Bermuda Grass by Keith Miles

Author:Keith Miles
Language: eng, eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2012-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

I was beginning to develop a phobia about my telephone. Every time I picked it up, it seemed, it brought me bad news. If the kidnapping of Lynette and Jessica was not painful enough, I now had to contend with wild accusations from Bernard Hadlow. He had the kind of voice that told you exactly what he looked like—large, ugly and overbearing. Everything I’d heard about him seemed to fit. He was not the sort of person I’d care to meet at any time. In the present circumstances, he was supremely unwelcome, but, I reminded myself, he was Jessica’s father and therefore directly implicated. How well did he know her? She obviously inherited her bossiness from him, but was he aware that his daughter was promiscuous and dabbled with hard drugs? And if he did, would Bernard Hadlow care? What I’d resented most was his supercilious tone. He talked to me as if I was some minor employee of his who’d been caught with his hand in the till. Poverty has its own integrity. I’d rather be destitute than work for someone like Bernard Hadlow. I decided to make that point crystal clear to him.

At the moment, he held the whip hand over me. He knew who I was, what I did and where, in his opinion, I’d slipped up. He was judge, jury and executioner. The least I could do was to prepare some sort of defense, and the best way to do that was to know exactly what I was up against. All that I had to go on were comments that Jessica, Lynette and Calvin Reed had made. I needed more data. The name of Clive Phelps popped straight into my mind. He owed me a favor, and because he’d introduced Peter Fullard to me, he was, to some extent, involved in the chain of events. Clive was the golf correspondent for a British national newspaper. The sports editor would know where to get hold of him.

“I’m sorry that you chose the short straw, Constable Hills,” I said, noting his glum expression. “Staring at a telephone for hours on end is not exactly the sharp end of law enforcement.”

He was resigned. “Someone has to do it, sir.”

“It’s worse than watching quiz shows on television.”

“There may be some action further down the line.”

“Is that why you joined the police force? For some action?”

“No, sir,” he said gloomily. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” He gave a secret smile. “Well, I could but I was never good enough to become a pro at that.” He tried to sound more positive. “Police work is interesting. You’re always learning something new. It keeps you on your toes.”

“My father is, or rather was, a copper. He spent most of his time treading on my toes.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What sort of a governor is Inspector Morley?”

“A good one, sir. Knows his stuff.”

“I hope so,” I said, searching for my address book. “Look, I’m going to use the phone next door. Keep an eye on mine while I’ve gone, will you?”

“I’m not allowed to answer it, Mr.

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