Inspector Stone Mysteries Volume 1 (Books 1-3)

By Alex R Carver

Volume 1 of the Inspector Stone Mysteries, containing books 1-3

Where There's a Will (Book 1)

The kidnapping of a child on the way home from school is every parents worst nightmare, for the Keatings it's no nightmare, it's a reality.

A reality made worse when it is suspected the Russian Mafia is behind the kidnapping to force Owen Keating to sell his business. 

Are the rumours true, or is there something else going on?

An Eye For An Eye (Book 2)

A sudden surge in murders across Branton leaves Nathan Stone wondering if the town has gone made, or if they could all be the work of one man. If so who is it, and why is he killing such a diverse group of people. 

A Perfect Pose (Book 3)

The murder of a teen model draws Nathan Stone back to work after the tragic events of An Eye For An Eye. 

When rumours surface of abuse at the studio where Ellen Powers worked, Nathan must investigate whether that is why she was murdered, or if her death is connected to her pregnancy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ARC Books
• Release date: Nov 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781540108937

Alex R Carver

After working in the clerical, warehouse and retail industries over the years, without gaining much satisfaction, Alex quit to follow his dream and become a full-time writer. Where There's A Will is the first book in the Inspector Stone Mysteries series, with more books in the series to come, as well as titles in other genres in the pipeline. His dream is to one day earn enough to travel, with a return to Egypt to visit the parts he missed before, and Macchu Picchu, top of his wishlist of destinations. When not writing, he is either playing a game or being distracted by Molly the Yorkie, who is greedy for both attention and whatever food is to be found. You can find out more about Alex R Carver at the following links https://twitter.com/arcarver87 https://alexrcarver.wordpress.com/ https://medium.com/@arcarver87 https://www.facebook.com/Alex-R-Carver-1794038897591918/

Book preview

1

Side by side, as though joined at the hip, Ben and Jerry stepped through the flaps and into the pavilion. They blinked in unison as they went from the darkness of outside to the brightness of the pavilion’s interior, which was lit by portable lights that hung overhead.

They knew what to do without talking – they had been working together for so long that they would have been as close as brothers even without the bond of blood – and while Ben made for the young man busily gathering up the plastic glasses that littered the tables, Jerry threaded his way through the tables to the bar.

On your knees. Ben’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but he didn’t need volume to make it clear that his order should be obeyed, the sawn-off shotgun in his hand did that for him. He was pleased, but unsurprised, to see the young man drop the glasses he had gathered and almost hit his head on the table he was cleaning in his haste to do as he had been told.

What d’you want? The cleaner’s voice trembled with fear as he addressed his question, not to the man standing over him but to the gun being pointed at him – he couldn’t force his eyes any higher than the twin dark holes that stared at him from the end of the barrels.

The money, Ben admitted candidly before slamming the butt of his gun down on the man’s head. He bent briefly to check that the cleaner was out cold and then stepped over the immobile form, so he could join Jerry, who was waiting for him by the partition that led into the rear section of the pavilion.

Like his brother, Jerry was holding a sawn-off shotgun, which he clutched tightly while his finger twitched on the trigger, ready to squeeze it at the slightest provocation. Three, he told Ben quietly, having risked a look through the partition to see how many people they had to worry about. His eyes shone greedily at the thought of the money he had seen, and his body quivered like a coiled spring; it could not have been more obvious how excited he was, or how desperate he was to get on with things.

Let’s do this, Ben whispered. He stepped past his brother and through the partition. On the ground, all of you, he ordered loudly, swinging his shotgun from side to side so that the muzzle was pointed in turn at the two men and one woman; all three of them froze in the act of counting the piles of money - made by the beer tents that had been quenching the thirst of the revellers at the Rock Radio Music Festival - on the table when they saw the guns, and the balaclava-wearing men wielding them.

Do as he says, Jerry snarled, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. On the ground, hands behind yer backs. The moment the three of them had done as they were told Jerry lowered his shotgun and slid the bag he was carrying from his shoulder. He took several lengths of rope and strips of cloth from the bag, which he used to bind their hands and blindfolded them; finally, just to be sure they weren’t going to cause any trouble, he knocked them out, using the butt of his shotgun as a club. Let’s get this done, he said eagerly once he was finished.

As quickly as they could, the pair grabbed up the bundles of cash that covered the table like the cloth of a cartoon rich person and stuffed them into the bag. It took longer than they had anticipated to empty the table, and there was only just enough space in the bag for all of it – there was more money than they had expected, though neither of them thought that a bad thing, there could never be such a thing as too much money as far as they were concerned. By the time they were finished, the bag was full to bursting, leaving them both to wonder how much it was they had stolen, and how much fun they could have with it – a lot, that was certain.

A little over five minutes after entering the temporary drinking hall, Ben and Jerry left it, with Jerry practically skipping on his way through the pavilion, so excited was he. If they were not now rich men, they were certainly far better off than before, and they were both feeling full of themselves; they couldn’t think of another way they could make so much money so quickly or so easily.

Didn’ I tell you it’d be easy? Jerry exulted, pulling off his balaclava to reveal shaggy brown hair that was in need of a good brush, and several days’ worth of stubble. We’re loaded, fuckin’ loaded. He let out a short, sharp whoop of glee, heedless of the fact that there were still people around, clearing up after the festival. How much you think we got?

More’n you said we’d get, Ben said as he slid into the passenger seat of the car they had parked as close to the pavilion as they could. While he did that, his partner tossed the bag into the back seat before taking the driver’s seat. Forty grand, at least, mebbe more. We’ll find out when we get ‘ome.

