Read Online All Quiet on Arrival by Graham Ison - Free Book Online Page A

presumably to give us a good view of the two butterfly tattoos homing in on her navel. She looked at us with a puzzled expression on her face. Perhaps she thought we were peddling encyclopaedia or religion, but I soon disabused her of that. From the brief description PC Watson had given us, there was little doubt that she was the Shelley he saw in a thong on the night of the disturbance.
    â€˜I’m a police officer,’ I said, but that was all I had time to say. Unfortunately I’d said it too loudly.
    There was a crash from the rear of the small house, as if a table had been overturned, followed by the sound of breaking glass. It was apparent that the man we’d come to interview had taken flight, assuming that it was Thomas Hendry. This, of course, is something CID officers know all about. Fleeing felons are an all too frequent occurrence in the humdrum life of a detective.
    Dispensing with the niceties of asking if we might come in, Dave and I sped through the house. In the kitchen, we found that the table had been turned on its side, and the large windowpane had been smashed. There were smears of blood on the jagged edges of the broken glass. I presume that Hendry had scarpered the moment he heard me announce who we were, and had taken a header through the window.
    â€˜Where does that lead to?’ I asked the startled woman, pointing at the paved area at the back of the house.
    â€˜To the garage at the back. It’s where we keep the car. There’s a service road from there out to the main road.’
    As if to confirm what she’d said, I heard the sound of an engine starting, and a vehicle driving away at speed.
    Well, that was something. This woman obviously wasn’t too worried about telling me how the man had escaped. I tested her even further.
    â€˜D’you know the registration number of the car?’
    Without a pause, she reeled it off.
    â€˜Have you got a telephone here?’ I asked, forgetting that my mobile was in my pocket.
    â€˜Yeah, of course. It’s in the lounge.’
    I moved rapidly into the tawdry sitting room that she’d dignified with the term ‘lounge’, and dialled 999. Having identified myself, and assured the police control room operator that Detective Superintendent Ferguson knew what we were doing, I relayed the details of the car, and the fact that our man could be bloodstained. Now we could relax and hope, and obtain as much information from the helpful woman as she was prepared to give.
    â€˜What’s your name, Miss?’ asked Dave.
    â€˜Shelley Maxwell,’ she said, confirming that she was the woman who’d been seen by PC Watson. ‘What’s this all about?’
    â€˜And I presume the guy who just disappeared out of the kitchen window was Thomas Hendry,’ continued Dave.
    â€˜Yeah, that was Tom.’
    â€˜Why did he make such a hurried exit, Shelley?’
    â€˜I haven’t got a clue. He’s never done nothing like that before.’
    Dave showed the girl the photograph of Hendry that we’d obtained from the shipping office. ‘Is this your man Tom?’
    â€˜Yes, that’s him.’
    â€˜You and he were at twenty-seven Tavona Street last Saturday night.’
    â€˜I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    Dave seemed to be doing all right without my intervention, so I let him get on with it.
    â€˜I think you do, Shelley,’ persisted Dave. ‘But if you’d rather, I can take you down to Southampton Central police station, and I’ll send for the officer from London who spoke to Tom early last Sunday morning about a riotous party at the house. He recalls that you were scantily dressed at the time. It could all take time, of course,’ added Dave, implying that Shelley Maxwell could finish up spending a lot of time at the nick.
    â€˜We never had nothing to do with it,’ Shelley blurted out.
    â€˜Nothing to do with what?’
    â€˜The