Two
Thursday
Chapter One
âYou did what?â Superintendent Williamson enquired, dangerously calm. âWhy didnât you clear it with me first?â
âI tried to, sir,â Thornhill said, trying not to sound aggrieved, âbut youâd left.â
âYou should have phoned me at home.â
âI tried that too. There was no answer.â
âThen you should have waited.â
Thornhill was still standing because he hadnât been asked to sit down. He stared at the blotter on the superintendentâs desk. There was a lifelike doodle of a cat in one corner.
Williamson grunted and reached for his pipe. His weathered, blunt-featured face ought to have belonged to a farmer. âIâd have thought even in the depths of the Fens someone might have mentioned that the press needs careful handling.â
âYes, sir, but I thought that this wasnât exactly a controversial issue. Dr Bayswater seemed to feel thatââ
âThereâs people in this town who believe that Bayswaterâs as mad as a hatter. But thatâs not the point. The point is, any CID officer who talks with the press has to clear it with me first. No ifs, no buts, no exceptions. Understood?â
âYes, sir.â
Williamson slowly filled his pipe. He went on in a quieter voice âWeâll have to pull out all the stops on this one, you realise.â
âI donât follow.â
âBecause the Wemyss-Browns are going to splash the story in the Gazette . It may go further afield. God knows where it will end. Even the nationals might get interested.â
âIâm sorry, but I donât see why that should matter.â
âTwo reasons.â The superintendent leaned across the desk and raised a finger. âOne, because it means weâll have to waste resources following it up. For Godâs sake, weâre tight enough stretched as it is. Now, thanks to you, weâll have to go off on this wild-goose chase. Itâs a job for an archaeologist, if you ask me, not a police officer.â He raised another finger. âTwo, because publicityâs a good friend and a bad enemy. If youâre not careful, you could make us a laughing stock. Even worse, theyâd accuse us of wasting ratepayersâ money.â
âSo what do you want me to do?â
âGet those bones off to the lab, have them identified. Go and see old Harcutt. At least heâs not a blabbermouth unlike some I could mention. If youâd have come to me, Iâdâve put you on to him right away. And then you can waste an hour or two writing up a nice neat little report. I want a copy on my desk by the end of the day â sooner, if youâve got any sense. And if the press want to talk to you, refer them to me. All right?â
Thornhill didnât reply because he guessed his resentment would show if he did. He had known that Williamson had a reputation for being brusque before he had applied for the job at Lydmouth. But this wasnât brusqueness: it was the verbal equivalent of beating an underling over the head with a piece of lead piping. He counted silently to five in an effort to get his breathing under control.
Williamson pointed his finger at him. âAnd why havenât you got yourself a poppy yet?â
Before Thornhill could answer, the phone on the desk began to ring. The superintendent scooped up the receiver.
âWilliamson.â He listened for a moment. âHeâs on his way,â he said at last. He slammed the receiver back on to the rest and looked up at Thornhill. âIâm afraid your historical studies will have to wait. Thereâs been another break-in. Mastermanâs. You know it? That little jewellerâs in Lyd Street. And this time thereâs been some violence.â
Chapter Two
Lyd Street was a winding thoroughfare which led down to the river â to the place where for centuries there had been a
Carolyn Keene
Kathleen O’Neal
John Ballem
Kelly Cherry
Robin Stevens
Claire Fenton
Dani-Lyn Alexander
Wolf Wootan
Margaret Atwood
Suzanne Macpherson