Innocent Blood (2 page)

‘This is the second identical burglary this month.’

‘Let me see.’ Bob Cooper passed the report over to Detective Inspector Nightingale, fresh back from training at Bramshill and wearing her new rank with care. ‘A con man; good too. How does he persuade the old dears to trust him?’

‘He’s patient,’ Cooper explained, ‘doing odd jobs and never asking for payment. All the time he’s building up their trust then,
bang
, he’s gone and so have all their valuables.’

‘What’s NCS got on him?’

Cooper passed her a computer printout from national criminal records.

‘Plenty; he’s been working his way down the country for the past two years. Never does more than three to five jobs in an area. It was only a matter of time before he reached Sussex.’

‘Is this the e-fit? Good grief, he looks just like—’

‘Lord Lucan, I know but no one’s been able to catch him.’

‘It’s because each incident is treated as a minor crime – never gets to us – but if he runs to form we’ll have a chance to nail him before he moves on. Why don’t you go out to this one rather than leave it to MCS? I’ll arrange to have his likeness put in the local papers and distribute information to places pensioners are likely to visit.’

Nightingale perched on the side of his desk, swinging a long leg in an absent-minded gesture which would have been flirtatious in another woman. Cooper thought it bizarre that the most attractive woman in Harlden Police Station also managed to be the most remote.

She had no idea of the effect of her looks, or of the fact that a fair majority of the detectives considered her a hard-nosed upstart who had been over-promoted. Cooper returned his attention to the burglary report in front of him and to his new boss’s suggestions.

‘Seems like a lot of work for two minor crimes.’

‘I don’t call stealing the mementos of a person’s life for scrap value minor. Let’s catch the bastard before he does any more harm.’

Cooper picked up his keys, suitably chastened.

He parked his car in front of a poorly maintained block of flats and walked up to the fifth floor as the lift was out of order. A WPC in uniform greeted him at the door, her face pink with the July heat.

‘She’s inside, very tearful. I haven’t been able to get much from her but I’m hoping the sherry will help.’

Cooper stepped into the hall and recoiled from the ambush of chintz. Three different patterns collided in their demand for attention. It was worse in the cramped sitting room where frills and lace joined in the full-frontal assault. As a beige-and-tweed man it took him a moment to recover, not that the well-preserved lady, sitting among cushions festooned with plump peonies, was in a fit state to notice his discomfort.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Cooper, Harlden CID, Miss Pennysmith.’

She dabbed at her eyes, but brightened visibly in the presence of a man, even one as unprepossessing as Cooper. Over a pot of tea he coaxed a familiar story from her. She had been robbed of everything of value: some costume jewellery, her only valuable ring left to her by her mother, her father’s medals and some silver picture frames containing portraits she missed more than the frames themselves. Almost two hundred pounds in cash was missing, the result of a year’s careful saving towards a much longed-for holiday. The proceeds of the theft would be considerably less than a thousand pounds but she had been robbed of more than possessions.

‘He was such a nice young man.’ She sniffed fresh tears away and took a sip of tea.

Her description confirmed that the thief Cooper had nicknamed Lucky had first visited Miss Pennysmith three weeks before when he’d successfully sold her a fictitious new gas supply. The next day he had returned and ripped up the contract before confessing, in tears, that it was a terrible deal and she should never have signed the papers.

Over tea and biscuits he had explained that his young son was ill and he needed to pay for private medical treatment. The commission on the contracts he sold would make the difference between his son’s recovery and a life of crippling illness. She had persuaded him to take a little cash in exchange for doing odd jobs about the flat. Within weeks he was a regular visitor, almost a trusted friend.

Cooper shook his head in frustration. Throughout that time Lucky had been learning her routine. The night before, he had gained entry using a duplicate door key that he’d had the cheek to leave behind after robbing her. Miss Pennysmith had been left feeling betrayed and a fool.

‘Is there anyone we can call on your behalf? Some family?’

‘I have a nephew who works in Hong Kong and my sister lives in Scotland but there’s no point calling either of them.’

She was persuaded to accept the company of a female neighbour, someone Miss Pennysmith had previously tried to avoid. As Cooper left, he heard the woman start a lecture against trusting strangers, which he thought unnecessary as he doubted Miss Pennysmith would ever trust someone she didn’t know again.

