Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

Ben looked up; he tapped the palm of his hand with his index finger. ‘We’ve liaised with National Crime Agency, and in turn we’ve been told that they have liaised with their colleagues in Spain.’

Sitting upright Charley took a deep breath, followed by a sigh.

When no more information appeared to be forthcoming, Charley continued. ‘Okay. Look, I’m concerned that my team don’t waste time making lines of enquiry that have already been completed. Is there anything on file linking the pair to Crownest, do you know?’

Ben shook his head. ‘No, to our knowledge there isn’t.’

There was a pause, and Charley appeared to be thinking. ‘Can you let the HOLMES sergeant have all the relevant documents concerning the Dixons, so that we can at least link them to our database?’

Ben nodded. ‘Not a problem, when do you want them?’

Charley picked up the Racing Post between her finger and thumb and placed it in her tray. Collecting the rest of the paperwork on her desk into a pile, she looked at the men, with a tight-lipped smile. ‘No rush, this afternoon will do. By tomorrow, I want to know more about Brittany and baby-faced Brad than their own mothers do.’

Wilkie Connor was waiting for Ben and Terry in the main office. Ricky-Lee was nowhere to be seen. The detective leaned back and spoke to them out of the corner of his mouth as they passed. ‘How did it go?’ he said. ‘At least the boss can’t send you back to uniform any more.’

Ben’s face was paler than when he arrived. ‘Still a sackable offence, going out of the Force area without permission, to go to the races, or not, in works’ time, especially with exhibits in the boot of the car.’

Wilkie cringed. ‘You didn’t? You idiots!’

Terry frowned. ‘I’d like to know how she knew where we were, Ricky-Lee was hardly likely to tell her.’

‘Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t know he’d had a bet on the horses until he told me this morning that he thought he was in for a windfall.’ Wilkie’s eyes looked towards the SIO’s office. ‘He saw her clock him with his ear piece in during the briefing, and he apparently missed the last race of his “Round Robin”, but there is no way she could’ve known for sure what he was listening to.’

Ben was defiant. ‘I don’t care how she knew. Some bosses would have wiped the floor with us. Fair play to her. We deserved a kick up the backside, and that’s what we got. Let’s get going and get the information she wants before she changes her mind.’

Rumours that the Dixons had absconded to Spain weren’t enough for Charley. A bullet found in the male victim’s skull, matched by the ballistics team with those left at the scene of other robberies that the pair had been linked to would be a great result and a positive step forward. She could only hope that this sort of information was forthcoming soon.

With the appearance of DS Mike Blake in the Incident Room, she plucked her car keys from her drawer, grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and marched out of the office. ‘Don’t take y’coat off, we’re off to Raglan’s Estate Agency to see if they can shed some light on the Dixons and Crownest.’

‘What, right now?’ Mike’s voice was unbelieving, but Charley’s command was not up for discussion.

‘That’s what I said didn’t I?’ Charley briskly entered the corridor. Mike dodged the closing door and followed closely behind.

The SIO thought out loud as she walked, ‘They must have something that will assist us with the investigation, contact details, last known address, bank details etcetera, and by the way, Mike, let me know in the future if you talk to the Divisional Commander about an ongoing murder investigation, will you?’

‘Sorry boss, I passed Bobbie in the corridor and he asked what the rush was about. I didn’t… I wouldn’t…’

‘Understood. Oh, and please don’t use Divisional Commander Stokes’s first name; you might have known him a long time, but remember the chain of command. It’s there for a reason.’

It wasn’t often that Charley used the front of the police station, with its great glass doors headed by the Force’s crest, to access or exit the building. She preferred the back entrance, which was nearer the car park. At the officers’ approach the front doors glided silently open and, before she knew it, she was on the pavement outside and heading towards the town centre.

Marty, the desk sergeant in charge of manning Reception, watched their exit on the monitor in the back office, his colleague Marie-Clare at his side. By her stance Charley looked to him like she was on a mission. ‘What did I tell her? Keep yer head down, but no. She’s a law unto herself our Charley,’ he said, with a slight shake of his head and a worried look upon his face. ‘Just like our Kristine, once she’s got the bit between her teeth there’s no stopping ’em. Allus been the same, even as kids.’

There was no need for a ride in a car, as Raglan’s Estate Agents was a small, local, family-run business on the corner of the High Street at its junction with Peel Street, less than a hundred yards from the police station. How the estate agents had survived several recessions was a mystery to some.

Miss Finch, the receptionist was a small young woman with long dark hair, a sunny complexion and manner to match. ‘Is there any particular property that you might be interested in?’ she said, sweetly as the officers stepped inside the offices.

Silently Charley showed her warrant card which didn’t seem to impress. ‘Crownest,’ Charley said. ‘I’m DI Charley Mann, and this is Detective Sergeant Mike Blake, Peel Street, CID.’

‘I’m sorry that property is sold,’ the young woman said in a dismissive tone. ‘Any others that I can interest you in?’

Seconds later an elderly gentleman