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Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
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the block in New York when it came out, gadget aficionados wanting to be the first to own one. It made robbery from the person look a better bet.
‘We’ll put a trace on it. And on his credit cards, once we have the numbers. I suppose all that sort of thing will be in his office.’ There was something at the back of his mind which wouldn’t come forward, but it prompted him to ask, without really knowing why, ‘Did your dad have a fountain pen or a fancy ballpoint? A Mont Blanc or anything like that, that he carried in his pocket?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He just used ordinary biros. He wasn’t interested in pens. Why?’
‘Oh, just wondering what else might have been in his pocket.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t have been a biro. He hated people who had them sticking out of their pockets. Like men who wore signet rings. He had a lot of those little prejudices.’
‘We all do,’ Slider said, to comfort her.
They moved on to the third bedroom, which was furnished as an office, with a desk, computer, filing cabinets and so on. Again, everything looked orderly, and Emily Stonax said she couldn’t see anything missing.
Bob Bailey eased Slider aside and said quietly, ‘There’s something interesting about one of those filing cabinets. Fingermarks on the top and on this drawer. Don’t get excited – they’re gloved prints, so we won’t get a match, but it’s an indication?’
‘Yes,’ said Slider. What normal person puts gloves on to do their filing? Someone had been in. ‘You’d better have a look for footprints as well. That’s quite a new carpet with a good pile.’
‘Already on it. And here’s something else – a quick analysis of one of the smears suggests oil of some kind, probably petroleum based.’
‘I didn’t know you had a field test kit for oil,’ said Slider.
Bailey gave him a withering look. ‘It’s called smell and taste.’
‘Well, get me a sample and I’ll shove it off to the lab,’ Slider said, his interest quickening. If the oil came from the perpetrator’s car, it might be possible to get a match: the oil in each car had a unique combination of impurities – dirt, soot, pollen etc. Of course, there was no register of car-prints, but it was good evidence once they had a suspect. ‘Have you opened any of the drawers yet?’
‘Not yet. Still doing externals.’
‘Well, I’d like Miss Stonax to have a look into the one with the fingermarks.’
It hardly needed the eye of a relative, when it came to it, because as soon as the drawer was opened it could be seen that one of the hanging folders was empty. The plastic name tag from it had been taken, too – pulled out so roughly that the slots that had held it had been torn.
‘I suppose you can’t tell us what was in it?’ Slider asked without much hope.
She shook her head slowly, obviously trying to help. ‘I’ve never really looked through his files. All I can say is that he was very tidy-minded and kept everything in a logical order, either alphabetical or by category.’ She looked at Slider. ‘So what does this mean? If someone took a file out of his office, doesn’t it change things?’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Slider said. ‘The two things might not be related at all. This folder might have been empty to begin with, or the file might have been removed at some other time. Your father might have lent it to someone, or just refiled it somewhere else.’
Emily was looking at the tags on the rest of the files. ‘This is all environmental stuff. I recognise some of the names – campaigns and enquiries he’s mentioned to me in the past.’
Slider sighed inwardly at the thought of having to go through everything. There were three cabinets of four drawers each, enough paper-chasing to keep them up nights for months, unless a good lead turned up. ‘I’d just like to find his credit card numbers so we can get a fix on those,’ he said.
‘This drawer’s labelled “Financial”,’ said
‘We’ll put a trace on it. And on his credit cards, once we have the numbers. I suppose all that sort of thing will be in his office.’ There was something at the back of his mind which wouldn’t come forward, but it prompted him to ask, without really knowing why, ‘Did your dad have a fountain pen or a fancy ballpoint? A Mont Blanc or anything like that, that he carried in his pocket?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He just used ordinary biros. He wasn’t interested in pens. Why?’
‘Oh, just wondering what else might have been in his pocket.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t have been a biro. He hated people who had them sticking out of their pockets. Like men who wore signet rings. He had a lot of those little prejudices.’
‘We all do,’ Slider said, to comfort her.
They moved on to the third bedroom, which was furnished as an office, with a desk, computer, filing cabinets and so on. Again, everything looked orderly, and Emily Stonax said she couldn’t see anything missing.
Bob Bailey eased Slider aside and said quietly, ‘There’s something interesting about one of those filing cabinets. Fingermarks on the top and on this drawer. Don’t get excited – they’re gloved prints, so we won’t get a match, but it’s an indication?’
‘Yes,’ said Slider. What normal person puts gloves on to do their filing? Someone had been in. ‘You’d better have a look for footprints as well. That’s quite a new carpet with a good pile.’
‘Already on it. And here’s something else – a quick analysis of one of the smears suggests oil of some kind, probably petroleum based.’
‘I didn’t know you had a field test kit for oil,’ said Slider.
Bailey gave him a withering look. ‘It’s called smell and taste.’
‘Well, get me a sample and I’ll shove it off to the lab,’ Slider said, his interest quickening. If the oil came from the perpetrator’s car, it might be possible to get a match: the oil in each car had a unique combination of impurities – dirt, soot, pollen etc. Of course, there was no register of car-prints, but it was good evidence once they had a suspect. ‘Have you opened any of the drawers yet?’
‘Not yet. Still doing externals.’
‘Well, I’d like Miss Stonax to have a look into the one with the fingermarks.’
It hardly needed the eye of a relative, when it came to it, because as soon as the drawer was opened it could be seen that one of the hanging folders was empty. The plastic name tag from it had been taken, too – pulled out so roughly that the slots that had held it had been torn.
‘I suppose you can’t tell us what was in it?’ Slider asked without much hope.
She shook her head slowly, obviously trying to help. ‘I’ve never really looked through his files. All I can say is that he was very tidy-minded and kept everything in a logical order, either alphabetical or by category.’ She looked at Slider. ‘So what does this mean? If someone took a file out of his office, doesn’t it change things?’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Slider said. ‘The two things might not be related at all. This folder might have been empty to begin with, or the file might have been removed at some other time. Your father might have lent it to someone, or just refiled it somewhere else.’
Emily was looking at the tags on the rest of the files. ‘This is all environmental stuff. I recognise some of the names – campaigns and enquiries he’s mentioned to me in the past.’
Slider sighed inwardly at the thought of having to go through everything. There were three cabinets of four drawers each, enough paper-chasing to keep them up nights for months, unless a good lead turned up. ‘I’d just like to find his credit card numbers so we can get a fix on those,’ he said.
‘This drawer’s labelled “Financial”,’ said
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