Read Online Power Games by Judith Cutler - Free Book Online

place was like an ice-box when I was in here last,’ she said.
    â€˜Well, it isn’t cold now! So I’d say – and remember, time of death’s notoriously hard to pinpoint – between twelve and eight hours ago.’
    â€˜Between eight and midnight, then,’ Guljar said.
    â€˜Something like that.’
    â€˜Would they still be playing at that time?’
    Kate nodded. ‘Until ten, at least. Then there’s time to shower and have a drink and so on.’
    Guljar looked at her under his eyebrows and made another note.
    â€˜Right, that’s that, then,’ Nesta said. ‘I’ve got a surgery to go to. And I bet it’ll be full – all these people with their tennis elbows and their swollen knees. It only takes a couple of hours of tennis on TV to bring them out of the woodwork.’ She turned to Guljar. ‘You’ll do the necessary with Coroner’s Officers and so on?’
    â€˜Sure. See you around, Nesta. And thanks for coming out so fast.’
    â€˜It’s just I’m dying to see all those knees.’ Nesta looked at Kate’s shirt and shorts. ‘If you’ve been playing, you ought to get changed – you don’t want to chill too quickly – not that there’s much danger of that in here, I suppose. But that foyer’s pretty cold.’
    Kate nodded. She held the door for her, then ducked back to the changing area. She pointed to the sports bag, in splendid isolation on a bench. ‘Any sign of any ID?’
    Guljar looked once again as if he might bridle. Then he shook his head. ‘No ID at all. And it’s expensive gear.’
    â€˜What about house keys, car keys?’
    He shook his head. ‘You know, Kate, I have to admit it’s weird. How did she get here? And how was she going to let herself in when she got home?’
    Kate leant against a wall, hands in the pockets of her top. ‘It can’t be unknown for a kind hubby to bring the little wife and collect her. But – and it’s a big but—’
    â€˜Why didn’t he kick up a fuss when she didn’t come out? Come charging in here, or something?’
    â€˜Quite. And why did none of the players notice she hadn’t left the building with them – you don’t play tennis on your own, do you? There must have been someone the other side of the net for at least an hour.’
    â€˜Maybe whoever it was was in a rush,’ he suggested, sitting down on the bench.
    â€˜Or they’d had a disagreement about a line call or something?’ she said, straight-faced, sitting beside him.
    â€˜Quite. You obviously play here. What’s the system for recording players?’
    â€˜Everything’s on computer. Whether it’s a private game or a coaching session. You can phone in and book by credit card. Or you can do it in person. As far as I know, you only need give
your
name if you’re booking in advance.’
    â€˜So even if four people were playing you’d only get one name. Well, player number one would presumably be able to identify the other three. Will you hang on here while I talk to the woman on Reception?’
    OK. It was his patch, not hers. But she wished he’d said,
Let’s go and talk to the woman on Reception
. Guljar was a smashing bloke, and a bright one too, to make it to sergeant so quickly. No assistance from the accelerated promotion scheme, either. But – no, he wasn’t her, and she liked doing that sort of thing herself.
    He was soon back. ‘The funny thing is, the computer went down last night.’
    â€˜So there’s no record of any of the players?’
    â€˜Funny little coincidence, isn’t it?’
    She nodded. ‘Like those hair-dryers being jammed on. It’s usually like a bloody morgue in here. Looks as if someone might have wanted to muddy the time-of-death business.’
    â€˜Which brings us to the question of a p.m. Costs more to