‘You have three days, Honeysett, and no fuck-ups this time, I won’t believe another disaster. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, just to make sure.’
I was going to protest that three days didn’t leave me much time to plan the robbery when engine sounds made me rush to the window. I recognized Superintendent Needham’s big grey saloon barrelling self-importantly through the gate. ‘I’ll do my best. Got to hang up now, unexpected visitors.’ I cut the connection. My head was buzzing. When did I sign up for this much excitement? Perhaps retired stamp collectors had entirely the right idea. I stepped away from the window so I could spy on Needham unobserved for a minute. I could see he was using DS Sorbie as a driver. And as though a visit from Needham wasn’t bad enough, no sooner had he squeezed out of his car than DI Deeks made an appearance, driving himself and even more self-importantly blocking the exit with his big ugly Ford.
‘Shit. That’s all we needed.’ Annis joined me by the window. ‘What does the bastard want this time?’
‘Needham, he’ll — ’
‘No, Louis’s kidnapper.’
‘Another burglary. Stamp collector’s house. He wants us to steal the Penny Black.’
‘Is that all?’
Outside the three officers had a quick pow-wow, then the besuited Needham and leather-jacketed Sorbie moved towards the house while Deeks, wearing his horrible rainproof, settled on the bonnet of his car, arms folded.
‘Hard to pull off?’ Annis asked.
‘Won’t know until we’ve taken a look but he’s only given us three days. Do you see what I see?’
‘The new boy is carrying what will no doubt be Needham’s search warrant.’
‘Yup, with the ink still wet.’
The doorbell jingled loudly and the door was being rapped in typical police fashion. I opened it before someone decided to kick it in again.
‘Honeysett, this is DS Sorbie and he has a search warrant. Show the man,’ he encouraged him as he hefted past me. I barely glanced at the paper, looking instead over Sorbie’s shoulder to check on Deeks, but he no longer adorned the bonnet of his car and was nowhere to be seen, which was a bit worrying.
‘After you.’ Sorbie made an inviting gesture down the hall with his warrant.
I had little choice. Needham had already disappeared right towards the kitchen. I hurried after him. ‘Keep an eye on Sorbie, there’s something weird about this,’ I managed to murmur to Annis as I passed her. Needham was already half-heartedly furtling about in the kitchen, opening cupboards without bothering to search them, letting his left hand trail over objects as though he was thinking with his fleshy fingers. I decided to play it by ear. The kettle was already quietly singing on the back of the stove.
‘Coffee?’ I knew Needham loved real coffee while his life was plagued by the ersatz brew his underlings invariably brought him, mostly in plastic cups.
‘And why not,’ he conceded without hesitation and disappeared into the pantry, where he inspected the shelves with his head gently cocked to one side and his hands behind his back. I had the distinct feeling that, perhaps unlike Deeks and Sorbie, he was here on a culinary search but I didn’t think this was the time to ask him how his diet was going. I could hear Sorbie rummaging in the cupboard under the stairs. I suddenly broke into a sweat. If Sorbie demanded the key for the gun locker and found my shotgun missing some awkward questions might be asked, since I had never reported the thing stolen. I knew who had it and still harboured hopes of retrieving it. But the question never came and I could soon hear him moving upstairs, shadowed by a vigilant Annis.
Watched by an appreciative Superintendent I spun out the ritual of coffee making, ground the beans finely in the noisy little mill, transferred the fragrant grounds to a cafetière, splashed recently boiled water on it, depressed the plunger and decanted the resulting brew into a warmed coffee pot. The cat appeared as if from nowhere, swished around Needham’s legs and gave his polished shoes a deep sniffing.
‘Didn’t know you had a cat.’
‘He’s just passing through.’
‘What’s his name?’ He bent down and scratched the cat’s ears.
‘He hasn’t got one.’
‘You could call him Mackerel.’
‘Not a chance.’ Eventually I poured two cups and handed one to Needham, who accepted it with only the faintest hint of a smile and let himself sink on to a chair with a little grunt. ‘You’re a damn nuisance, Chris, but at least you’re a civilized nuisance. You wouldn’t have any sweetener of course?’ he asked while tumbling sugar cubes into his cup.
‘What are you after, Mike?’ Something about this visit was decidedly odd. ‘You’re not looking for blunt instruments, are you? What’s the latest on Barrington’s death? You must know by now it wasn’t me, so why keep harassing me?’
‘Harassing? You feel harassed? You really shouldn’t. Relax,’ he said with an expansive sweep of his arms. ‘It’s all routine. You know the drill.’
I patted my pockets in search of cigarettes and came up with nothing. I made to get some but he was well ahead of me.
‘Sit down, Honeypot, have one of mine.’ He slithered a packet of Camel across the table.
‘But you don’t smoke,’ I protested while I peeled the cellophane off the brand new pack.
‘Took them off an underage kid earlier.’
‘Who happened to smoke my brand.’ Why did I get the feeling he didn’t want me to leave the kitchen while his minions rummaged around my place?
‘You don’t smoke anything else, do you?’ he asked casually.
‘You know I don’t. It bores me.’
‘Well, Albert Barrington didn’t find it boring, that’s for sure. And at his age. Pot-head pensioners, that’s all we need now. Where do our senior citizens go to score these days, what do you reckon? Do dealers hang around their minibuses outside the bingo halls? Or do they grow the stuff down the allotment? A new category for the show bench, I dare say. .’ Needham appeared to be talking to himself and between occasional sips of coffee kept up a leisurely stream of whimsical observations about the changing nature of drug crime on his patch. There didn’t seem to be anything he wanted from me. Though if he really didn’t know who Barrington used to buy his blow from then he and Deeks had to have had a complete communication breakdown. I began to wonder just how good a deal Gem Stone had struck with him that he managed to keep her out of a murder inquiry. The longer we sat around the more fidgety I became, with Deeks and Sorbie crawling all over my place. I lit another cigarette with the stub of the first and poured more coffee. Through the half-glazed kitchen door I saw Deeks trundling past across the meadow, returning from the studio no doubt. I trusted Needham, as a due-process-by-the-book-god-honest copper, but Sorbie was still an unknown quantity and I did now know that Deeks was bent, which made his traipsing round the property without an escort rather nerve-racking. My skin tingled with sweat. Needham didn’t comment but probably hadn’t made Detective Superintendent without having a nose for other people’s fear. At the same time as luxuriating in his coffee break and wittering on about Policing the City of Bath (you could hear the capital letters) as though he was addressing a committee of concerned citizens he seemed to be listening not to my answers but to the house around him.
‘This is just a formality, Honeysett, we must be seen never to leave a tern unstoned, as they say.’ He chuckled to himself. I just hate it when he chuckles. ‘A pensioner getting murdered excites the press for some reason and then the press go and excite the pensioners. Old people feel the most vulnerable to violent crime, even though in reality they’re the least likely to suffer from it. Or any other crime, for that matter. The group most likely to be victims of crime are the fifteen to twenty-five-year-olds, which is the very group that scares the pensioners. But statistics mean nothing and perception is everything.’
‘Oh, quite.’ I didn’t find it easy to join in with this drivel, whether it was true or not. ‘Did you ever find a weapon?’