Jerry gunned the engine and raced away from the pavilion, narrowly missing one of the festival staff who was nearby. He paid no attention to the man, who was forced to dive out of the way of the racing car to avoid being hit, as he sped across the field towards the makeshift exit from the festival grounds.

2

Detective Inspector Nathan Stone – Nate to his friends – yawned hugely as his partner drove them into the field that had been used for the Rock Radio music festival. It was just gone four in the morning and he was not happy to be there; an hour before he had been in bed, warm, comfortable and, most importantly, asleep. Why he had been called out for a robbery, when Detective Sergeant Mason was the officer on duty until eight a.m., he didn’t know, and he hoped to find out soon.

The moment his partner brought the car to a stop, Stone got out, rising to his full height of just under six feet. He stretched to ease his stiff muscles and yawned again, his mouth gaping wide for a moment before shutting quickly. Running his fingers through his sandy hair he attempted to transform it into something more suited to a senior detective, without success – his hair had never been all that tameable, and fresh from bed it put up more resistance than usual.

As awake as he felt he was likely to be, given the time and the circumstances, he looked around, his hazel eyes taking in all there was to see. Though it was the early hours of the morning, and dawn was still an hour or so away, the festival grounds were ablaze with light - some of it came from the quarter moon that shone in the night sky, but most of the light came from the spotlights that dotted the field, and which only a couple of hours before had illuminated the bands playing the festival and entertaining the thousands of people who had attended.

They sure made a mess of this place, DS Stephen Burke remarked as he walked around the car to join his partner. There was little difference in their heights, not even an inch, but he had better posture, so he seemed taller; his slimmer build, close cropped black hair and green, almost emerald, eyes further separated them in the eyes of any who them.

Stone nodded his agreement. I’m no environmentalist, but I’ve always thought it a shame when I see the mess left behind after a festival like this. I’ve never understood why people are so prepared to leave their rubbish all over the place just because they’re at a festival; most of them would never do it at home. He let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his eyes to remove the last of the sleep from them before running his fingers through his hair once more; it was a habit, and one he often wasn’t aware of doing. Okay, let’s get on with this. Standing around isn’t going to get us anywhere.

With Burke at his side, Stone strode briskly over to the pavilion, whose entrance was being guarded by a uniformed officer. He looked around quickly once inside and noted the presence of the two white clad forensics officers who were working over a small area to one side of the pavilion – in addition to them there were three men and a woman seated at a table near the ‘bar’, untouched cups of something that still steamed gently in front of them, while a short distance from the table was Detective Constable Chris Grey.

Christian, Stone greeted the younger man, whom he liked to call by his full, Christian, name because of the lead male character in the Fifty Shades series of books; it wasn’t something Grey liked, but since he was only a junior officer, and one newly promoted to detective, he was not in a position to do or say much about it. What’s the situation? He had been told little of what had happened when he was woken by the duty sergeant. Armed robbery I believe.

Grey nodded. That’s right, sir. Two men with sawn-off shotguns tied up the staff, that’s them over there, he indicated the foursome at the table, knocked them out and took all the money the beer tents took today, he told his superior succinctly.

Is there something special about this case? Stone asked curiously of the young detective, whose face took on a quizzical look. Why was I called out for this? I’m off-duty till morning - Mason’s the duty detective tonight, he should have been the one to get this call. He stifled yet another yawn and silently wished for a very large mug of strong, black, well-sweetened coffee to wake him up.

As if he had read his superior’s mind, Burke chose that moment to appear at Stone’s side holding a pair of Styrofoam cups that steamed, more forcefully than did those on the table, in the cold night air. I’m afraid it’s nothing special, just instant, but it’s better than nothing. Burke took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, revealing what he thought of the coffee he had secured for them.

Stone gratefully accepted the cup that was held out to him and immediately lifted it to his lips. He let out a sigh of relief as the hot liquid slid down his throat and that first jolt of caffeine and sugar hit him – unlike his partner he wasn’t a coffee snob who paid more attention than necessary to what he drank, he was satisfied if his drink had plenty of caffeine and sugar. Well, Christian? He turned his attention back to the detective. Is there a reason I got this call?

I couldn’t say, sir, Grey said. I was expecting DS Mason to take the lead here. I did hear just before you arrived that he’s been sent to a hit-and-run a few miles away though.

Any connection to this? Burke asked. He saw from the look on his partner’s face that he had surprised Stone, whose mental faculties, just then, were not on the same level as his, and who had not been so quick to consider the possibility that there might be a connection between the two incidents.

Not so far as I’m aware, Sergeant, but I know nothing about the hit-and-run, so it could be, Grey said apologetically.

Burke shrugged. If there is a connection, I’m sure we’ll find out about it soon enough.

Has Mason got anyone with him? Stone asked of Grey, knowing that he had been assigned to partner the detective sergeant.

No, sir. Grey shook his head. I was out of the station when this call came in, and was sent straight here; DS Mason said he would join me, but you turned up instead.

You’d better get off and join him then, Stone told him. We’ll take care of things here. He sipped heartily at his coffee as he made his way between the tables to where the quartet of witnesses/victims were seated.

Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Stone, and this is Detective Sergeant Burke, he introduced himself and his partner. I realise you’ve been through a traumatic experience tonight, and I’m sure that you’d rather not relive it, so I’ll try not to keep you any longer than necessary.

Thanks, the eldest of the three men, who was holding the woman’s hand comfortingly, said. I’m David Leigh, I own The Stag Inn, and it’s my money been stolen, he declared angrily. This is my wife, Rose, son, Tim, and Eric Green, one of our barmen. He made the introductions.

