Read Online Bring Forth Your Dead by J. M. Gregson - Free Book Online
Authors: J. M. Gregson
Ads: Link
said, ‘Oh, I couldn’t be precise, but these things certainly take time. The local authority’s Planning Officer has to report. If the application is turned down at the Planning Committee meeting, or even held in suspension until the whole Committee has a look at the site, one has to go back in the queue and wait for another meeting. Patience is not only a virtue but a requisite when dealing with planning applications.’ His delivery became smoother as he moved towards a well-worn theme and sentiments he had delivered many times before to clients. ‘Of course, it pays to know one’s way around and whom one is dealing with—’
‘Quite,’ said Lambert. ‘And when did the whole process begin in this case?’
‘Well, as I say, it takes a long time. I didn’t wait for probate to be granted before I began the process, I seem to remember.’ It sounded evasive, even in his own ears: he felt himself a victim of a pincer movement by these calm, experienced men.
Hook, without even looking up, said, ‘I think it was in fact much earlier than that, Mr Craven.’ The Sergeant found himself using the technique of slow revelation he found effective when he caught the young tearaways of the district in a lie. This time he positively enjoyed watching his forty-six-year-old victim squirm.
Craven said, ‘Perhaps it was. I could check my files if you think it’s important, but—’
‘It could be very important, Mr Craven.’ Lambert looked him boldly in the eye when he interrupted, studying his reactions without any attempt at concealment. ‘But you needn’t bother with your files. Our information is that the Planning Committee received your preliminary application for outline planning permission over eighteen months ago.’
Beyond several walls, a phone rang, faint and unanswered, its note clearly audible here because the comfortable office was so unnaturally silent. Hook thought of the noisy ebullience of their reception, while they waited for a reaction from the man who had thought to deceive them. They had caught him out, in what might be no more than a rather shameful commercial contrivance, but they would behave as though it were crucial to their investigation, in case the man by his reaction proved it to be so. They had trapped him by one of the few facts they had been able to check before they came here, and he had closed the trap himself by his shoddy attempts at evasion.
All this the three of them knew and weighed, while the silence hung unbroken for a long moment. When Craven eventually spoke, he stared fixedly at the top of his desk; he might have been one of those adolescents Bert Hook grilled in the tiny CID interview rooms, who stared at the scratched table which separated them from their tormentor as they lost all their surface arrogance and confessed their tawdry misdemeanours. ‘I needed the money. The property slump caught us rather overstretched. There seemed no harm in making preliminary inquiries…’ His words petered out and he made a small, hopeless gesture of the hands. For an instant as he turned them upwards, they seemed like those of a black man, so strong was the contrast between the deep brown of the backs and the pallor of the palms.
The fish was landed now. Hook admired as he had done so many times before the skill with which Lambert gutted it. With an admission made, the Superintendent became understanding, almost conciliatory: the trick, he knew, was to keep the man talking, rather than recalcitrant or dumb with shame. As long as he communicated, they might learn more yet. ‘Obviously, Mr Craven, you understand the significance of the timing for us, just as we can appreciate the importance for you of checking out planning possibilities at that particular moment. The importance for us stems from the fact I have indicated, that it was about eighteen months ago or a little later that one or more persons began to implement plans to kill your father. What we have now to determine is
‘Quite,’ said Lambert. ‘And when did the whole process begin in this case?’
‘Well, as I say, it takes a long time. I didn’t wait for probate to be granted before I began the process, I seem to remember.’ It sounded evasive, even in his own ears: he felt himself a victim of a pincer movement by these calm, experienced men.
Hook, without even looking up, said, ‘I think it was in fact much earlier than that, Mr Craven.’ The Sergeant found himself using the technique of slow revelation he found effective when he caught the young tearaways of the district in a lie. This time he positively enjoyed watching his forty-six-year-old victim squirm.
Craven said, ‘Perhaps it was. I could check my files if you think it’s important, but—’
‘It could be very important, Mr Craven.’ Lambert looked him boldly in the eye when he interrupted, studying his reactions without any attempt at concealment. ‘But you needn’t bother with your files. Our information is that the Planning Committee received your preliminary application for outline planning permission over eighteen months ago.’
Beyond several walls, a phone rang, faint and unanswered, its note clearly audible here because the comfortable office was so unnaturally silent. Hook thought of the noisy ebullience of their reception, while they waited for a reaction from the man who had thought to deceive them. They had caught him out, in what might be no more than a rather shameful commercial contrivance, but they would behave as though it were crucial to their investigation, in case the man by his reaction proved it to be so. They had trapped him by one of the few facts they had been able to check before they came here, and he had closed the trap himself by his shoddy attempts at evasion.
All this the three of them knew and weighed, while the silence hung unbroken for a long moment. When Craven eventually spoke, he stared fixedly at the top of his desk; he might have been one of those adolescents Bert Hook grilled in the tiny CID interview rooms, who stared at the scratched table which separated them from their tormentor as they lost all their surface arrogance and confessed their tawdry misdemeanours. ‘I needed the money. The property slump caught us rather overstretched. There seemed no harm in making preliminary inquiries…’ His words petered out and he made a small, hopeless gesture of the hands. For an instant as he turned them upwards, they seemed like those of a black man, so strong was the contrast between the deep brown of the backs and the pallor of the palms.
The fish was landed now. Hook admired as he had done so many times before the skill with which Lambert gutted it. With an admission made, the Superintendent became understanding, almost conciliatory: the trick, he knew, was to keep the man talking, rather than recalcitrant or dumb with shame. As long as he communicated, they might learn more yet. ‘Obviously, Mr Craven, you understand the significance of the timing for us, just as we can appreciate the importance for you of checking out planning possibilities at that particular moment. The importance for us stems from the fact I have indicated, that it was about eighteen months ago or a little later that one or more persons began to implement plans to kill your father. What we have now to determine is
Similar Books
