Music to Die For (The Falconer Files Book 6)
Page 24
Oh, she wouldn’t push her luck, or try to make a move on him, because she had a fair idea that it wouldn’t be too long before he made a move on her. And then she’d be the mistress of The Grange, and wouldn’t have to watch every penny, always buying stuff in sales, and when it was on special offer. If she could satisfy his appetites, she may see a sizeable increase in her purse, as well as a much better lifestyle.
Yes, things were looking up for the future! She must make sure that she went ‘commando style’ to The Grange on Friday, then ensure that she engineered the opportunity to slip on to his lap, so that he could work out the secret message she was sending him through her outer garments.
*……*……*
V
Merv Green had caught them on the way back to the office, and commented that the arrests, particularly of Harold Grimes, had gone very smoothly, with no attempt at resisting arrest on the part of the man. Falconer took one look at him, and asked, ‘Have you ever seen yourself, when you’re wearing your expression of grim determination?’
‘No, sir. What are you getting at?’
‘You make quite a forbidding figure. I certainly wouldn’t like to cross you, when you look like that, and I know you.’
‘Thank you very much, sir,’ answered Green. ‘By the way, I think it can be said that Twinkle – Linda – and I may be considered ‘an item’.’
‘Well done. You’ll make an excellent team, same as you do at work.’
‘I’ll tell her what you said. Thanks again!’
As he and Carmichael finally reached the office, Falconer finally remembered to ask his sergeant if there was any news on that ice-cream van they had spotted on the Wild Flowers Estate; the one that was apparently referred to as ‘Mr Spliffy’.
‘Not a sniff, sir. I got the licence number run through the PNC, and it apparently belongs to a Fiat Panda, registered to a Mrs Gladys Fairchild, somewhere in Rochdale. I got the local force to check it out, and it is her number plate, and it is affixed to a Fiat Panda.
‘There must be a garage, or a workshop involved, somewhere along the line, then. I bet it never goes out twice with the same number plate.’
‘We’ll just have to keep our eyes open, then, and get the patrol cars to look out for it, too. By the way, how are you feeling? Still got that dicky tummy?’
‘Only when I wake up, in the morning. I don’t know what’s causing it, but I feel fine for the rest of the day.’
‘You really ought to see a doctor about it. It’s not natural for something like that to go on for so long, especially if you’ve been taking some sort of jollop for it,’ Falconer advised him. As he finished his sentence, Carmichael’s mobile phone rang, and he apologised to his boss briefly before he answered it.
‘It’s Kerry, sir. I’ve told her not to call unless it’s an absolute emergency, so I’d better answer it.’
He moved his chair round slightly, so that he was not speaking in Falconer’s direction, and lowered his voice, as he asked what was wrong.
Falconer could see from the man’s ear and profile, though, that his colour was rising. From normal through to pink it went, then to bright red, and then, it was as if someone had switched off a light, and the whole side of his face was suddenly a dead white, as he ended the call.
‘Whatever is it, Carmichael. Is there anything I can do to help? Tell me!’ urged Falconer urgently. Carmichael turned round to face the inspector again, and seemed momentarily incapable of speech.
‘What is it man. Spit it out!’ Falconer was now almost frantic with worry, imaging one of the boys dead or injured, or one of the dogs killed on the road. He had to know, before his head exploded, with all the ghastly images forming in it.
Carmichael finally gathered his thoughts together, and said, in the most shocked of voices, ‘All that sickness – it was just sympathetic morning-sickness. I’m going to have a baby, sir,’ before slumping back, in a dead faint, in his chair.
Falconer then had the unique experience of shaking the hand of an unconscious man, in congratulations, which he did, very happily, and completely un-self-consciously.
The Falconer Files
by
Andrea Frazer