Stone nodded to each of them in turn and then returned his attention to David Leigh, who was clearly the one most in control; his wife was white-faced and trembling, his son was attempting to seem unaffected by what had happened but still couldn’t speak, though he appeared to want to, while Green showed every sign of still being stunned by the blow that had knocked him out. Stone wondered briefly if he shouldn’t be in hospital, being checked over, rather than there, and was about to say something to that effect when he remembered that he and Burke had passed an ambulance on their way up to the field - he assumed that everyone had been given the once over by the paramedics.

First off, he said, can you tell me how much money was stolen? He knew there was a lot of money to be made from the beer tents at a festival like the one that had finished earlier that night, but not how much.

Leigh grimaced and said regretfully, I wish I could. We’d only just started counting it all when those bastards came in. Based on what we took yesterday and Friday, though, I’d say they got away with a little over fifty grand. His voice was bitter. It was the best day’s takings. Sunday’s always the best – bastards.

Fifty thousand pounds, Stone thought; it was clear that the beer tents made more money than he had imagined. He made a note of the amount in the pad he took from a pocket. Is the money insured? he asked.

It should be, David Leigh said, though his voice was uncertain. I’m sure the insurance company’ll try and find some way out of paying, but we should be covered for it.

That’s good. If you don’t mind then, I’d like to start at the beginning – if you could tell me what happened. His eyes remained on David Leigh for a moment, but when the pub owner’s eyes moved to his barman, Stone’s followed.

There was silence for a short while before Eric Green finally spoke. I was clearing up, collecting the glasses and wiping the tables down when they came in. I only saw one of them, and I didn’t realise he was there ‘til he told me to get on my knees. He had a shotgun in my face, so I did as he said.

You did the right thing, Burke assured him. If you’d tried anything you might have been hurt - better for you to do what he wanted and avoid that.

Stone nodded his agreement. What happened next? he asked.

I asked him what he wanted, and the guy said, ‘the money’ then he hit me. I don’t know about anything else that happened ‘til I woke up later. Absently he rubbed his forehead, where a large bump, visible to everyone at the table, was forming. I didn’t even see his face; I saw the shotgun and just sort of froze – it’s like I didn’t want to see his face, I was too scared.

That’s understandable. Stone suspected he would have reacted the same if he were in that position.

David Leigh took up the account then, After they knocked Eric out they came through to the back. He gestured behind him to where two flaps had been tied back, and several forensics officers in their white coveralls could be seen. And did the same to us; they made us get on the ground, tied and blindfolded us, then they knocked us out. I don’t think we were out for more than about five minutes, ten at the most, before one of the festival staff found us and woke us up. That’s when I called you guys.

Stone took in Leigh’s brief account of events and then twisted around. Is the guy who revived everyone still here? he called out the question to the two constables at the entrance to the pavilion.

Yes, sir, he’s out here having a smoke, came the reply. Do you want him?

Not yet, just keep him there. I’ll get to him shortly. Turning to Burke, Stone said, Can you organise the questioning of all the festival staff, and anyone else who might have been around, while I get some details here.

Burke nodded and, putting away his notepad and pen, got to his feet; he left his barely touched coffee on the table as he made his way out of the pavilion, glad to have an excuse not to finish the almost undrinkable beverage.

What can you tell me about the guys who robbed you? Stone asked, his attention back on those at the table.

Not much, Leigh answered. They were both dressed in jeans, dark tops and leather jackets, and they were both wearing balaclavas.

Stone scribbled that down in his spider scrawl, disappointed by the lack of a useful description. Anything else? Did you notice an accent, did they sound local or from somewhere else; maybe you saw a tattoo, or something that might make it possible to identify the guys who took your money?

Once he had all the information the quartet could give him, which took very little time, Stone made his way outside. He found the festival crew member who had untied and revived David Leigh, his family, and their employee, a short distance from the pavilion entrance, still smoking. The small collection of cigarette butts on the ground at his feet indicated that he had been chain-smoking for quite a while, most likely to calm his nerves after the night’s events.

How did you know Mr Leigh and the others needed help, Mr Powell? Stone asked once he had introduced himself. He moved to one side until he was downwind – the breeze was only slight, but it was enough to send the smoke from the cigarette into his face. It wasn’t that the smoke bothered him, more that it awoke cravings he thought he had long since put behind him.

After being almost run down by those idiots I was sure something’d happened, so once I got to my feet I went and checked the pavilion. That’s when I found them, tied up and knocked out, Powell answered. Dropping his cigarette to the ground he crushed it into the dirt with his foot. I revived them, wasn’t easy, they didn’t want to wake up, and Mr Leigh called the cops while I went and got one of the first-aiders.

You say you were almost run down, can you describe the car, or the people in it?

It was blue, a Vauxhall, Astra I think. Powell paused to light a fresh cigarette, which he puffed on a for a moment before he continued. I didn’t see it pull up, I was having a piss, but it was out front when I finished, with the engine running. I didn’t think much of it, I just thought it belonged to someone in the pavilion and they’d brought it round so they could load some stuff up.

Did you see the license plate? Stone didn’t hold his breath; he was sure that even if Powell had seen the license plate it wouldn’t help any. In his experience, the car used by the robbers would most likely have been stolen, perhaps even specifically for this job. How about the men? Did you see anything of them? he asked when Powell shook his head in response to the first question.

Not clearly, Powell said regretfully. I did get a glimpse of the driver, though.

Stone felt his hopes rise as he waited for Powell to continue.

He had messy brown hair and stubble.

Was there anything distinctive about him that you saw? Scars, tattoos, anything like that?

Powell had to think about that for a moment. Tattoo, yeah, he had a tattoo on the side of his neck.

What sort of tattoo? Can you describe it?

Powell took a long drag on his cigarette, which was almost finished already, and shook his head. I couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like some kind of bird, not sure what sort, I only got a glimpse – I had to dive out of the way when they nearly ran me down.

