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

‘Dixon had two possessions on him. Two thousand pounds in cash, folded in wads of one-hundred-pound notes, and the other a key, which he says is for his mobile home. It’s been recorded as an exhibit and taken by the search team.’

‘Bet they’ll be chomping at the bit to get on with the search, I know I would.’

The sergeant’s shirt, Charley noticed, bulged a little too tightly across his belly. His hooded blue eyes looked nostalgic for a moment. ‘Those were the days ma’am, when we went out and searched our ’sens,’ he said. The old man’s grin was toothy, and wide, under his thick, grey moustache which sat beneath his button mushroom nose, completely hiding his top lip. However, the absence of his top lip was completely compensated for by his bulbous bottom lip, which was set in a slightly perpetual pout.

Did the fact that Charley didn’t feel more emotionally upset about the fact that Brittany Dixon had been shot dead mean she was growing insensitive, she wondered. Or was her contained mood down to the overwhelming feeling of relief she felt given that the threat had been neutralised quickly and no one else had been killed, mainly due to the dedication and the professionalism of the officers involved? The operation had undeniably been a success.

Back in the Incident Room, updates were coming in quick and fast. No more firearms had been found, yet the search of the Dixon mobile home continued. Numerous items had been seized, along with the motorhome itself, which had monetary value and would be ultimately dealt with under the Proceeds of Crime Act.

Annie sat at the table with Wilkie looking expectantly at Charley’s door, waiting for the debrief. ‘Brittany Dixon had some balls to kneel in the road, and take careful aim at the cops,’ she said.

‘Balls?’ gasped Wilkie. ‘Stupidity more like.’

Wilkie and Annie exchanged a duelling stare. ‘Or maybe she relished the fact that she and Brad were destined to die in an ambush, just like Bonny and Clyde?’ Annie paused. ‘I wish they’d found the Baikal weapon, which would have undeniably given us a lever with Brad Dixon.’

Charley’s mobile rang as she stepped out of her office. She stopped, listened intently for a moment or two. Her face lit up. She walked a few more steps towards them. Her eyes went to the ceiling. ‘Thank you, God,’ she whispered. ‘Love you big time.’

Annie’s eyes searched Charley’s face.

Eyes shining, smile wide, Annie’s superior carefully put her phone down on the table in front of her.

‘Guess what? Taped under the bonnet of the motorhome was a Baikal semi-automatic pistol,’ she said, excitedly.

‘Crafty bastards,’ said Wilkie.

Chapter 36

‘Pretend you’re sitting on the coast of Santorini, not at your desk,’ Winnie said, reaching into her tartan trolley bag. Without Winnie’s help the meal run would not have been done, leaving those who hadn’t brought sustenance with them from home, with none. Winnie put Charley’s sandwich down carefully in front of her.

Instinctively Charley grabbed her cold, bony hand, and rubbed it hard to increase the circulation. ‘What would we do without you?’ she said, meaningfully.

Winnie squeezed her fingers as tight as her arthritis would let her, before wheeling the trolley out into the CID office to hand out the food supplies to the others. ‘I’m glad to be useful, but it’s always nice to be appreciated, thank you,’ she said, with feeling. Charley watched her through the window that looked into the CID office. Winnie must have sensed her watching her as she turned and gave Charley one of her warm, comforting smiles. Charley picked up a tomato, and nibbled it between her teeth. Winnie’s smile had never changed in all the years Charley had known her, and she wondered if that was what her father had first fallen in love with, all those years ago. The thought came to her that Winnie could quite easily have been her mother.

Winnie popped her head around Charley’s office door before she left. ‘I’m off to Josie’s this afternoon to order some jams and pickles, if you want some,’ she said. ‘Let me have your order before I clock off at half past two.’

Wilkie sat at her elbow and sank his teeth into his well-filled teacake. ‘Part-timer!’ he mumbled.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, you cheeky bugger,’ Winnie replied, giving him one of her throaty laughs. ‘I’ve been here since half past six cleaning up after you mucktubs.’

Ricky-Lee was quiet, as he studied his lunch as if it was a great work of art.

‘Yes, it’s a sandwich: salad and meat, or cheese, placed on or between slices of bread,’ joked Annie.

‘The sandwich was named after John Montagu, fourth Earl of Sandwich,’ Ricky-Lee said.

‘Everybody knows that,’ she said.

‘Ah, but I bet you didn’t know that the third of November is National Sandwich Day?’

‘That’s relevant, because…?’

Ricky-Lee looked at Annie with a surprised expression, even though he wasn’t really surprised.

‘Since when have you been interested in a sandwich, other than it fills your cake ’ole, and it stops you talking bullshit for a couple of minutes?’ Wilkie slurred, around a mouthful of sausage roll.

Warm gravy spilled down Annie’s chin, and she quickly caught the running liquid in a napkin. ‘Since he copped off with the girl in the sandwich shop.’ The meat pie garbled her words.

Ricky-Lee turned his head to face her. ‘No comment,’ he chuckled, but Charley noticed the twinkle in his eye.

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full, Annie,’ snapped Tattie, with a scowl. ‘It’s not very ladylike.’ Wilkie’s mouth dropped open. ‘What, young Molly Fisk? No way! She’s got legs up to her armpits. You lucky bastard,’ he said, much to Ricky-Lee’s amusement.

Annie’s eyes were slitted. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What do you say, Tattie?’

‘My mother always said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I guess she wasn’t wrong. In fact I’m betting on it,’ she said, with a wink.

Annie giggled. ‘Tattie, you little minx, you’ve kept that quiet, haven’t you?’

Working lunches were