then?” he demanded. “Thought the house was falling down.”
“Just my driver on his way out to the car. I think the wind caught the door. Ready to go?”
“Whenever you are.” Harold took down his raincoat and struggled into it as he made for the door. “Fame and fortune here I come. Who knows, I might be selling my story to the Sunday News before I’m finished.”
With an effort of will, Brady managed to stop himself from assisting him down the steps with a boot in the backside. Instead he took a deep breath and closed the door behind him with infinite gentleness. He was beginning to feel sorry for Harold’s mother.
It was chance more than anything else that led Miller to The King’s Arms after leaving Joanna Hartmann’s flat. His quickest route back to Central C.I.D. took him along Lazer Street and the pub stood on the corner. It was the light in the rear window which caused him to brake suddenly. The landlord would have to be interviewed sooner or later to confirm the circumstances of Grace Packard’s meeting with Faulkner and Morgan, but there was no reason why that couldn’t wait till morning.
The real truth was that Miller was more interested in the disturbance that had taken place, the trouble with the girl’s boy friend which Faulkner had hinted at. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he had said. The sort of phrase Miller would have expected from some back street tearaway, indicating a pattern of violence unusual and disturbing in a man of Faulkner’s education and background.
He knocked on the back door and after a while it was opened on a chain and Harry Meadows peered out. He grinned his recognition for they were old friends.
“What’s this then, a raid?”
Miller went in as Meadows unchained the door. “A few words of wisdom, Harry, that’s all.”
“Nothing stronger?”
“Only if you’ve got a cup of tea to put it in.”
“Coming up.”
Miller unbuttoned his coat and went across to the fire. The kitchen was large, but cluttered with crates of bottled beer and cases of whisky. It was warm and homely with the remains of the supper still on the table and the old sofa on the other side of the fireplace looked very inviting.
“See you’ve got another killing on your hands,” Meadows said as he came back into the room with a mug of tea.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Late night news on the radio. Not that they were giving much away. Just said the body of a woman had been found near Jubilee Park.”
“Dob Court to be precise.” Miller swallowed some of his tea, coughing as the whisky in it caught at the back of his throat.
“Dob Court? That’s just round the corner from here.” Meadows looked grim. “Was it anyone I knew?”
“A girl called Grace Packard.”
Meadows stared at him, the skin tightening visibly across his face. Quite suddenly he went to the sideboard, opened a bottle of brandy and poured a large dose into the nearest glass. He swallowed it down and turned, shuddering.
“She was in here earlier tonight.”
“I know, Harry, that’s why I’m here. I understand there was some trouble.”
Meadows helped himself to another brandy. “This is official then?”
“Every word counts so take your time.”
Meadows was looking a lot better as the brandy took effect. He sat down at the table. “There’s a bloke called Faulkner comes in here a lot. Only lives a couple of streets away. He was in here earlier tonight with a friend of his, a solicitor called Morgan. Nice bloke. He handled the lease of this place for me when I decided to buy last year.”
“What time did they come in?”
“Somewhere around half-eight.”
“Who else was here?”
“Nobody. Trade’s been so bad in the evenings since this Rainlover business started that I’ve had to lay off the bar staff.”
“I see. When did the girl arrive?”
“About five minutes after the other two.”
“You knew her name, so presumably she’d been in before?”
“Two or three times a
“Just my driver on his way out to the car. I think the wind caught the door. Ready to go?”
“Whenever you are.” Harold took down his raincoat and struggled into it as he made for the door. “Fame and fortune here I come. Who knows, I might be selling my story to the Sunday News before I’m finished.”
With an effort of will, Brady managed to stop himself from assisting him down the steps with a boot in the backside. Instead he took a deep breath and closed the door behind him with infinite gentleness. He was beginning to feel sorry for Harold’s mother.
It was chance more than anything else that led Miller to The King’s Arms after leaving Joanna Hartmann’s flat. His quickest route back to Central C.I.D. took him along Lazer Street and the pub stood on the corner. It was the light in the rear window which caused him to brake suddenly. The landlord would have to be interviewed sooner or later to confirm the circumstances of Grace Packard’s meeting with Faulkner and Morgan, but there was no reason why that couldn’t wait till morning.
The real truth was that Miller was more interested in the disturbance that had taken place, the trouble with the girl’s boy friend which Faulkner had hinted at. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he had said. The sort of phrase Miller would have expected from some back street tearaway, indicating a pattern of violence unusual and disturbing in a man of Faulkner’s education and background.
He knocked on the back door and after a while it was opened on a chain and Harry Meadows peered out. He grinned his recognition for they were old friends.
“What’s this then, a raid?”
Miller went in as Meadows unchained the door. “A few words of wisdom, Harry, that’s all.”
“Nothing stronger?”
“Only if you’ve got a cup of tea to put it in.”
“Coming up.”
Miller unbuttoned his coat and went across to the fire. The kitchen was large, but cluttered with crates of bottled beer and cases of whisky. It was warm and homely with the remains of the supper still on the table and the old sofa on the other side of the fireplace looked very inviting.
“See you’ve got another killing on your hands,” Meadows said as he came back into the room with a mug of tea.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Late night news on the radio. Not that they were giving much away. Just said the body of a woman had been found near Jubilee Park.”
“Dob Court to be precise.” Miller swallowed some of his tea, coughing as the whisky in it caught at the back of his throat.
“Dob Court? That’s just round the corner from here.” Meadows looked grim. “Was it anyone I knew?”
“A girl called Grace Packard.”
Meadows stared at him, the skin tightening visibly across his face. Quite suddenly he went to the sideboard, opened a bottle of brandy and poured a large dose into the nearest glass. He swallowed it down and turned, shuddering.
“She was in here earlier tonight.”
“I know, Harry, that’s why I’m here. I understand there was some trouble.”
Meadows helped himself to another brandy. “This is official then?”
“Every word counts so take your time.”
Meadows was looking a lot better as the brandy took effect. He sat down at the table. “There’s a bloke called Faulkner comes in here a lot. Only lives a couple of streets away. He was in here earlier tonight with a friend of his, a solicitor called Morgan. Nice bloke. He handled the lease of this place for me when I decided to buy last year.”
“What time did they come in?”
“Somewhere around half-eight.”
“Who else was here?”
“Nobody. Trade’s been so bad in the evenings since this Rainlover business started that I’ve had to lay off the bar staff.”
“I see. When did the girl arrive?”
“About five minutes after the other two.”
“You knew her name, so presumably she’d been in before?”
“Two or three times a
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