Chapter 31
Chris has his own chair and his own side table, and he now feels like the King of the World.
He sometimes forgets the impact a police officer can have on members of the public.
The gang in front of him are looking at him with something approaching awe.
It’s nice to be taken seriously once in a while, and he is happily giving them the benefit of his wisdom.
“The whole house is wired up with cameras—pretty state-of-the-art stuff too—but we got nothing. On the blink. They often are.”
Elizabeth is nodding with interest. “Anyone you were expecting to see, though? Any suspects?” she asks.
“Well, listen, that’s not something I can really share,” says Chris.
“So you do have a suspect? How wonderful. What do you make of the coffee and walnut?” says Joyce.
Chris lifts a slice of coffee and walnut cake to his mouth and takes a bite. Also better than M you’re quite right,” says Donna, deciding enough is enough. “Now, leave the poor man alone, Elizabeth.”
Chris laughs. “I don’t think I need protecting here, Donna.”
Ibrahim turns to Donna. “DCI Hudson is a fine investigator, PC De Freitas. You are lucky to have such a good boss.”
“Oh, he’s a pro,” agrees Donna.
Elizabeth claps her hands. “Well, it feels like this meeting has been all give and no take. You’ve been very kind, Chris—if I can call you Chris?”
“Well, I’ve possibly shared more than I was intending, but I’m glad it’s been interesting,” says Chris.
“It has. And I think we owe you a favor in return. You might like to take a look at this.” Elizabeth hands Chris a bright blue file about six inches thick.
“It’s a few financials on Ian Ventham. Details of this place, details of his relationship with Tony Curran.
Probably all nonsense, but I’ll let you be the judge. ”
There is a buzz on Joyce’s intercom, and she heads off to answer it, while Chris weighs up the file.
“Well, we can certainly take a look through this. . . .”
“I’ll look through it, don’t panic,” says Donna, and gives Elizabeth a reassuring look.
The door swings open and Joyce walks in with Jason Ritchie himself. The tattoos, that nose, those forearms.
“Mr. Ritchie,” says Chris. “We meet at last.”