Running Scared by Ann Granger Page A

I was living on a scene of crime. I made coffee against the splashing of water from the bathroom and handed Ganesh a mug as he emerged, his long black hair dripping. I could’ve made coffee for SOCO outside, but I drew the line at that. They were causing me enough disruption.
     
    ‘Got a hair dryer?’ Ganesh asked.
     
    ‘Do me a favour,’ I said. ‘With a haircut like mine? What’d I do with a hair dryer?’
     
    ‘I’ll catch cold,’ he said sulkily.
     
    ‘I’ll turn up the gas fire. Gimme that towel.’
     
    He sat in front of the gas fire grumbling as I towel-dried his long hair briskly. ‘Ouch! Ow! That’s my ear, Fran!’
     
    ‘Oh, shut up or do it yourself!’
     
    ‘He grilled me again, too, you know,’ said Ganesh, emerging from the towel. ‘Harford, I mean. He went bananas over those negatives. Said we should’ve turned them in straight away. But there wasn’t anything on them for us to need to do that.’
     
    ‘Conceited snooty prat.’
     
    ‘Got your back up, then, I see. I thought he seemed bright enough. He’s probably worried you won’t take him seriously.’
     
    ‘I do take him seriously. He’s set to be a real pain. What else did he ask you?’
     
    ‘Kept making me go over the same thing over and over again. I began to wish we’d just chucked those photos away.’
     
    ‘Harford would love that,’ I said. ‘I wish I knew who the rich-looking guy in them is. He must be the one who was after Coverdale to get them back. Why is he so worried about them? They don’t show anything criminal, just three guys having a drink.’
     
    ‘Perhaps it’s to do with the other two men in the pictures? I know you can only see one’s face. Perhaps this other man is the one who wants the negatives back.’
     
    I shook my head. ‘No, the dark one is just a regular thug. The light-haired man with the bright shirt is the important figure. He’s the one we’ve got to worry about.’
     
    Ganesh put down the towel and stared at me in concern. ‘We’ve got to worry?’
     
    ‘Yes, of course we have. He doesn’t know where the film is and he’s still looking, right? I bet whoever killed Coverdale went through his pockets and didn’t find it. They know Coverdale ran into the shop to escape his pursuers the other day. They’ll find out pretty quick I work there. Coverdale was ringing my doorbell when his killer found him. What would you make of it all, if you were him?’
     
    Ganesh looked unhappy. ‘I should’ve warned Dilip. He’s looking after the shop this morning.’ They were open for the Sunday newspapers until noon.
     
    ‘Dilip’s built like a brick barn,’ I reassured him. ‘He can look after himself.’
     
    A ring at the bell announced that the fingerprint guy whose visit Parry had promised me, was ready for me. He took my prints. ‘Are you the bloke who was with her last night?’ he asked Ganesh. ‘Right, let’s be having yours as well.’
     
    ‘My father,’ said Ganesh emotionally, scrubbing black ink from his fingertips when the man had gone, ‘must never know about this.’
     
    ‘It’s routine, calm down,’ I said, old hand at this sort of thing as I was by now.
     
    But Ganesh carried on fretting and said he ought to go back to the shop and make sure Dilip was still in one piece. I walked out of the flat with him, through the SOCO, and up to pavement level, ducking under the police tape which still cordoned off my basement. Across the road, someone was taking photographs of the front of the house. He didn’t look like a copper and I suspected he was press.
     
    The road was open to traffic again and, as we emerged, a taxi drew up and out popped the Knowles brothers. They were wearing identical blazers today, with some badge or other on the breast pocket, but by now I could tell them apart, having had the chance to view Charlie so close at hand in my flat. He had the coarser skin and slightly less hair, but he did have his own teeth. Bertie, I