intohow the tins were breached and they hadn’t been saved.
“So what did you think of Sharon?” Dave asked. It was Sharon who delivered the compaints book when Robshaw asked for it. “Personal service,” he’d said with a smile as she passed it to him. She was severely dressed in a dark suit which went well with her bobbed hair and dark-rimmed spectacles, but the skirt was short and the heels high and she chose her perfume carefully.
“She’s… um, sexy, if you like that sort of thing.” She’d sashayed to the door as she left the office and cast a glance backwards as she closed it to confirm that we were looking.
“And we do, don’t we?”
“Not arf!”
I was still thinking about Sharon when Dave said: “So what were you saying?”
“About what?” I rubbed the side of my face. “That flippin’ fan’s given me neuralgia.”
“You were telling me about Miss X.”
“Miss X? You mean Rosie. She’s called Rosie. Rosie Barraclough.”
“So where did you really meet her?”
“At the geology class. She was the teacher.”
“I’d forgotten about that. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Last week was the last one.”
“Was it any good?”
“Yes. It was interesting. I enjoyed it.”
“Particularly with Rosie in charge.”
“Um, yes, she did add to the enjoyment.” The 4X4 in front of us had two stickers on the back window:one for the Liberty and Livelihood jamboree and the other urging us to Buy British Beef. It was a Mitsubishi Shogun.
“So what ’appened.”
“Nothing. Last Wednesday was the final night and I invited her to the pub for a drink. We arranged to go to Mr Ho’s on Saturday, but when I rang her she’d changed her mind.”
“Because you were a policeman, you said.”
“Mmm. I’d told someone in the class that I was a graphic designer, and she overheard me. When I told her I was really a cop she went all quiet, as if I’d deceived her.”
“I usually say that I’m a cattle inseminator. That keeps ’em quiet. So what are you doing about it?”
I looked across at him. “Doing about it? Nothing. What can I do about it?”
“Charlie!” he gasped. “Won’t you ever learn. Women ’ave to be chased. You like her, don’t you?”
“Well, she’s good fun.”
“So ring her again. Say you won’t take no for an answer. Faint heart and all that.”
“This is the voice of the expert, is it?” I argued. “You married the girl next door which gives you a one hundred percent success record and thereby qualifies you as an authority on the opposite sex.”
“Give ’er a ring.”
“No means No! Haven’t you been listening?”
“Give ’er a ring.”
“OK, I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” We were back at the station. “That’s you sorted out, now what are we doing about these shops?”
“Bacon buttie first,” I replied, “then we’ll take half each.”
“Just what I’d’ve done,” he said.
“Except that…”
“What?”
“Except that we’re assuming only Grainger’s are involved. We really ought to look at all the other supermarkets , too.”
“Sheest!”
In the afternoon I visited the stores in Halifax and Oldfield, and Sparky did three others. Halifax reported another tin of mouldy fruit and Sparky discovered two more incidents of blue beans. Puncturing a tin so the contents rotted appeared to be the first MO, followed by the dye, followed by the warfarin. It was impossible to be precise but it looked as if we had a nutter on the loose and he was on a learning curve. I rang Mr Wood from the car park of Grainger’s Oldfield store and arranged a 5 p.m. meeting. Someone was going to die if we didn’t act quickly, and the first step in catching the culprit was assessing the size of the problem.
We decided to go public, right from the start. I drew a twenty-mile radius circle on a road map and called it the locus of operations. As soon as we had an incident room organised I’d give it pride of place on the wall. Statements
“So what did you think of Sharon?” Dave asked. It was Sharon who delivered the compaints book when Robshaw asked for it. “Personal service,” he’d said with a smile as she passed it to him. She was severely dressed in a dark suit which went well with her bobbed hair and dark-rimmed spectacles, but the skirt was short and the heels high and she chose her perfume carefully.
“She’s… um, sexy, if you like that sort of thing.” She’d sashayed to the door as she left the office and cast a glance backwards as she closed it to confirm that we were looking.
“And we do, don’t we?”
“Not arf!”
I was still thinking about Sharon when Dave said: “So what were you saying?”
“About what?” I rubbed the side of my face. “That flippin’ fan’s given me neuralgia.”
“You were telling me about Miss X.”
“Miss X? You mean Rosie. She’s called Rosie. Rosie Barraclough.”
“So where did you really meet her?”
“At the geology class. She was the teacher.”
“I’d forgotten about that. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Last week was the last one.”
“Was it any good?”
“Yes. It was interesting. I enjoyed it.”
“Particularly with Rosie in charge.”
“Um, yes, she did add to the enjoyment.” The 4X4 in front of us had two stickers on the back window:one for the Liberty and Livelihood jamboree and the other urging us to Buy British Beef. It was a Mitsubishi Shogun.
“So what ’appened.”
“Nothing. Last Wednesday was the final night and I invited her to the pub for a drink. We arranged to go to Mr Ho’s on Saturday, but when I rang her she’d changed her mind.”
“Because you were a policeman, you said.”
“Mmm. I’d told someone in the class that I was a graphic designer, and she overheard me. When I told her I was really a cop she went all quiet, as if I’d deceived her.”
“I usually say that I’m a cattle inseminator. That keeps ’em quiet. So what are you doing about it?”
I looked across at him. “Doing about it? Nothing. What can I do about it?”
“Charlie!” he gasped. “Won’t you ever learn. Women ’ave to be chased. You like her, don’t you?”
“Well, she’s good fun.”
“So ring her again. Say you won’t take no for an answer. Faint heart and all that.”
“This is the voice of the expert, is it?” I argued. “You married the girl next door which gives you a one hundred percent success record and thereby qualifies you as an authority on the opposite sex.”
“Give ’er a ring.”
“No means No! Haven’t you been listening?”
“Give ’er a ring.”
“OK, I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” We were back at the station. “That’s you sorted out, now what are we doing about these shops?”
“Bacon buttie first,” I replied, “then we’ll take half each.”
“Just what I’d’ve done,” he said.
“Except that…”
“What?”
“Except that we’re assuming only Grainger’s are involved. We really ought to look at all the other supermarkets , too.”
“Sheest!”
In the afternoon I visited the stores in Halifax and Oldfield, and Sparky did three others. Halifax reported another tin of mouldy fruit and Sparky discovered two more incidents of blue beans. Puncturing a tin so the contents rotted appeared to be the first MO, followed by the dye, followed by the warfarin. It was impossible to be precise but it looked as if we had a nutter on the loose and he was on a learning curve. I rang Mr Wood from the car park of Grainger’s Oldfield store and arranged a 5 p.m. meeting. Someone was going to die if we didn’t act quickly, and the first step in catching the culprit was assessing the size of the problem.
We decided to go public, right from the start. I drew a twenty-mile radius circle on a road map and called it the locus of operations. As soon as we had an incident room organised I’d give it pride of place on the wall. Statements
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