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

However, it didn’t appear to impair his speech, which was now stronger than the detective had expected, and he appeared to have no problem venting his feelings as he slapped a hand on his neck in what seemed like frustration, in an attempt to lessen his body’s reaction to the upset. With his other hand he made a balled fist and slammed it on the desk again.

‘What else are you not telling us, Mr Raglan?’ Charley asked.

‘I’m telling you what I do know,’ he said, picking up the property file and waving it fleetingly in the air. ‘Everything is duly, meticulously recorded here. The previous owners inherited Crownest. A property they neither needed nor desired to keep. Our instruction was to sell it, for as much as possible.’ Mr Raglan paused. In that moment his eyes lit up. ‘Ah, the Hayfields, that’s what I’ve been trying think of. The owners, I recall that they live on the south coast, in a little village called Milford-On-Sea, in Hampshire. I’ve never met them, but I have spoken from time to time over the years, to the gentleman on the telephone. He was happy to leave the sale in our hands, knowing it isn’t easy to market this type of property, especially one with such a lurid past.’

Charley stood, and Mike followed her lead. She thanked Raglan for his time, told him not to get up, and reminded him that the missing cheques might play an important part in the investigation, and that she would await his response. And if there was an issue with obtaining the records of the bounced cheques from the bank, which she also wanted to see, then she would be happy to contact them direct. Mike Blake leaned across the desk to shake the old man’s hand. Swiftly, he picked up the empty cups and saucers, proffering a smile. ‘I used to be in the hospitality business,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘Hate to see dirty pots lying around.’

Charley waited for Mike to go through the office door that she held open for him. ‘By the way,’ she said, turning around, ‘We will need a copy of the Crownest file for our records.’

Raglan looked taken aback. ‘It contains personal data.’

‘That’s okay. We will treat it as such. Unless you have a problem with that, and you would like us to obtain a warrant?’

Raglan shook his head.

‘Good, I was hoping that you would want to co-operate.’

Miss Finch accepted the crockery from Mike with a soft thank you and a weak smile. He had placed his calling card on the saucer. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment or two, but as Charley stopped at the glass front door on to the High Street, and opened it, she saw the receptionist spinning the card between her fingers, before she slipped it into her handbag, which was positioned at her feet near her desk.

The main street seemed extra busy as they walked back to the Incident Room; everyone it seemed was heading in the opposite direction. Mike struggled to keep up with Charley’s long determined stride and dodge the crowd at the same time.

‘What did you think?’ asked Charley.

‘To be honest, I wondered if, off the record JT has bunged Raglan a wedge to be able to buy the property, with the prospect of advertising the new builds for him?’

‘Mmm… You’re probably right. We’ll see if Raglan manages to produce the cheques. If the bank had returned them, you’d have thought they’d have been attached to the file. I reckon he might’ve also done a cash-in-hand deal with the Dixons to stay in the property, judging by his reaction to our questions. I’m going to get the intelligence unit to do some digging into his background and into the financial state of the company.’

Mike looked amused. ‘The Dixons don’t sound to me like the type of people who would have a bank account, never mind a cheque book, especially these days. Or at least not one they rightly own.’

‘Me neither. Make a note, we didn’t ask him if he had a firearm, but he’s not on the firearms register, I’ve checked.’

On their arrival at Peel Street Police Station, the great glass doors glided open. In Reception, Marty was dealing with an obnoxious ‘customer’, who was apparently late answering his bail. He lifted his head briefly, acknowledged their presence, and automatically pressed the button to allow them to enter the inner sanctum of the police station once the buzzer had sounded. Charley winked at the older man, and with a confident swagger marched through the door.

‘Is his daughter back at work now?’ Mike said, glancing at Marty through the glass partition.

‘Kristine? Yes, light duties only. She’s still in her wheelchair, but most importantly, she’s back in the saddle; something I never thought possible after the accident that killed Eddie.’

‘You’ve been friends with Kristine forever, right?’

Charley nodded.

‘Is it true that you both joined up at the same time?’ he said.

‘Same time, same passion. Horses.’ The mention of horses, and the thought of her best friend Kristine and the hobby that they shared, caused a warm feeling to flush through Charley’s veins. Instinctively her hand went to the golden horseshoe hanging from a chain around her neck. It felt warm and reassuring to her touch.

Charley stood on the first landing of the police station and looked down at Mike climbing the stairs, slowly, one step at a time. She would never tire of the view from this window which showed her the historic town buildings of Huddersfield, and the green rolling hills and valleys beyond. ‘However, circumstances out of my control took me on a very different path to Kristine,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s back working with the horses.’

‘Things happen for a reason, so they say,’ said Mike as he joined her.

‘Yes, so they say. If I hadn’t been sent on secondment to London, studied for my Inspector’s exams, and got promotion to take up the position of head of CID here,