Free Murder in Thrall by Anne Cleeland

he simply processed the evidence without the distraction of a theory. In this case, since there was so little hard evidence, it meant questioning witness after witness and running backgrounds, hoping to notice something of interest. Therefore, when Acton buzzed her at the end of the day it was a welcome respite.
    He sounded a bit weary himself. “I may have a tip that Capper will make an appearance at a friend’s house. I think I’ll stake it for a while.”
    This was encouraging. Doyle had begun to think perhaps Capper had been killed as well. If he was still alive, his going to ground would indicate he was trying to avoid questioning. While they didn’t think he was their killer, he must know something or he wouldn’t be playing least-in-sight.
    “Where is it, sir?”
    “An address on Grantham Street. It’s possible he’ll show up there tonight—are you free?”
    “Yes, sir.” Of course she was free; it was her job. He only asked as a matter of form, but she didn’t mind; it had occurred to her that after the pawnshop visit, they had been bantering in the car. Who would have thought Acton could banter? The stakeout could be interesting instead of mindlessly boring. It must be a good tip; stakeouts were usually left to lesser beings such as herself—he must truly think Capper would show up.
    “I’m in an unmarked. I’ll swing by and pick you up in front.”
    She was packing up her rucksack when Williams leaned into her cubicle entryway, his broad shoulders filling it up. “Doyle.”
    “Williams; I wish you were on this wretched case.”
    Williams had a lopsided smile that was rather charming, all the more because he didn’t bestow it often. “Shall we brainstorm? We can get something to eat.” He was wearing a steel-blue sweater that brought out the blue in his eyes, and she breathed in the faint scent of cologne.
    “Sorry. I’m due on a stakeout and I’m on my way out—next time; I promise.”
    “I’ll go with you, Williams.” Munoz had overheard from the next cubicle and appeared beneath Williams’s arm, giving him her brilliant smile. “Where shall we go?”
    Williams, poor soul; you don’t stand a chance, thought Doyle. She met his eyes for the briefest moment and saw an answering gleam of amusement before he followed Munoz out. Ah; I stand corrected—Williams is nobody’s fool.
    Doyle took the lift up from the basement and walked through the lobby and past the security desk to the front of the building. Hopefully the stakeout would not last too long; this case was making some serious inroads into her sleep. And for some reason she didn’t feel optimistic about finding Capper tonight; something in Acton’s voice—
    Acton was pulling up to the curb just as she walked out, and she hurried over to get in so that he wouldn’t have to explain to the patrolman in front that he was waiting for her. Good timing, she thought; he must have been close by.
    She slid into the unmarked as he took her rucksack and placed it in the back seat; then they drove away into the miserable Westminster evening traffic. With some surprise, she was immediately aware that he had been drinking, although there were no discernable signs. He said nothing and she said nothing, but she covertly observed him, wishing she knew the protocol for a DC to tell a DCI that he shouldn’t be driving. Of course, there was the very real potential that it would be just as dangerous for her to attempt to drive, and so she held her peace and hoped for the best. After a few moments she relaxed; he seemed competent to drive, and truly, there was no indication other than her sure knowledge. He may have come by the tip at a pub; he did not offer to tell her and she did not ask. No bantering tonight, she thought with a pang of disappointment; he seemed preoccupied.
    They arrived at the Grantham Street address just as darkness fell and sat in the unmarked watching the house from across the street. Occasionally a car would drive by, but