The Death of the Black Museum by Martin Davey

Author:Martin Davey [Davey, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781513691961
Amazon: 1513691961
Publisher: ISBNAgency.com
Published: 2021-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

21. CATS AND DOGS

Sergeant Lace was sitting in the passenger seat of a dilapidated Ford transit van. It was one of Scotland Yard’s fleet of unmarked vehicles, and although it looked shabby on the outside, it was stuffed with mod-cons inside. It had heated seats, headrests and ergonomic car seats, those favoured by taxi drivers. The windows had a very faint tint at the bottom so that the lights from the in-car communications set-up couldn’t be seen by a nosey passer-by. She wrapped herself up tight in her favourite blanket, watching the street in front of her, and making sure to use her rear-view mirrors regularly to keep an eye on the mews behind her. Judas had asked her to resume her watching brief on the Iceni as soon as they had returned from the countryside and Prince Faelan’s death ceremony. The prince had neither been burned nor buried. Ceremony seemed the right thing to call it.

On her way to the OP, earlier that evening, Lace had made a detour to a small Waitrose supermarket and stocked up with snacks and bottles of water for the night ahead. There was nothing worse than being on a stakeout with a grumbling stomach and a parched throat.

The Iceni guards standing in front of the main doors of their natty mews address were being changed regularly. Whoever was organising the roster was well-trained and taking no chances. From her position she could see everything, and she doubted whether anyone could get near to that building without a silent alarm triggering and the troops swarming out.

No person could, but a cat? A cat could saunter down this mews and not raise the alarm. A cat could wander up to the door and solicit a cuddle or rub itself up against the legs of whoever was standing there.

Which is exactly what Cat Tabby did. Lace watched him trot up to the door, swishing his tail and purring like the 2-stroke motor of a remote-controlled car. The guards ignored him of course. They noticed him, but they did not allow themselves to be distracted, and Cat Tabby got to spend as much time as he wanted looking through the glass doors and spying on the Iceni. Lace had to admire the feline’s nerve. Once he’d seen everything he needed to see, Cat Tabby walked back the way he came, and Lace watched him in the rear-view mirror until he turned the corner.

Lace folded her blanket up and laid it on the driver’s seat. Then she made a note of the time, checked that the camera on the dashboard was still recording everything that was happening, and slipped out of the van to set off in pursuit of Cat Tabby. If dear old Cat Tabby was making a note of what was happening then there was a good chance that his partner in crime, or whoever he was doing business with was nearby, and Lace wanted to know who it was. During police training, instructors always set you the task of following a group of children down a busy street.

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