3

W hy’d you hit the old guy? Ben asked, resuming the argument they had abandoned only a short while before as he got out of the car.

Jerry ground his teeth in frustration. I told ya, I couldn’t miss him. We was on him before I knew ‘e were there. He’d been through it already, and wasn’t in the mood to go through it again. Just let it go, it’s done, there’s nowt we can do ‘bout it now.

I shoulda been driving, Ben declared, as if he could have somehow avoided the old man and his dog who had been crossing the road as they raced around the corner. Now the cops are gonna know where we were after leaving the bloody festival.

How the hell are they gonna know that? Jerry wanted to know. There’s no way that old geezer had a chance to see anything, and there were no-one else around. He saw the look on his brother’s face. What? You think his dog’s gonna tell the cops what sort of car it were run him down? Even if that were likely, it don’ matter; the bloody car won’t exist in another hour. He spun around as a pair of headlights blazed on, lighting up both the car and the brothers, before relaxing when he recognised the deep-throated chuckle that came from the darkness behind the headlights.

You two’re worse than a married couple. A burly, tattooed figure entered the cone of light. If I didn’t know better, Ben, I’d think you were a woman.

How long you been there? Ben asked sourly, not rising to the bait from the bigger man.

Long enough, Ash said with a grin. Long enough. So, you ‘it someone, he directed the comment to Jerry.

Yeah, a silly old bugger out walking his dog at stupid o’clock. It’s not a problem, Jerry reassured Ash, who was their partner in that night’s activities; Ash showed no concern over the situation, unlike Ben, and Jerry and Ash both knew that Ben’s concern was not caused by any worry over the fact that a man had been run down, only over the possibility that the accident might lead to their arrest.

With an uncaring shrug, Ash peered into the rear of the car at the bulging bag. How much did we get? He was far more interested in the result of their night’s caper than anything else, especially old men who were foolish enough to walk their dog so late and get knocked down as a result.

Hard to be sure, Jerry answered. "Forty, fifty kay, mebbe. More’n we expected.

Ash was pleased by that - they had only anticipated getting about thirty thousand pounds. C’mon then, let’s get this shit finished so we can celebrate. The other two were quite happy to go along with him since they couldn’t relax until they were finished.

Ben retrieved the bag and their shotguns from the back seat of the Vauxhall and carried them to the Ford they had parked down the road earlier that night. While he did that, Jerry got back behind the wheel and, with Ash’s guidance, manoeuvred the car up onto the trailer of the vehicle transporter Ash had brought. It was tricky to manage with only the dim moonlight and the meagre glow from the nearby street lights to aid them, but they got it done with a minimum of trouble and quickly secured the car.

That done, Jerry joined Ben in their Ford. They headed in one direction while Ash drove off in the opposite to dispose of the Vauxhall and remove one possible link between them and the robbery.

4

Still tired after his unplanned and unwanted late-night visit to the festival, Stone nudged open the door and walked into his office. Burke was already there, with the coffee machine percolating merrily behind him; Stone wasn’t surprised, somehow Burke nearly always beat him to the office. Stone supposed it was because his partner was single, and had no-one to delay him of a morning, whereas his wife invariably held him up with some last-minute issue that couldn’t wait until another time, and which only he could deal with.

Is that the witness statements from the festival? Stone asked with a gesture at the stack of paper on his desk.

If you can call them that. Burke poured a mug of coffee for his superior and carried it over.

Stone accepted the mug gratefully and dropped into his chair to start going over the statements; it didn’t take him long. Apart from those he had spoken to at the time, none of the festival crew members, or the others who had been at the site at the time of the robbery, had seen anything; not one of them was able to add anything to what Stone already knew.

Frustrated, he tossed the last statement back onto the desk, where it joined the untidy pile of similarly useless statements. He sipped slowly at his coffee to give himself time to think and then he turned to his partner. Any CCTV or traffic cameras in the area that might help us? he asked, wishing they had more to go on than a brief, almost useless, physical description of the two robbers and the belief, expressed by Rose Leigh, that they had a slight accent. The description they had of the car was as helpful as that of the armed pair, leaving them to hope that forensics could come up with something that might lead them to the men they were after.

Burke shook his head. I’d just finished checking that when you arrived. The nearest camera is three quarters of a mile away; it covers a traffic junction that’s apparently pretty bad for accidents. I’ve requested the footage, but even if we find the car on it we won’t be able to use it in court, it’s too far away to be able to say for definite it’s the same vehicle.

Stone dismissed that problem with a wave of his hand. Just then he wasn’t bothered about evidence for court, he was more interested in identifying the car and the two armed robbers; proving it was them could wait until they knew who it was. David Leigh and the others should be in later to give formal statements; with a bit of luck they’ll have remembered something useful. In the meantime, I want to know about any Vauxhalls reported stolen recently, especially if they’re an Astra and they’re blue. We might get lucky and hit on the right vehicle.

Burke scribbled quick notes on the pad he kept handy by his phone. How about putting out an alert for a possible abandoned vehicle, he suggested. They might have dumped the car somewhere. A patrol might spot it.

Let’s get the description out to the local news as well. Stone suspected that if the car had been dumped, it would have been done in an out of the way place, where it was more likely to be found randomly by a member of the public than by a police patrol. Just the car, not what we have on the pair, it’s too vague at the moment, and I don’t want to spook them.

Okay, anything else?

Not unless you can think of something.

STONE SETTLED ON THE corner of the desk opposite his subordinate and focused his attention on Detective Sergeant Mason; he didn’t say as much, but since he had had to work during the night, when he was supposed to be off, he was glad to see that Mason was working beyond the end of his shift. Tell me about the hit-and-run, he directed the man who had been after the promotion he got.

