Free Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) by Damien Boyd Page B

replied Pearce.
    ‘So, have we got enough to charge him?’ Jane and Janice recognised the rhetorical question. They waited. ‘We can place him at the scene,’ continued Lewis, ‘standing over the body on the landing and smoking a cigarette. We’ve got a white van matching the description of Stanniland’s getting on the M5 at junction 24 and heading north. At or near the time of death . . .’ his voice tailed off.
    ‘And we’ve got a suspect who’s offered no alibi,’ said Janice.
    Lewis grimaced.
    ‘We need more, I think. Let’s get an extension and see what else we can find. We’ve got time,’ said Lewis. ‘Then we’ll do the press conference, Janice. All right?’
    ‘Yes, Sir.’
    ‘I’ll ring the husband now.’

    Jane was standing in the large windows on the first floor at Express Park, looking down at DCI Lewis. He was flanked by Janice and Vicky Thomas, who were holding umbrellas, and was talking to a group of reporters. Some were holding Dictaphones in front of him while others were pointing television cameras at him. Several flashes were also going off at regular intervals. The press conference, such as it was, did not last long, the agreed script having been short and to the point.
    A forty-one year old Bristol man had been arrested that morning on suspicion of the murder of Mrs Elizabeth Perry, who had been killed by an intruder at home in the early hours of Christmas Eve. A more detailed statement would follow in due course and, in the meantime, the members of the press were asked to respect the family’s request for privacy at this difficult time.
    Fat chance.
    She could just about make out muffled shouts from below and guessed from the animated gestures of some of the reporters that they were now firing questions at DCI Lewis. Jane watched him turn and walk back into the station. Then she watched a male reporter standing under an umbrella talking into a television camera. She recognised none of them, but then she rarely watched the news.
    ‘C’mon, Jane. I’ll give you a lift home.’
    ‘Thanks, Jan.’
    ‘Let’s go and see what’s left of Christmas, shall we?’

    Jane hesitated on the pavement outside the cottage, watching the rain bounce off the roof of Janice’s car as she drove off. She looked across at the Red Cow. It was closed, so Dixon must be at home, although it struck her as odd that Monty was quiet. He usually barked at the slightest noise outside.
    She wondered if Dixon had got her text message telling him she was on her way, but then he was probably fast asleep on the sofa with Monty curled up on his lap. It was just before 7 p.m. and too early for them to have gone to bed, surely?
    Jane inserted her key in the lock, turned it and the door swung open. It took her a moment to recognise that it was Monty standing in front of her. Perhaps it was the pair of reindeer antlers he was wearing? He looked none too pleased about it either.
    ‘There you are,’ said Dixon, thrusting a tumbler into her hand before she had even closed the front door behind her. The bottle of Bombay Sapphire in his other hand confirmed the glass contained a gin and tonic.
    ‘You’ve got twenty minutes till supper,’ he said.
    ‘You’ve cooked?’
    ‘Roast turkey and all the trimmings. With a little help from Aunt Bessie,’ replied Dixon, grinning.
    Jane smiled. She could get used to this. She could even overlook the frozen roast potatoes.
    ‘I thought you’d be legless by now.’
    ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
    ‘Only your text message was a bit garbled.’
    ‘That was my gloves.’
    ‘I thought you’d had a few.’
    ‘We went up the hill for a change. Then it started pissing down so we had to shelter in the Red Cow.’
    ‘Of course, you did.’
    ‘You got him then?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who made the arrest?’
    ‘Harry Un . . .’ Jane stopped mid-sentence. She had not told Dixon that Harry was involved in the investigation.
    ‘Harry Unwin? Harry bloody Unwin?’ shouted