferty asked.
    “I've got a friend who works in the landlord's offices, that's how. Three months' she owes them.” As a car pulled up at the kerb, her lips drew back in a spiteful smile and she told them, “You're in luck. That's her now. Though I wouldn't count on getting any money.”
    The car was a sports model and although its registration plate revealed that it was only a year old, it had certainly been in the wars, as several large dents testified. Rafferty wondered how Ginnie Campbell could afford to pay for fancy cars when she couldn't afford the rent? But perhaps she couldn't, he mused, as the three of them watched her climb out of the car. Perhaps the car company featured among the debt collectors trying to catch up with her? No doubt Mrs Naseby would know.
    Virginia Campbell was a statuesque redhead of about forty summers. Her carriage was proud and, as she approached, Mrs Naseby's lips thinned. The other woman's chin raised in response, her shoulders went back and her walk became more swayingly provocative. Dressed in a short, clinging and jewel-bright vermilion skirt, its satin sheen a defiant battle cry, Rafferty guessed, as the ample flesh of the crimplene chain-store-couturiered Mrs Naseby quivered with outrage, that she would have plenty of practise at out-facing the neighbours.
    Sweeping them with a contemptuous glance, Ginnie Campbell asked, “What's this? A welcoming committee? Come to ask me to join the neighbourhood watch?”
    Unthinkingly, Rafferty introduced himself and Llewellyn. Predictably, Mrs Naseby