Bugger-all to tell, Mason said, the dislike he felt for the man who had got the job he wanted there, as always, in his eyes, and just beneath the surface of his words. Old geezer walking his dog got knocked down by some ignorant little prick.

Any witnesses?

Mason snorted. Are you kidding? It was almost three in the morning on a Sunday, no-one was around, leastways, no-one who’s gonna come forward. The knowing look on his face suggested that Stone should already have realised that. I’ve got Chris and a couple of uniforms canvassing the area, just in case someone saw something, and I’m putting together a request for all CCTV footage from the area. I doubt anything’ll come of it, though, it’ll be a complete waste of time. Even if we manage to catch the bugger responsible, it’ll just turn out to be some little punk out for a joyride in a stolen car, and he’ll get away with a slap on the wrist and nothing more. His expression was one of disgust as he said that.

Let’s hope that isn’t the case. Stone was just as frustrated as Mason with the minor sentences handed out to youths, regardless of the damage they did to people and property, who took cars for a joyride. What’s the old man’s condition?

Not good, Mason said with a shake of his head, his demeanour changing slightly, the animosity he felt towards his superior disappearing, or at least receding. He was still unconscious when I called the hospital a while ago; he’s got a fractured skull, three cracked ribs, a broken arm and a broken leg. Traffic reckon whoever hit him must have been going at least forty-five, and they didn’t even try to stop.

Bastards!

Mason could only nod in agreement of that sentiment.

What do the doctors put his chances at? Stone asked.

Somewhere between crap, and make arrangements for a funeral, Mason replied in his usual callous way. We don’t even know the old geezer’s name since he wasn’t carrying any I.D. when he was found.

Try and remember, Justin, he’s not an old geezer, he’s an old man who has had the misfortune to be in a bad accident, Stone said, though he doubted his words would have any effect on his subordinate. Now, what are you doing to find out who he is?

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE to report? Detective Chief Inspector Collins asked of his subordinate.

Not at the moment, Stone answered, uncrossing his legs in preparation to leave his superior’s office. Hopefully, Justin will get a quick response to his appeal for help in identifying his hit-and-run victim, not that it’s likely to help much in finding the person who ran him down.

What about the gentleman who reported the accident? Could he possibly have been responsible?

Stone shrugged. You’ll have to ask Justin about that.

I will. What’s your next step with the robbery?

Before Stone could answer there was a knock on the door.

Come in, Collins called out.

The door swung open to reveal DS Burke, who quickly apologised for the intrusion. Excuse me, sir, but I’ve got a possible lead.

What is it? Stone asked.

I was talking with a couple of the uniforms, Burke said. It seems that one of our favourite lags recently got himself some new ink.

Stone thought about who Burke would include on a list of their favourite lags – it wasn’t a long list – and who would be of interest in regard to their current case. You’re not talking about the Ice-cream Boys, are you? he asked, thinking of Ben and Jerry Logan, whose first names had resulted in them being given the most obvious of nicknames. When Burke nodded, Stone remarked. They’re out on license, aren’t they?

Yes, they got out three, four months ago, Burke said. I think they’ve both got about three and a half years, a little less maybe, on license.

Stone didn’t doubt his partner had the information right, Burke was very good at that kind of thing. So, which one of our pains-in-the-ass got the new ink? It wasn’t something he wanted to guess at for both seasoned criminals were fans of tattoos and had many adorning their bodies.

Jerry, apparently, Burke answered. According to PC Williams, he gave the Logans a tug the other week for a broken light on their car – not a blue Vauxhall, he said quickly, seeing the question in his superior’s eyes. He recognised the Ice-cream Boys and made a note of Jerry’s new ink, he said it’s an eagle, about two inches by three, on the left side of his neck.

Stone smiled at the news. Shall we go and have a chat with Jerry then, and perhaps his brother as well?

Sure, we probably won’t get much out of them, but it should put the wind up them. Burke was as keen to speak to the Logans as Stone; nailing them for armed robbery would, he thought, make up for the early releases Ben and Jerry had somehow secured.

5

Stone ascended to the fifth floor of the grandly named Harper Tower two steps at a time, ignoring, as best he could, the smell of urine that filled the stairwell. He would have preferred to take the lift, but it was out of order, and by the time he got to the fifth floor he was out of breath, though not as much as he would have been before he quit smoking.

Come on, he said to his partner once he had recovered.

Together, he and Burke made their way along to flat seven, where they took up positions on either side of the door. They didn’t expect trouble, despite why they were there, but they still had sense enough not to stand in front of the door; after all, a shotgun had been used in the robbery, and such a weapon could be fired straight through the door. Neither of them wanted to get shot, if it should turn out that the Logan brothers were behind the robbery, and were reluctant to go back to prison.

Ben, Jerry, Burke called out after knocking twice without getting an answer. It’s the police – open up.

It was almost two minutes before the detectives heard shuffling footsteps and a voice that grumbled and swore as it approached the door. Finally, the door swung open to reveal a half-asleep Ben Logan. What the fuck d’you want? he mumbled in a sleep-filled voice as he held the door and looked from DI Stone to DS Burke.

Morning, Ben, Stone greeted the criminal. Can we come in? Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward and eased past Ben, who made no attempt to stop him entering the flat. Is Jerry here?

Knowing it would do him no good to protest the intrusion, since he was on license, Ben pushed the door closed behind the detectives and followed them into the living room.

Is Jerry here? Stone repeated his question.

