Hit and Run - страница 5

‘Very overrated, lunch,’ Janine countered as she made to leave the tent.

Butchers and Shap, sergeants both: the one big-boned, plump and ginger-haired, the other trim, sharp-faced and balding, caught the call when the Mercedes was found. On their way back from a training day on community liaison that had been cancelled due to illness, it was Butchers whose ears pricked up as the radio squawked into life. ‘Stolen vehicle, wanted in connection with RTA, driver failed to stop. Blue Mercedes, registration Victor 384, Zulu, November, Bravo. Reported on waste ground off Dunham Lane. Unit to attend.’

Butchers jerked his head at Shap.

‘Base, we’ve got this,’ Shap said.

Butchers took the next left, his homely face set rigid with determination.

When they reached the windswept location the car was still ablaze; thick, oily smoke coiled up into the air carrying the stink of burning rubber and plastic. Hard to tell it had been a Mercedes, let alone a blue one.

Butchers sighed volubly.

‘Flambé.’ Shap said. ‘Owner’s going to be made up, isn’t he?’

‘Better get forensics on this.’

Shap gave a derisory snort. ‘They’ll be lucky. Be like getting prints off a cinder.’ Nevertheless he dialled the number, reported what they’d found and took details of the registered keeper – a Mr James Harper – who had reported the theft the previous evening.

‘You up for this?’ Shap nodded at the wreck.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Butchers glared at him.

‘Well, just… you know…’ Butchers had only confided in Shap about it all once: a very drunken night before either had got their stripes when all the other coppers had gone home and just the two of them were left, slurring words and spilling drinks. Butchers had turned out to be a sentimental drunk though he hadn’t wallowed in his own story, just mentioned it when they were talking about why they’d joined the force. Shap had asked a few questions and Butchers had given him the facts, though not much more, and then the talk had turned to something else, something less personal and that had been it. Not a whisper since.

Now Butchers just kept staring ahead.

‘Fine,’ Shap raised his hands in surrender. ‘Forget it!’ That’s the way you want to play it, he thought, then fine, no problemo. Maybe back then Butchers had been so pissed that he hadn’t remembered telling Shap at all? Shap had no idea if anyone else at the station knew. Probably not. Well, at the end of the day it was Butchers’ funeral; Shap had given him a get out clause and he’d turned it down. What else could he do?

James Harper had what the estate agents would call a desirable residence on the outskirts of Sale, south of the city. Butchers ran an eye over the facade with approval. Some of these more modern houses were slipshod but he knew quality when he saw it; even the wood cladding was patently high-grade material and the dimensions were generous. Integral garage, picture windows above. Nice landscaping in the front, low maintenance gravel and alpines. Solid hardwood door, though the rest was uPVC. Must be making a bob or two, Butchers thought, place like this and running a Merc. All right for some.

‘Detective Sergeant Shap, Sergeant Butchers,’ Shap made the introductions. ‘You reported your car stolen last night?’

Harper’s face lit up with surprise. The smile accentuated his prominent cheekbones and the deep dimple in his chin. ‘You’ve found it? I thought it’d be halfway to Russia, by now.’

Butchers grimaced.

‘If we can come in, sir,’ Shap said.

They followed Harper through to his lounge. Harper smoothed his hair back over his head. Long at the back. Compensation, Shap recognised immediately, the deep forehead testimony to a receding hairline. Shap had never gone that route. Kept his short.

‘We have found the car,’ said Shap, ‘but it’s a write-off.’

‘A write-off?’ Harper’s face fell. ‘I’ve only had it three months,’ he said, exasperated.

Butchers took over. ‘I’m afraid your vehicle was involved in a road traffic accident earlier this morning. Hit and run.’

Harper’s expression changed to one of shock. ‘What happened?’