Free The Perfect Crime by Roger Forsdyke Page A

units, whether on foot, or mobile, to follow someone. On foot, you would stalk your target from the opposite side of the road, nowadays in contact with other members of the team by that new-fangled device, a personal radio. As soon as you were clocked, or felt you were likely to be, you would peel off and another follower would take over. If you were tracking a mobile target, the team would consist of a convoy of four, even five unmarked police vehicles, at least one of which would be a motorcycle. If the quarry made a turn at a junction, the lead follower would carry straight on and the next in line would take up the follow. That way it would be unlikely that the pursued driver would ever realise they were under surveillance. Bonehead was amazed then, at how easy it was for one man, in one car, to trail a target for so long without being spotted. As Groat got closer and closer to his station, his follower became increasingly convinced that he was wasting his time. He decided to stick with him to the very end, however, and now true satisfaction was setting in. Instead of turning into the station premises at 74, Leman Street, Groat motored on a little further, eventually turning off Old Street near Golden Lane. Bonehead caught a brief glimpse of the name plate – Cadogan Mansions .
    What he next saw, gladdened what passed for a dark, deluded, hate riddled soul.
    “Right into my little trap.” He gloated.
    *
    Another uniform Bonehead had in his wardrobe was one liberated from the Gas Board. Parking the Volkswagen a couple of roads away, he strolled round to the Groats dressed in dark grey trousers, blue shirt and navy tie, topped off by the regulation peaked cap – with genuine gas board badge. He gradually modified his beard every time he visited the area, to change his appearance as much as possible. He was now completely clean shaven. The clipboard was the finishing touch. No one gave him a second look.
    By this time he knew the layout quite well, so made straight for the back door – actually at the side of the house – and checking to make sure he was not overlooked, or being watched, set to, gaining entry. A couple of minutes later, he was in the kitchen, ferreting tidily through cupboards and drawers. Soon he found the object of his search, one of a row on a neat set of hooks inside the cupboard nearest the back door. He went to the lock he had so carefully forced and checked the key. Bingo! He removed a small rectangular tin from his pocket, opened it and pressed the key into the plasticine inside.
    Having achieved the aim of his burglarious exploit, he knew he should leave. It was madness to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. You never knew who might be looking at the wrong time. Apart from sod’s law there were also the dedicated curtain twitchers. However, he could not resist having a quick look round to see what it would be like living around Gloria. The place was incredibly clean and tidy. No kids or pets here , then . The furniture was good quality and the fitted carpets deep pile. On a whim, he sped upstairs, two at a time. Quickly scouting round, he located the linen basket. Rummaged inside and locating a pair of Gloria’s dirty knickers, pulled them out. He bunched them up and pressed them to his face, savouring for a long moment, the memory tugging, intimate fragrance of woman. He smiled dreamily and pushed them down, deep into his pocket.
    Light headed, he tripped downstairs and went to lock the back door. He was pleased to have only made a couple of very slight marks on the jamb getting in. They would hopefully not even notice. He replaced the key on its hook and went through into the hallway to let himself out of the front door. Suddenly he froze. He could hear the sound of an engine. Through the stained glass panel in the door he could vaguely see a vehicle turning into the drive.
    Now what ?
    Bonehead pressed himself into the recess next to the cupboard under the stairs. The doorbell rang.