Free Cobweb by Margaret Duffy Page B

morning they’re only officially interested in the Gidding’s case. But this joker apparently relishes sticking his nose into everything. So I’ll ignore him and mention it to my boss, Mike Greenway, before it goes to Knightly.’
    Over lunch, seated in a quiet corner of the Green Man, we read through the notes. Gray’s anger was imprinted on every word, literally, the ballpoint pen he had used having been pressed hard into the paper. The handwriting was small but easy to read, the work concise but giving every impression of having been done in a hurry. As I had already guessed, he had listed all of Derek Harmsworth’s cases of a serious nature that had resulted in convictions, right through his police career. There were quite a few of them. The final page was devoted to his own thoughts and investigations. Obviously, he had only just started on the latter, having written a mere three or four paragraphs before he was killed.
    â€˜He can’t have wanted any of this on computer,’ Patrick commented. ‘Possibly not even on his own at home. Which, as we know, was stolen. Was it taken because of information it might hold or did he merely disturb a thief and was killed because he recognized a local thug? And why was he so secretive about this anyway?’
    â€˜He’d been carpeted for stirring things up,’ I said. ‘Anything else apart, I do wonder if pressure of work caused those in charge to be quite happy to call Harmsworth’s death an accident. I mean, there’s been a PM, so let’s get on with life, guys, and not worry about an old stager who was due to ride off into the sunset soon anyway.’
    Patrick glanced up at me. ‘You’re really angry about this, aren’t you?’
    â€˜So are you, really.’
    He nodded. ‘Yes, but like you I can’t think there’s any
sinister
reason for his senior colleagues failing to follow up Gray’s theories. He was, Erin admitted, rather prone sometimes to having wild ideas and had to be brought back down to earth.’ He tapped the pages of notes. ‘We haven’t the time to read all of this now, but it’s well worth looking into. I’ll check up on some of these characters on the database before I hand it over.’
    A shadow fell across the table as someone came between us and the nearby window. In the same instant Patrick slapped his hand down on the paperwork between us, forestalling an attempt at its removal. Then he was on his feet.
    â€˜Relax,’ drawled a dark-haired man in dire need of a shave. He went on, ‘I thought I’d find you here.’ Gaze drifting down to me, he said in offhand fashion, ‘Who’s she?’
    â€˜My wife,’ Patrick said evenly.
    â€˜You know who I am?’
    â€˜You might just be the prat from Special Branch who hasn’t actually bothered to introduce himself to anyone at Woodhill nick.’
    Patrick had not used the word ‘prat’, but a more vivid, much ruder, noun.
    â€˜Just because you were MI5’s blue-eyed boy it doesn’t mean you can lord it over everyone now,’ the other countered.
    â€˜I’d like to see your warrant card.’
    There were a few seconds’ tense silence in which I thought we were only a few more from Patrick tossing our visitor through the aforementioned window and then he reached inside his jacket and produced what had been asked for. Patrick gave it a glance and handed it back.
    â€˜So what can I do for you, Detective Chief Inspector Colin Robert Hicks?’
    â€˜What’s that?’ Hicks wanted to know, gesturing towards the papers.
    â€˜I think I’m safe in saying that it has nothing to do with Jason Giddings’s murder – which is
your
brief.’
    â€˜Why don’t you both sit down before I get a crick in my neck?’ I suggested into the leaden atmosphere.
    This they did, but the change of level made no difference to the