Not a bloody clue, Ben said with an indifferent shrug. I was asleep ‘til you buggers banged on the door. If he ain’t in his room, then no, he ain’t. He dropped gracelessly onto the sofa, where he looked as though he would quite happily go back to sleep.

Stone gestured for his partner to have a look for the absent Logan brother; while Burke did that he settled in the armchair near the door and looked around for any sign that the Logans had been doing anything they shouldn’t. He didn’t really expect to see anything, Ben wasn’t quite that stupid, but it was always possible that Jerry, who was not as much into thinking as his brother, had left something incriminating laying around.

Why’re you here? Ben wanted to know, without seeming all that interested in the answer.

Why don’t we wait for your brother before we get into that, Stone suggested.

What the fuck d’you want?

The harshly voiced question alerted Stone to the arrival of Jerry Logan, who, like his brother, was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. Morning, Jerry, Stone greeted him. Sorry to wake you.

Yeah, I bet you are, Jerry said sarcastically. As he dropped onto the sofa next to his brother he asked, What do these jokers want?

No idea, they ain’t said, Ben told him.

I see you’ve got a new tattoo, Jerry, Stone remarked, gesturing at the eagle on the side of his neck.

I got a few, Jerry responded. What of it?

Nothing, Stone said, except a couple of guys held up a pavilion at the Rock Radio Music Festival last night, and one of them had a tattoo matching that new bit of ink on the side of your neck.

Big deal, I’m sure there’s plenty of guys with the same ink; I picked it from the catalogue.

But how many of them have it where you have yours, and have a record for armed robbery?

Jerry shrugged. How the hell should I know?

Is that why you’re here? Ben wanted to know, amused. ’cause someone saw a tattoo like my brother’s at a robbery.

Stone didn’t respond to that, instead he said. Do you mind if we have a look around?

What for? D’you think you’re gonna find a stack of cash and a coupla sawn-offs just laying around?

Stone smiled at Jerry, while his brother scowled at him ferociously. I never said anything about shotguns, or guns of any kind, did I? he asked of Burke, who thus far had remained silent.

Not that I heard, Burke said. Why would you think we’d be looking for sawn-offs? he asked of Jerry, who, with a look at his brother, remained silent. It’s funny that you should mention shotguns, though, because the pair last night were carrying sawn-offs. Maybe he’s psychic, he suggested to his partner.

Maybe, Stone said, matching his partner’s smile. Are you psychic, Jerry?

I don’t think he can be psychic, Burke ventured.

Why’s that?

Well, if he was psychic, he’d have known we were coming, Burke said. And he’d have either been somewhere else or dressed, at the least he’d have been in better boxers, instead of those stupid Simpsons things.

Stone nodded. Very true. I guess you’re not psychic after all, Jerry, so why mention shotguns, especially sawn-offs? His gaze shifted from the resolutely silent Jerry to Ben, who was trying to look innocent, and not at all angry with his brother. How about you, Ben, do you know why Jerry brought up sawn-offs?

How the hell should I know? Ben snapped irritably. You know what an idiot Jez can be, always talking about stupid shit. For a moment Jerry looked as though he was going to protest, but he held his tongue when he saw the warning look in his brother’s eyes. If you’re gonna search the place, get on and do it. You’re not gonna find anything.

6

Stone and Burke had not long finished taking the official statements of David Leigh and the other witnesses to the robbery, when DCI Collins strode into their office.

Sir, Stone acknowledged his superior without taking his eyes off the keyboard in front of him – he couldn’t touch-type, and not looking at what he was doing would only slow him down significantly, and leave typos in the statement he was putting on the system. Fixing the typos would make an already time-consuming job take a lot longer, and leave him very irritable.

How’s the investigation going? Collins asked. Any breaks?

Only sixteen hours had passed since the robbery, Stone wasn’t surprised that the DCI was chasing a result though; quick results looked good for the department, and for the DCI, and Collins liked things that made him looked good. It looks like the Ice-cream Boys, Ben and Jerry Logan, are our boys, sir, but it could take time to prove it.

Why’s that? Collins was pleased to hear that they had suspects, but not so pleased by the lack of an arrest.

We’ve got a witness who spotted a tattoo on the neck of one of the blaggers, it matches a piece of ink Jerry Logan got recently, and both brothers match the physical descriptions we have, such as they are; not only that but Rose Leigh heard a faint accent when the blaggers spoke, which the Ice-Cream Boys have. They were both wearing masks during the actual robbery, though, so we don’t have positive I.D.s on them yet. Stone took a sip of his coffee and grimaced when he discovered it was cold. We’re trying to track down the car they used, and forensics are looking for anything that might link them to the robbery, that’s likely to take some time.

Collins considered for a few moments and then nodded. Keep me up to date, he told Stone. I want to know the moment you’ve got a result.

Yes, sir. Stone looked over at his partner in time to see him roll his eyes, he had to fight the urge to copy him.

HELLO, NATHAN.

Stone recognised the voice even before he turned to face the speaker.

Louisa. His voice was neutral as he greeted the reporter. It didn’t surprise him to find Louisa Orchard waiting by his car as he left the station for the evening; she had been trying, without success, to get hold of him all day.

You’ve been avoiding me, Louisa said in a voice that suggested she was used to people avoiding her, and used to finding ways to get them to talk to her when they didn’t want to. I hear you’re in charge of the investigation into the robbery at the Rock Radio festival – have you any suspects yet?

You know I can’t comment on that while the investigation’s ongoing, but we’re doing everything possible to find the people responsible. We have leads we’re pursuing, and we’re confident they will result in arrests soon.

Louisa looked dubious at that, she had heard such statements many times before, and seen how often they were proved accurate. That’s the standard crap you’re supposed to give me, Nate, now how about you give me something I can actually use. Is it true the thieves got away with more than fifty grand? And that they used sawn-off shotguns?

