Read Online A Dedicated Man by Peter Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Peter Robinson
Ads: Link
background mostly. But she’s not stupid – and she knows how to cook a good
dinner.’
Banks noticed Barker look over his shoulder at the bar and turned to see what the attraction was. He was just in time to see a young woman with glossy black hair down to her waist. She wore a
blue shawl over a white silky blouse, and a long loose skirt that curved from her slim waist over the graceful swell of her hips. He only glimpsed her face in profile for a moment as she walked
out. It looked good: angular, high cheekbones, straight nose, like a North American Indian. Half obscured by her hair, a crescent of silver flashed where her jaw met her long neck.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked Barker.
Barker smiled. ‘Oh, you noticed, I see. That’s Olicana.’ He pronounced the foreign word slowly.
‘Olicana?’
‘Yes. At least that’s what Harry used to call her. Apparently it’s what the Romans called Ilkely, the spirit of the place, the genius loci . Her real name is Penny
Cartwright. Not half as exotic, is it?’
‘What happened last night?’ Banks asked with an abruptness that startled Barker. ‘Was it a normal evening’s drinking as far as you were all concerned?’
‘Yes,’ Barker answered. ‘Harry was on his way to York and dropped in for a couple of swift halves.’
‘He didn’t drink any more than usual?’
‘A little less, if anything. He was driving.’
‘Did he seem unusually excited or worried about anything?’
‘No.’ Barker assumed the role of spokesman. ‘He was always excited about his work – some rusty nail or broken cartwheel.’
‘Rusty nail?’
‘Yes. That’s how we used to joke about it. It was his field of study. Industrial archaeology. His one great passion, really. That and the Roman occupation.’
‘I see. I’ve been told that Mr Steadman was supposed to visit an old lead mine in Swaledale today. Know anything about that?’
‘I think he mentioned it, yes. We tried not to let him get away with too much shop talk, though. I mean, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, is it, rusty nails?’
‘What time did he leave here last night?’
Barker concentrated for a moment. ‘It’d be about a quarter to nine,’ he answered finally, and the others nodded in agreement.
‘When did you leave?’
Barker glanced at Barnes and Hackett before answering. ‘I left about ten fifteen. I was alone by then and it was no fun.’
Banks turned to the other two and they gave him their stories.
‘So you see,’ Barker concluded, ‘any one of us could have done it. Our alibis are all weak.’
‘Just a minute!’ Barnes cut in.
‘Only joking, Doc. Sorry, it was in poor taste. But it is true, isn’t it? Are we suspects, Inspector? It is Inspector, isn’t it?’
‘Chief Inspector,’ Banks answered. ‘And no, there aren’t any suspects yet.’
‘I know what that means. When there are no suspects, everybody’s a suspect.’
‘You write detective stories, don’t you, Mr Barker?’ Banks asked mildly. Barker flushed and the others laughed.
‘Defective stories, I always call them,’ Hackett chipped in.
‘Very droll,’ Barker growled. ‘There’s hope for you yet.’
‘Tell me,’ Banks went on, pushing the pace now he’d got them going. ‘You’re all well off. Why do you drink in a dump like this?’ He looked around at the
peeling wallpaper and the scored, stained tables.
‘It’s got character,’ Barker replied. ‘Seriously, Chief Inspector, we’re not quite so well off as you think. Teddy here’s been living on credit ever since he
bought up Hebden’s Gift Shop, and the doc’s making as much as he can fiddle from the NHS.’ Barnes just glared, not even bothering to interrupt. ‘And I’m just dying for
someone to buy the film rights to one of my books. Harry was loaded, true, but when it came, it came as a bit of a surprise to him, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Apart from quitting
his job and moving up here to devote himself to his
dinner.’
Banks noticed Barker look over his shoulder at the bar and turned to see what the attraction was. He was just in time to see a young woman with glossy black hair down to her waist. She wore a
blue shawl over a white silky blouse, and a long loose skirt that curved from her slim waist over the graceful swell of her hips. He only glimpsed her face in profile for a moment as she walked
out. It looked good: angular, high cheekbones, straight nose, like a North American Indian. Half obscured by her hair, a crescent of silver flashed where her jaw met her long neck.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked Barker.
Barker smiled. ‘Oh, you noticed, I see. That’s Olicana.’ He pronounced the foreign word slowly.
‘Olicana?’
‘Yes. At least that’s what Harry used to call her. Apparently it’s what the Romans called Ilkely, the spirit of the place, the genius loci . Her real name is Penny
Cartwright. Not half as exotic, is it?’
‘What happened last night?’ Banks asked with an abruptness that startled Barker. ‘Was it a normal evening’s drinking as far as you were all concerned?’
‘Yes,’ Barker answered. ‘Harry was on his way to York and dropped in for a couple of swift halves.’
‘He didn’t drink any more than usual?’
‘A little less, if anything. He was driving.’
‘Did he seem unusually excited or worried about anything?’
‘No.’ Barker assumed the role of spokesman. ‘He was always excited about his work – some rusty nail or broken cartwheel.’
‘Rusty nail?’
‘Yes. That’s how we used to joke about it. It was his field of study. Industrial archaeology. His one great passion, really. That and the Roman occupation.’
‘I see. I’ve been told that Mr Steadman was supposed to visit an old lead mine in Swaledale today. Know anything about that?’
‘I think he mentioned it, yes. We tried not to let him get away with too much shop talk, though. I mean, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, is it, rusty nails?’
‘What time did he leave here last night?’
Barker concentrated for a moment. ‘It’d be about a quarter to nine,’ he answered finally, and the others nodded in agreement.
‘When did you leave?’
Barker glanced at Barnes and Hackett before answering. ‘I left about ten fifteen. I was alone by then and it was no fun.’
Banks turned to the other two and they gave him their stories.
‘So you see,’ Barker concluded, ‘any one of us could have done it. Our alibis are all weak.’
‘Just a minute!’ Barnes cut in.
‘Only joking, Doc. Sorry, it was in poor taste. But it is true, isn’t it? Are we suspects, Inspector? It is Inspector, isn’t it?’
‘Chief Inspector,’ Banks answered. ‘And no, there aren’t any suspects yet.’
‘I know what that means. When there are no suspects, everybody’s a suspect.’
‘You write detective stories, don’t you, Mr Barker?’ Banks asked mildly. Barker flushed and the others laughed.
‘Defective stories, I always call them,’ Hackett chipped in.
‘Very droll,’ Barker growled. ‘There’s hope for you yet.’
‘Tell me,’ Banks went on, pushing the pace now he’d got them going. ‘You’re all well off. Why do you drink in a dump like this?’ He looked around at the
peeling wallpaper and the scored, stained tables.
‘It’s got character,’ Barker replied. ‘Seriously, Chief Inspector, we’re not quite so well off as you think. Teddy here’s been living on credit ever since he
bought up Hebden’s Gift Shop, and the doc’s making as much as he can fiddle from the NHS.’ Barnes just glared, not even bothering to interrupt. ‘And I’m just dying for
someone to buy the film rights to one of my books. Harry was loaded, true, but when it came, it came as a bit of a surprise to him, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Apart from quitting
his job and moving up here to devote himself to his
Similar Books
