Free Trophies: a gripping detective thriller (The Wakefield Series Book 1) by David Evans Page B

I could do with a little background digging up. Discreetly.”
    “Unofficially like?”
    Strong stopped again and thrust out a hand. “Thanks Bob. You’re a pal.” Souter shook hands, almost automatically. “Give me a call when you get anything.” With that, Strong turned the corner and headed into the police station.

15
     
     
     
    Two o’clock in the morning and the lounge door opened. Strong was sitting on the settee, remote control from the music centre in hand, listening to alternate snatches from the hoax tape and Montgomery’s interview set up in the double tape deck. He’d retrieved them from Jacob Goldsmith’s office that afternoon.
    Laura walked in. “Colin, what’s going on? What are you doing down here at this time of the morning?”
    He stopped the tapes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just something I’m curious about.”
    She moved towards the settee. “Is that what I think it is?”
    He looked up. “The Yorkshire Ripper hoaxer, yes.”
    “Why are you listening to it now, though?”
    Strong considered for a moment before playing the section of the hoaxer tape he thought most closely matched Montgomery’s. “Now listen to this.” He played a section of Montgomery’s interview. “What do you think?”
    Laura took a deep breath and sat down beside him. “That’s why you were interested in Jenny Goldsmith the other morning, or her husband to be more specific.”
    “Well, yes.”
    She sat back. “This second one, is this someone you’ve come across recently?”
    “We interviewed him on Tuesday.”
    “So we’re talking about a gap of, what, twenty years between them?”
    He nodded.
    “His accent, this second one, seems a right old mix. Mostly Scottish isn’t it?”
    “Predominantly.”
    “So what did Jenny’s husband make of it? I assume you’ve spoken to him?”
    He repeated Jacob Goldsmith’s verdict.
    “There you go, then,” Laura dismissed. “The real culprit’s probably dead by now.”
    “Not necessarily. If he was in his thirties when he made that tape, he’d only be in his fifties now.” He re-primed the Montgomery tape. “Anyway, just listen to how he pronounces ‘Lord’ .”
    She indulged him to play the relevant sections of both tapes once more. When they’d finished, she looked at him. “Is that it?” she said. “That’s what you’re going on? One word?”
    “It’s the way it’s pronounced. He’s reverted to a north-east accent. He’s originally from Sunderland, you know.”
    Laura stood up. “Do you know, this little scene reminds me of that dramatisation we saw on TV last year where that detective was sitting up listening to the tape at all hours of the morning because it got under his skin.”
    “You mean George Oldfield.”
    “That’s him.”
    He decided to lighten the conversation. “Listen, if I start developing facial tics, you will let me know?”
    “Come on Colin, come back to bed.”
    “Oh, all right.” He took the tapes out of the player. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
    She paused at the door. “Look, I know you well enough by now, Colin Strong. And I know you don’t like things left unresolved. You need to have answers but, I don’t want to see something like this take you over.”
    “Don’t worry, Laura, it’s just my instinct’s telling me, at the very least, I’ve got to run with this a bit longer.”
    “Don’t let it consume you, just like it did George Oldfield.”
    He turned off the room lights on the way out.
     

16
     
     
    David Bowie’s Hunky Dory album was playing on the stereo. Souter discovered it in Jean’s collection and had forgotten just how good it was. He was impressed by some of the material he had to choose from. She had an eclectic taste, ranging from one or two classical albums, some modern stuff and some classic sixties and seventies material. Fortunately, Trevor had taken his obscure jazz and country & western collection with him.
    It was certainly more enjoyable than the