Bücher online kostenlos Kostenlos Online Lesen
Kissed a Sad Goodbye

Kissed a Sad Goodbye

Titel: Kissed a Sad Goodbye Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Deborah Crombie
Vom Netzwerk:
sketch.” Finishing his tea, he tossed his cup in the bin and pushed himself away from the wall. “I suppose I’d better face the lions.” He pulled up the knot on the tie he’d rescued from the boot of the car, then ran his fingers through his hair.
    Gemma smiled. “You’re quite presentable. They’re waiting in the ante—”
    The incident room door swung open and Janice Coppin came out. Although the passing hours had taken their toll on both starched hair and suit, they’d done little to temper the inspector’s prickliness, although Kincaid had found her to be competent and patient with her staff. “There you are,” she said as she saw them. “The duty officer’s just rung from downstairs. There’s a bloke at the window raising holy hell because they won’t let him register a missing person until the twenty-four-hour limit’s up.”
    Kincaid heard the intake of Gemma’s breath as she said, “A match?”
    Coppin shrugged. “His girlfriend didn’t come home last night. Her name’s Annabelle Hammond, lives just at the end of Island Gardens. And he says she has long, red hair.”
     

CHAPTER 4
     
By 1797, over 10.000 coasters and nearly 3,500 foreign-going vessels were coming up to London annually: The West India vessels contributed particularly to the river’s traffic jam.... In September 1793, [the West India Merchants] held a meeting in an attempt to resolve it, which was to lead in due course to the building of London’s first commercial docks.
Theo Barker, from Dockland
     
     
    “Bloody poser,” Janice Coppin muttered, jerking her head towards the interview room, where she had sequestered the man who wished to make a missing persons report. “Ought to have his mobile phone surgically implanted in his ear.”
    Gemma knew the type all too well. They indulged in the prolonged and very public use of their mobile phones in the trendier cafes and coffeehouses, and this disregard for both cost and manners apparently served as a badge of social status. “Do you think we should take this seriously, then?” she asked.
    “Can’t see him as a practical joker,” Janice answered reluctantly. “And his distress seems genuine enough. It’s just that he fancies himself a bit.” With a dark look at Kincaid as he came through the door at the end of the corridor, she added in Gemma’s ear, “But I imagine you’re used to that.”
    Before Gemma could come up with a retort, however, Kincaid joined them. “I postponed the media a bit longer, until we see what this chap has to say. Have you told him anything?”
    Janice shook her head. “Just that someone will speak to him. And I sent one of the constables in with a cuppa.”
    “Right. Then let’s not get the wind up with an abundance of police presence. Why don’t you run a check on— what’s his name, Inspector?”
    “Reginald Mortimer.” Janice articulated each syllable distinctly, crinkling her nose as if she found it distasteful.
    “Run a check on Mr. Mortimer, then, Inspector, while Gemma and I have a word with him.”
    “Sir—”
    Kincaid stopped, hand on the doorknob.
    Janice hesitated, then shrugged. “Never mind.” As she turned away, Gemma saw her glance at her watch.
    It was the time of day when domestic arrangements needed adjusting if you weren’t going to get home, and as Gemma followed Kincaid into the interview room, she wondered when she’d have a chance to check on Toby. She told herself, as she often did, that her frequent absences would only make her son stronger and more independent, but the argument never quite convinced her.
    The interview room was larger than most, with a frosted-glass window on the corridor side, but it was still stuffy with the remainder of the day’s heat. It contained the usual laminate table in an unsightly orange and a half-dozen mismatched chairs of dubious heritage.
    The man sitting on the far side of the table looked up at them and started to rise, his expression anxious. As Kincaid stepped forward with an introduction, Gemma studied Reginald Mortimer. Janice had been right. Mortimer wore sharply creased khaki trousers and the knit shirt with designer logo required of a yuppie. Thrown over the back of the chair was a nubby linen jacket; the most expensive of mobile phones peeped from the inside breast pocket.
    Of slightly above average height and slender build, he had wide gray-blue eyes and shiny brown hair that flopped over his brow with a slight wave. She wondered if Kincaid

Weitere Kostenlose Bücher