Stone considered the questions for a few moments before he nodded. We don’t know exactly how much was stolen, it was being counted when the robbery happened, but we do know they stole more than forty thousand pounds; and yes, they did use sawn-off shotguns. No-one was hurt beyond a few headaches, though.

Is there anything else you can tell me? Louisa asked once she had scribbled that down. Come on, Nate, there’s got to be something else you can give me - I know about the blue Astra you guys are interested in. How about the elderly dog-walker that got knocked down? Anything you can give me there? Is there a connection between the two, the robbery and the hit-and-run?

Why would you think that? Stone asked. He wasn’t aware that there was a link between the two incidents, but it didn’t surprise him that Louisa was trying to combine the two stories into something bigger. The hit-and-run happened five miles from the festival; we’ve got no reason for thinking there’s a connection between it and the robbery.

Louisa gave a knowing smile. Is that the truth, or just the official answer?

The truth, Stone told her. If you find any reason to think differently, let me know.

7

Stone pulled open the door and entered Branton police station, ready for another day of investigating. Almost immediately he was hailed by the duty sergeant at the counter.

Nate.

Bill. There was a cautious note to Stone’s voice as he acknowledged the sergeant.

Can you spare a minute? Sergeant Frost asked.

What’s up?

This is Mrs Cromwell, Frost indicated the lady at the counter. She’d like to speak to someone about the hit-and-run on Sunday night. Mason and Grey aren’t in yet; would you mind?

Stone was tempted to say that yes, he would mind, but that was the kind of thing Mason would say, and he had no desire for anyone to consider them similar, in any way. Sure, he said with a nod of his head. If you’ll come with me, Mrs Cromwell, I’ll take you up to my office and you can have a cup of tea while you tell me how I can help.

Thank you. Mrs Cromwell made her slow way through the security door Stone was holding open.

STEPHEN, WOULD YOU get a cup of tea for Mrs Cromwell, Stone requested of his partner when they reached his office. While we wait for the tea, Mrs Cromwell, would you care for a biscuit? He fished in the bottom drawer of his desk for the packet of digestives he kept there to stave off the cravings for a cigarette, cravings that were, thankfully, getting fewer and farther between.

Burke returned to the office in a little over five minutes, bearing a tray on which he had one of the few china cups to be found in the second floor’s small kitchen.

Thank you, Stephen. Stone waited until his visitor had taken a sip of her tea, and then he addressed her. Now, why don’t you tell me how I can help you, Mrs Cromwell; Sergeant Frost said you want to speak to someone about the hit-and-run that took place on Sunday night.

That’s right, inspector. I saw the picture in the paper this morning of the gentleman who was knocked down – I think he’s my neighbour, Alan Bollard. It was hard to be sure, the picture wasn’t very good, but I think it’s him.

Stone had seen the picture in the paper and had to agree with her, it wasn’t very good, but he knew it could have been worse – Mason had at least waited until the mystery gentleman had been cleaned up in hospital before he took the picture.

It looked like him, and I didn’t see Alan yesterday.

Do you normally see Mr Bollard? Stone asked.

Mrs Cromwell nodded, making the cup rattle in the saucer she was holding. Yes, I see him every day, walking his dog or going to the shop; he’s a good neighbour, always pops in to see if I need anything.

That’s good of him. I’m sure it’s a comfort to have such a considerate neighbour.

It is. I don’t get out much now, even with my stick, and my daughter can’t get over to help me out or take me shopping as often as I’d like, so it’s a real help that Alan is willing to get bread or milk for me when I need it. I’m not sure what I’d do without him.

Her words made Stone feel a little guilty, as he thought about how long it had been since he last checked on his grandmother. You say Mr Bollard has a dog, he said, resolving to pay his grandmother a visit that evening. Could you describe it?

Mrs Cromwell sipped at her tea while she thought about the question. I’ve never been very good with animals, she admitted. It’s some kind of mongrel, I think, part Labrador and part something else.

That sounds like the dog that was found with the gentleman who was run down, Stone said. If you’ll excuse me for a moment. Pushing his chair back, he got to his feet.

What’re you looking for? DS Mason asked suspiciously when he found Stone going through his desk.

I’m after the photographs you took of your hit-and-run victim’s dog, Stone told him. I’ve got a lady in my office who thinks she might be his neighbour. She’s pretty sure she recognised him from the paper this morning; I want to see if the dog looks familiar, if it does I’ll take her to the hospital, so she can make a positive ID on the guy.

Why wasn’t I called? Mason wanted to know. He stepped forward, as though he was going to force Stone away from his desk. The hit-and-run is my case.

I know, Justin, but the lady was in reception when I got here; Sergeant Frost tried to get hold of you, but when he couldn’t, he asked me to speak to her.

Through gritted teeth, Mason said, Thank you, Nathan, I can take over now, though.

I don’t think so, Stone disagreed. I’ll finish up with Mrs Cromwell, I’ll let you know if she’s able to provide a positive identification. He found the photos he was looking for and turned away.

Nathan, sir! Mason protested, following Stone as he headed back to his office, where he was stopped by the door, which was shut in his face.

WHILE BURKE REMAINED at the office, Stone took Mrs Cromwell, who was more confident that the man featured in the paper was her neighbour after seeing pictures of his dog, to the hospital.

Together they stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the elderly hit-and-run victim, who was heavily bandaged and hooked up to a number of machines. They remained like that for a minute or so before Stone asked, Are you sure this is your neighbour? of Mrs Cromwell.

Mrs Cromwell nodded slowly. Yes, that’s him. Poor Alan, he never did anything to anyone, why would anyone run him down.

