wouldn’t get a long, boring answer. Henry was at his desk, grafting, and that was what mattered.
‘It’s one of those reg numbers you gave me to check.’
‘Aye. Which one?’
‘The Kia. It’s registered to a couple called Thompson, who live in Stanwix.’
‘Aye, so. Got form, have they? It’s a con’s car, is the Kia. They just love a long warranty. It’s a fact, is that.’
Henry laughed. ‘Hardly, on either count. That’s the thing though. The registered keeper, Brian Thompson, is over 50 and clean as a whistle. Never had any contact with us whatsoever, and nor has his wife.’
‘OK, so he’s a straight employee of that business.’
‘No, he’s not. He works at the hospital, in administration. And his wife works in a shop in town. So neither of them had any reason to be there.’
‘Maybe I just wrote the number down wrong.’
‘No, the registration matches the vehicle. I was going to pop round to his office at the hospital, and have a quick chat.’
‘You’d fit right in, love’, said Pepper laughing. Henry’s black eye was actually a deep purple colour, and there was bluish bruising right across his cheek. ‘But I’ll do it myself. Just give me five minutes to check my email.’
‘Am I coming too?’
‘No, love. You stay here. Don’t want you frightening the patients, like.’
Rex Copeland wasn’t due in until noon, but Pepper was pleased to see him coming in just as she was grabbing her coat.
‘Rex, with me, please.’
Henry frowned as he watched them go. If Pepper really wanted him to stay in the force then she had a bloody funny way of showing it.
The two officers walked down the same hospital corridor twice before they found Brian Thompson’s office. Pepper knocked and walked in. When she badged Thompson all she saw on his face was concern. No fear, no hint of calculation.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, fine. Don’t worry, we don’t have bad news.’
‘Thank God. I just thought…’
‘I know. We still have that effect on some people. On the ones who don’t usually have dealings with the police, at least. It’s about your car. And no, there hasn’t been an accident.’ Pepper smiled, as she said it, preempting his concern. ‘Do you drive to work, Mr. Thompson?’
‘Sometimes, aye, if it’s wet. Otherwise I walk. Good for the waistline, you know.’
‘I do. Have you been out to the industrial estate recently? Visiting a metal fabrication workshop there, it would have been. About something for the hospital, perhaps?’
‘No, no I haven’t. I’m an accountant, I don’t have anything to do with metal, or anything like that.’
‘How about another family member? Your wife, perhaps?’
Thompson smiled. ‘My wife? No, certainly not. Metal’s not really her thing. I’m sorry, but I expect there’s been a bit of a mistake here.’
‘Does anyone else have access to the car, Mr. Thompson?’ asked Copeland, quickly.
‘My son, Micky. He drives it sometimes.’
‘And how old is Micky?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘And he’s at college, is he?’
‘No. He didn’t like it. He’s taking a gap year. You know, while he decides what to do.’
‘Very sensible. And might he have visited Martin Brothers? For a job interview, something like that?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘I expect he’d have said, if he had an interview.’
‘Aye. I expect so. But he doesn’t say much, not to us, anyway.’
‘Teenagers, eh? Can’t live with them.’ Copeland paused, waiting for the smile in response, but it didn’t come. ‘Will Micky be at home now, Mr. Thompson?’
‘Aye. He’ll be asleep, I expect. He normally sleeps in until dinner time. We nag him about it, but it never does any good, does it? They live in their own world at that age, and the lad takes no notice of mum and dad anymore. That stopped about the same time he stopped holding our hand when we crossed the road.’
The Thompson house looked neat in
‘It’s one of those reg numbers you gave me to check.’
‘Aye. Which one?’
‘The Kia. It’s registered to a couple called Thompson, who live in Stanwix.’
‘Aye, so. Got form, have they? It’s a con’s car, is the Kia. They just love a long warranty. It’s a fact, is that.’
Henry laughed. ‘Hardly, on either count. That’s the thing though. The registered keeper, Brian Thompson, is over 50 and clean as a whistle. Never had any contact with us whatsoever, and nor has his wife.’
‘OK, so he’s a straight employee of that business.’
‘No, he’s not. He works at the hospital, in administration. And his wife works in a shop in town. So neither of them had any reason to be there.’
‘Maybe I just wrote the number down wrong.’
‘No, the registration matches the vehicle. I was going to pop round to his office at the hospital, and have a quick chat.’
‘You’d fit right in, love’, said Pepper laughing. Henry’s black eye was actually a deep purple colour, and there was bluish bruising right across his cheek. ‘But I’ll do it myself. Just give me five minutes to check my email.’
‘Am I coming too?’
‘No, love. You stay here. Don’t want you frightening the patients, like.’
Rex Copeland wasn’t due in until noon, but Pepper was pleased to see him coming in just as she was grabbing her coat.
‘Rex, with me, please.’
Henry frowned as he watched them go. If Pepper really wanted him to stay in the force then she had a bloody funny way of showing it.
The two officers walked down the same hospital corridor twice before they found Brian Thompson’s office. Pepper knocked and walked in. When she badged Thompson all she saw on his face was concern. No fear, no hint of calculation.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, fine. Don’t worry, we don’t have bad news.’
‘Thank God. I just thought…’
‘I know. We still have that effect on some people. On the ones who don’t usually have dealings with the police, at least. It’s about your car. And no, there hasn’t been an accident.’ Pepper smiled, as she said it, preempting his concern. ‘Do you drive to work, Mr. Thompson?’
‘Sometimes, aye, if it’s wet. Otherwise I walk. Good for the waistline, you know.’
‘I do. Have you been out to the industrial estate recently? Visiting a metal fabrication workshop there, it would have been. About something for the hospital, perhaps?’
‘No, no I haven’t. I’m an accountant, I don’t have anything to do with metal, or anything like that.’
‘How about another family member? Your wife, perhaps?’
Thompson smiled. ‘My wife? No, certainly not. Metal’s not really her thing. I’m sorry, but I expect there’s been a bit of a mistake here.’
‘Does anyone else have access to the car, Mr. Thompson?’ asked Copeland, quickly.
‘My son, Micky. He drives it sometimes.’
‘And how old is Micky?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘And he’s at college, is he?’
‘No. He didn’t like it. He’s taking a gap year. You know, while he decides what to do.’
‘Very sensible. And might he have visited Martin Brothers? For a job interview, something like that?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘I expect he’d have said, if he had an interview.’
‘Aye. I expect so. But he doesn’t say much, not to us, anyway.’
‘Teenagers, eh? Can’t live with them.’ Copeland paused, waiting for the smile in response, but it didn’t come. ‘Will Micky be at home now, Mr. Thompson?’
‘Aye. He’ll be asleep, I expect. He normally sleeps in until dinner time. We nag him about it, but it never does any good, does it? They live in their own world at that age, and the lad takes no notice of mum and dad anymore. That stopped about the same time he stopped holding our hand when we crossed the road.’
The Thompson house looked neat in
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