sound like a chorus from
West Side Story.’
‘Well, obviously,’ Atherton said kindly, ‘there are a few minor details left to be filled in. That’s just routine legwork, and since you are
numero uno
in the legs department, Norm, I feel I can safely leave that to you.’
Slider retrieved crumbs of hard-boiled egg-yolk from his chest and said, ‘There’s a great deal we still have to find out. Where the death took place and how the body was transported to the terrace of the Rectory are two that spring to mind, whether it was murder or not.’ There was a general groan, and he raised his voice slightly. ‘Whether it was murder or not, we are still dealing with a crime: not reporting a death is an offence, not to mention attempting to conceal a dead body, and our old friend obstruction. But to ease your turbulent minds, I will say that I am now much more inclined to think that it was Eddie—’
‘Hallelujah! A conversion!’ said Atherton.
‘And the best way we can overcome his natural reserve is to apply some facts to his story.’
‘Or electrodes to his
cojones?’
Atherton suggested hopefully.
‘I thought that was Spanish for rabbits,’ Norma objected.
‘Comes out the same,’ said Atherton.
Slider went on patiently over the top of them, ‘We must find out exactly where he was all through the evening and last night and present him with it. When he knows we know nearly everything, I think he’ll cough up the rest. If he did love her, he’ll want to tell us – it’s just a matter of helping him to get there. We also need to find out where Mrs Andrews was for the whole of the day—’
‘And what she was wearing,’ Norma added.
‘Nothing like some nice, knobbly facts to trip up a liar,’ Slider concluded. ‘So how about garnering me some?’
Atherton stood up, sighing. ‘Here we go. Another
crime passionelle.’
‘Sounds like an exotic fruit-flavoured blancmange,’ said Norma.
‘Blancmange?’ McLaren pricked up his ears, like a dog hearing its name.
‘Never fails,’ Norma said witheringly. ‘Mention food …’
‘You what?’
‘Confection is good for the soul,’ Atherton explained kindly.
‘Yeah, I read that,’ McLaren said, starting on his apple turnover.
‘An alimentary deduction,’ Atherton concluded.
Slider was in his own room doing the preliminary paperwork when Hollis shoved his head round the door.
‘Guv? Some good news.’
‘I’m up for that.’
‘They’ve found a handbag in the back of Eddie Andrews’s pickup.’
‘A handbag?’
Hollis followed his head in. ‘Funny, everyone says that when I tell ’em. It’s like being stuck in a lift with Edith Evans.’
‘What do you mean, everyone? You mean I’m the last to know as usual?’
‘Oh, not the last, guv. I thought
you’d
like to tell the Super.’
‘Always grateful for crumbs. What sort of handbag?’
‘It’s Jennifer Andrews’s all right. Got her driving licence and all sorts inside. I suppose he chucked it in there meaning to get rid of it later, and forgot. Or didn’t have time.’
‘We must have it tested for prints.’
‘They’re doing that,’ Hollis nodded.
‘Not that it will help to find Andrews’ dabs all over it. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t be there.’
‘No, guv. But there’s every reason why the bag shouldn’t be in the back of his pickup. I can’t see someone like her riding on the sacks, can you?’
‘Quite. If it had been in the cab, now—’
‘Well, no-one can think of everything.’
‘But where a woman is, there shall ye find her handbag also. Meaning—’
‘Get Forensic to check the back of the motor for any traces of
madarm,’
Hollis said smartly, ‘dead or alive.’
‘You’re quick. You’ll go far.’
Hollis looked hopeful. ‘Is it enough to arrest him on?’
‘If he can’t provide a decent explanation, I think it probably will be.’
Half an hour later Slider was back in the CID room with the good news.
‘Andrews
West Side Story.’
‘Well, obviously,’ Atherton said kindly, ‘there are a few minor details left to be filled in. That’s just routine legwork, and since you are
numero uno
in the legs department, Norm, I feel I can safely leave that to you.’
Slider retrieved crumbs of hard-boiled egg-yolk from his chest and said, ‘There’s a great deal we still have to find out. Where the death took place and how the body was transported to the terrace of the Rectory are two that spring to mind, whether it was murder or not.’ There was a general groan, and he raised his voice slightly. ‘Whether it was murder or not, we are still dealing with a crime: not reporting a death is an offence, not to mention attempting to conceal a dead body, and our old friend obstruction. But to ease your turbulent minds, I will say that I am now much more inclined to think that it was Eddie—’
‘Hallelujah! A conversion!’ said Atherton.
‘And the best way we can overcome his natural reserve is to apply some facts to his story.’
‘Or electrodes to his
cojones?’
Atherton suggested hopefully.
‘I thought that was Spanish for rabbits,’ Norma objected.
‘Comes out the same,’ said Atherton.
Slider went on patiently over the top of them, ‘We must find out exactly where he was all through the evening and last night and present him with it. When he knows we know nearly everything, I think he’ll cough up the rest. If he did love her, he’ll want to tell us – it’s just a matter of helping him to get there. We also need to find out where Mrs Andrews was for the whole of the day—’
‘And what she was wearing,’ Norma added.
‘Nothing like some nice, knobbly facts to trip up a liar,’ Slider concluded. ‘So how about garnering me some?’
Atherton stood up, sighing. ‘Here we go. Another
crime passionelle.’
‘Sounds like an exotic fruit-flavoured blancmange,’ said Norma.
‘Blancmange?’ McLaren pricked up his ears, like a dog hearing its name.
‘Never fails,’ Norma said witheringly. ‘Mention food …’
‘You what?’
‘Confection is good for the soul,’ Atherton explained kindly.
‘Yeah, I read that,’ McLaren said, starting on his apple turnover.
‘An alimentary deduction,’ Atherton concluded.
Slider was in his own room doing the preliminary paperwork when Hollis shoved his head round the door.
‘Guv? Some good news.’
‘I’m up for that.’
‘They’ve found a handbag in the back of Eddie Andrews’s pickup.’
‘A handbag?’
Hollis followed his head in. ‘Funny, everyone says that when I tell ’em. It’s like being stuck in a lift with Edith Evans.’
‘What do you mean, everyone? You mean I’m the last to know as usual?’
‘Oh, not the last, guv. I thought
you’d
like to tell the Super.’
‘Always grateful for crumbs. What sort of handbag?’
‘It’s Jennifer Andrews’s all right. Got her driving licence and all sorts inside. I suppose he chucked it in there meaning to get rid of it later, and forgot. Or didn’t have time.’
‘We must have it tested for prints.’
‘They’re doing that,’ Hollis nodded.
‘Not that it will help to find Andrews’ dabs all over it. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t be there.’
‘No, guv. But there’s every reason why the bag shouldn’t be in the back of his pickup. I can’t see someone like her riding on the sacks, can you?’
‘Quite. If it had been in the cab, now—’
‘Well, no-one can think of everything.’
‘But where a woman is, there shall ye find her handbag also. Meaning—’
‘Get Forensic to check the back of the motor for any traces of
madarm,’
Hollis said smartly, ‘dead or alive.’
‘You’re quick. You’ll go far.’
Hollis looked hopeful. ‘Is it enough to arrest him on?’
‘If he can’t provide a decent explanation, I think it probably will be.’
Half an hour later Slider was back in the CID room with the good news.
‘Andrews
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