We suspect it was an accident, rather than deliberate, Stone told her. Not that that makes this any better. He intended the comment to be reassuring, but it didn’t sound it to his ears. Does he have any family? Anyone we should contact?

He has a sister in Australia, and a nephew in Canada, I think. He hears from his sister occasionally, but I don’t think he’s had any contact with his nephew since he left. Mrs Cromwell was silent for a few moments when a noise came from the man in the bed. I have his sister’s number at home somewhere, he gave it to me in case of an emergency. I’ll look it out when I get home and call her; I don’t suppose she’ll be able to come anytime soon, but she should know what’s happened to Alan.

That’s good of you, Mrs Cromwell, Stone said, but if you’d prefer, you can give me the number and I’ll arrange for someone to call her.

Thank you. Alan has told me about his sister, but I’ve never spoken to her; I’m not sure I’d be able to find the words to tell her what’s happened. Her relief at not having to make the call showed on her face.

Would you like to go home now?

Mrs Cromwell shook her head. I think I’ll stay for a while; after everything he’s done for me, it doesn’t seem right to leave Alan here on his own, especially when his family is so far away.

I’m sure he’ll appreciate the company, even if he doesn’t seem aware of it, Stone said. I’ll get the nurses to arrange a cab for you when you’re ready to go home. She smiled at him in gratitude. It’s the least I can do since you’ve solved the mystery of who Mr Bollard is. From his pocket, he took out a card. When you find the number for Mr Bollard’s sister, you can get me on this number.

Stone was at the door when he thought of something and turned back. We have Mr Bollard’s dog in the kennels with our canine units - do you know of anyone who could take her? She’s being well looked after, but I’m sure she’d be happier with someone she knows.

I suppose I could take her, Mrs Cromwell said after a brief hesitation. Daisy knows me, and I have a spare key to Alan’s house, so I can get her food and things from there.

Thank you. I’ll have a constable deliver Daisy this evening, if that’s alright.

8

Stone arrived back at the office bearing a couple of bags, one from Subway and the other from Greggs the bakery. I got us lunch, he told Burke, who was going through the latest information from the forensics team. I got a meatball marinara sub and a Belgian bun for you.

Settling himself in his chair, Stone took out his own lunch, a turkey, ham and cheese sub, and was about to take a bite when Burke stopped him.

You might want to hold off on that, Collins wants to see you.

What about? Stone asked, reluctantly re-wrapping his sub.

I don’t know for sure, but, Burke lowered his voice, Justin went to see him after you left to take Mrs Cromwell to the hospital – he was in with Collins for a while and when he came out he was looking very pleased with himself, the way he does when he thinks he’s got one up on someone.

I must have hurt his feelings, Stone remarked, giving every appearance of being concerned. I guess I’d better go and see what the boss wants. He caught the satisfied look on Mason’s face as he passed his subordinate’s desk but ignored it.

Stephen said you want to see me, he said after being invited to enter the DCI’s office.

Yes. Have a seat, Nate, Collins told him.

Stone knew his superior well enough to know that he wasn’t in all that much trouble - Collins never invited someone to sit if he was going to bawl them out.

I had Mason in here earlier, Collins said after a few moments. He isn’t very happy with you.

Stone gave an amused snort. He never is.

True, Collins agreed. But on this occasion, I think he may have cause. Mason claims you are trying to steal the hit-and-run case from him – that you spoke to a Mrs Cromwell this morning, who should have been dealt with by him.

Stone had to resist the urge to laugh; it was a bit of an effort, given how amusing he found the suggestion, and it showed on his face.

I’m glad you can see the humour in this, Nate, Collins said. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what happened.

"Sure. Mrs Cromwell was in reception when I arrived this morning; Sergeant Frost had tried to get hold of Justin but couldn’t, so he asked me to have a word with her, which I did. By the time I discovered she could identify the gentleman who was knocked down on Sunday night, Justin had arrived. I could have let him take over, but Mrs Cromwell is an elderly woman, and I thought it best not to confuse her.

Besides, would you really want Justin dealing with an elderly woman? She was only here to help us and her neighbour by doing her civic duty; he’d have left her feeling as though she was a suspect.

Collins nodded. That’s true. He’s never been the gentlest of people when it comes to questioning. So, was she able to make a positive identification?

"Yes. His name’s Alan Bollard and he lives at Forty-Seven Foxholes Road, which, according to the map, is just two streets away from where he was knocked down. He has no enemies, no family in the UK, no nothing really. According to Mrs Cromwell, he’s just a nice old man who likes to make himself useful to his neighbours. She doesn’t know for sure, but she thinks he was out with his dog at that time of the night because he has difficulty sleeping, he’s on medication that keeps him awake, and walking Daisy helps.

Oh, and she’s agreed to take Daisy, so we don’t have to keep her in the canine unit. I’ve given Justin all of this information, so he’s up to date.

From the sounds of it, Collins said, Justin’s making a fuss about nothing, like usual. I’ll have a word with him. In the meantime, you’d better get on with your own investigation. I want to hear you’re making progress, and are getting ready to make an arrest.

9

Stone waited for the dimly lit couple to move out of the way, and then he pulled off the road into the drive. He stopped in front of the garage, under the glow of the security light he had had installed, and got out. As he made his way up to the front door, he saw his grandmother peering out from behind the living room curtains to see who was there. He gave her a wave, but it was a few moments before recognition dawned and she returned it; she disappeared then, he assumed so she could answer the door to him.

Evening, gran, he said when the door opened. He was surprised, and disturbed, by her appearance – she seemed to have shrunk since the last time he saw her; she had always been small, but now she was so slight there seemed nothing of her. The sight of her, looking diminished