Read Online Last Reminder by Stuart Pawson - Free Book Online Page B

‘Anything on the WAM number?’
    ‘No, but we’re in with a chance,’ he replied. ‘AM is a Swindon registration mark, so there shouldn’t be too many around here. I’ve asked Swansea for a printout of any BMWs with those letters kept in Heckley to begin with. No point in overdoing it just yet.’
    ‘Good. Now let me tell you something.’
    Sparky listened as I related the pathologist’s findings, a big grin splitting his face when I’d finished. ‘You crafty sod,’ he said. ‘Trust you to make a convenience out of a midden. So we’re after wheeler-dealers, eh, and not really bothered who biffed him on the bonce?’
    ‘That’s about the size of it.’
    ‘Right. Well, I think we need to know who was in that car, whoever we upset. I’ll get back to the station and do some chasing.’
    ‘You do that,’ I told him. ‘And find me the addresses of the directors of the diamond company, IGI, if you have the time. Maybe we should pay them a visit. I’d, er, buy you some lunch, but I have an appointment. See you later.’
    ‘I noticed you’d washed your neck,’ he replied.
     
    First thing I saw outside Annabelle’s back door was a pair of Wellington boots that were far too large and definitely not her colour. I knocked and went in. Seated in the kitchen was a young man, several inches of sock wriggling off the end of his toes, as if his feet desperately needed circumcising.
    ‘Hello,’ I said. It seemed as good as anything.
    ‘Hello,’ he repeated nervously. He had a long face that was slightly askew, and nursed an empty coffee mug.
    ‘I’m Charlie,’ I told him. ‘And you must be Annabelle’s gardener.’
    He nodded and examined the coffee mug. His trousers were too long for him and his jacket sleeves too short, and they looked as if they’d been machine-washed at regular intervals. The poor lad obviously wasn’t quite all there. ESN, we used to call it – educationally sub-normal – but that wasnow considered politically incorrect and I couldn’t remember the new term.
    ‘You’ve certainly done a good job,’ I admitted. ‘Annabelle’s garden has looked smashing all summer.’ I gave him a grin. ‘I hope you charge her the proper rate for the job.’
    ‘Sh-she pays m-me three pounds f-fifty an hour,’ he declared in a burst of verbosity.
    I was suggesting that he demand four quid when Annabelle strode in, looking all the things that reduce me to the state of the young man who did her borders, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
    ‘Sorry about that, I was on the phone,’ she explained. ‘I thought I heard you. Have you met Donald, the person who works wonders in my garden?’ She was wearing a striped butcher’s apron over a skirt and bright red blouse, and I noticed the makings of lunch at the far end of the work surface.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve just remarked what a good job he does. I was wondering about making him a better offer to come and do mine.’
    All the praise was making him blush. He rose to his feet, slouching, and put his mug in the sink. ‘I’ll go n-now,’ he announced.
    ‘But your bus isn’t for another fifteen minutes,’ Annabelle told him. Turning to me she said, ‘He missed the one he usually catches.’
    ‘Where do you live?’ I asked.
    ‘Oates S-S-Square,’ he informed me.
    I briefly wondered if it was named after Titus or Captain. ‘Where’s that?’
    ‘N-near the p-park.’
    ‘Heckley park?’ I wondered with sudden interest.
    ‘Y-yes.’
    ‘Do you go in the park much?’
    ‘S-sometimes.’
    I said, ‘Look, it’s trying to rain outside. I could easily run you home. It wouldn’t take ten minutes.’
    ‘N-no, I’ll walk to the n-next stop.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Annabelle asked. ‘Charles could easily give you a lift.’
    ‘N-no thanks. Is it all r-right if I come WWednesday?’
    ‘Tomorrow? Instead of Thursday? Of course it is, if you prefer it. Have you put your money somewhere safe?’
    ‘It’s in my p-pocket.