Jeremy Maidment pulled up outside Miss Pennysmith’s flat at oh-nine-hundred hours sharp the following Sunday. While he waited for the door to open, he rehearsed his excuses for not being able to join her for lunch. When it did, he was quite unprepared for the make-up-less, strained face that peered over a newly fitted safety-chain. Her eyes filled with confusion.

‘Jeremy, what are you doing here?’ A fluttering hand strayed to her untidy jumble of pink-white curls.

‘It’s Sunday, Miss Pennysmith. We are to go to church. Margaret, are you all right?’

His concern brought forth a flood of tears. Some time later, church forgotten, he assembled the fragments of her story into a more or less coherent whole. He was filled with indignation and a desire to take action but none of his feelings showed in his face.

‘Why don’t you stay with your sister for a few days? Scotland will be lovely at this time of year.’

‘I don’t think she’d welcome me. She and her husband lead busy lives.’

‘Nonsense. When she hears what’s happened she’s sure to want to help.’

‘I doubt it.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘Mary’s always telling me “three’s a crowd”.’

Maidment understood. He could picture Margaret flirting at the breakfast table in Perth, while her sister bit her lip and her brother-in-law swallowed embarrassment with his coffee. But she couldn’t stay here to mope around the flat, too scared to step outside her front door.

‘Let me speak to her. I’ll explain what you’ve been through.’

He retreated to the hall to place the call. The conversation lasted a long time but when he returned he was smiling.

‘That’s sorted. She’s looking forward to seeing you. I’m going to arrange your train tickets and call her to say when you’ll be arriving. Now, I know it’s early but I think we could both do with a sherry.’

Special prayers were said for Miss Pennysmith at the evening service and the major was pressed for news. He made a point of speaking to every woman in the congregation whom he knew lived alone, to urge them to be on their guard.

The matter stayed at the back of his mind until he was queuing to buy stamps the following week. The police poster by the counter brought him up with a start. Errand forgotten, he walked home briskly.

‘A Major Maidment on the phone, Bob. Wants to talk to the officer in charge of the Pennysmith case. Says he has information that might be helpful.’ The duty sergeant put the call through.

‘Detective Sergeant Cooper. How can I help you?’

‘Jeremy Maidment here, Briar Cottage, Castleview Terrace, Harlden. I think I’ve met the man who robbed Miss Pennysmith. He called at my house three weeks ago.’

‘I see. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him since, have you?’

‘No, but he did leave his card. I wondered whether I should invite him round so that you might arrest him.’

Cooper stifled a laugh. Whoever heard of a thief leaving a calling card?

‘Jolly good idea, sir. Why don’t you do that and call me back with the appointment details?’

He was telling his mate George Wicklow the latest joke when the front desk called.

‘Major Maidment’s down here. Says he’s arranged a meeting with a thief for oh-nine-hundred hours tomorrow and wishes to discuss your plans for deployment.’

The laughter had disappeared from Cooper’s face by the time he reached the dowdy interview room on the ground floor that they kept for walk-ins. Maidment was standing with his back to the window, at ease. He was shorter than Cooper and many pounds lighter, despite broad shoulders beneath an immaculate blazer. His face was weathered by foreign suns and the ruddy skin contrasted with sandy-white wavy hair, moustache and pale blue eyes.

His handshake was firm but not overpowering. On the table between them he had laid out a hand-drawn plan of his house with access points marked. Before Cooper had a chance to speak, he tapped it.

‘I thought three men upstairs, two in the garden to the rear, three plainclothes outside plus two downstairs with me.’

Cooper noted the scale of the drawing and completed some surprisingly quick mental arithmetic to deduce that they’d be falling over each other.

‘An interesting suggestion, Major, but that many officers would attract attention. I think we need something more “covert”, shall we say.’ He was rather proud of his subtlety.

They agreed that four officers, plus Cooper, would take up position in and around the house by seven-thirty.

‘You’re absolutely sure that you won’t be armed, Sergeant?’ Maidment looked disappointed.

‘No, sir. We don’t have grounds to request armed back-up. There’s no mention of a weapon being used in his many previous crimes and no one has been hurt during his break-ins.’

‘Hmm; one can never be too careful. You think they’re harmless then, BANG! they’re shooting up the place and you’ve lost a good man.’ His eyes stared back briefly into a past beyond Cooper’s experience. ‘Still, it’s your operation. I won’t second-guess the officer in charge. I’ll see you and your men at oh-seven-thirty sharp tomorrow.’

That evening, as he watched an unconvincing documentary on the Falklands War, Maidment unlocked the case that held his service revolver and cleaned the gun with care. He loaded six rounds, ignoring Hilary’s sceptical voice in his mind. It took him some time to decide where to conceal the weapon, before he chose the bread bin. If the blighter made a run for it, he’d be more likely to go through the kitchen to the back door than out of the front, which he would make sure was bolted. If that crook tried anything, he’d be ready for him, oh yes.

He slept well, as he always did before a mission. None of the enemy he had killed rested heavily on his conscience. When he did have nightmares, and they were thankfully rare, they were triggered by the memory of private transgressions and of one gross sin. But that balmy July night, the major slept the untroubled sleep of a child.

The dawn chorus woke him. He was showered, shaved and dressed before six. His shoes were already polished to a mirror finish, his trousers pressed. The prospect of seeing some action again excited him. He was about to help the police arrest a serial criminal and he was invigorated by a sense of purpose.

That Sergeant Cooper seemed solid enough, though he had never liked elbow patches, and a Prince of Wales check jacket was most unfortunate given the man’s build. But he was old for a policeman, which gave Maidment added confidence despite the shabbiness of his clothes.

Against his best intentions he started to fret about the arrangements. The gun was where he had left it – oiled, cleaned and loaded. He tested putting it in his jacket pocket, but of course it was far too big and he no longer had his holster. So he replaced it in the bread bin, finally deciding that he was ready.

Cooper cast a critical eye over the team he’d been given. The two uniforms, Perkins and Lee, were all right – he’d worked with them before and knew he could rely on them – but he’d drawn the short straw with the detectives who would be undercover outside. DC Partridge was a twenty-year veteran with a drink problem that remained a secret only to the superintendent in charge of Harlden Station. DS Rike had been good until a knife incident the previous year, but he’d only been back at work two months, most of which had been spent safely behind a desk.

Operations must have decided that this was a low-risk arrest, which would help their work records without being too difficult. They were going to confront a non-violent con man with no history of assault. Just the same, Rike looked pasty so Cooper assigned him to cover the service alley that ran behind the terrace gardens.

He watched as the detective donned a council worker’s green overalls and yellow reflective jerkin, before wheeling a cart and broom behind Maidment’s cottage garden. Partridge he consigned to a car parked up the road at the front, where he opened the day’s paper and promptly pretended to fall asleep; at least Cooper hoped it was an act.

The major was waiting for him inside, impeccably dressed in jacket and tie despite the early heat. He looked calm but Cooper sensed a tension about him that caused him a moment’s concern. The last thing he needed was a case of citizen’s heroics.

Cooper, Perkins and Lee drank fresh coffee and waited. There was no small talk; it wasn’t Maidment’s style and Cooper had never mastered the art. Shortly after eight, the two uniformed men disappeared – Constable Perkins upstairs and Lee to the dining room, while Cooper sneaked into the downstairs cloakroom and perched on the lowered toilet seat. He heard Maidment washing their cups and clearing away. Rike and Partridge called in by radio on cue and he was relieved that they sounded alert.

At half past eight Partridge announced Chalfont’s arrival over the radio, which was followed seconds later by a ring from the doorbell. Cooper heard voices, loud in the small house.

‘Ah, Mr Chalfont, come in. You’re rather early.’

‘Never like to leave a potential client waiting.’

‘Would you like some coffee? I’m just making some.’

‘Thought I could smell it, but don’t go to any trouble on my account.’

The plan was that Maidment would close and lock the front door and then lead Chalfont into the sitting room before retreating to the kitchen on the pretext of making coffee. Cooper, backed up by the two uniformed constables, would then arrest the suspect while he was waiting for Maidment’s return.