The Boathouse Killer: Norfolk Cozy Mysteries - Book 3 by Keith Finney

Author:Keith Finney [Finney, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Norfolk Cozy Mysteries
Published: 2020-04-27T22:00:00+00:00

9

Burnt Out

"So there you are, Anthony. I was just talking to this young detective about the war. His father was at Monte Casino as part of the Italian campaign like me. Small world, isn’t it?"

Ant couldn’t disguise his surprise at finding Detective Inspector Riley in the library of Stanton Hall, let alone hear him being described as "young."

He greeted the smiling policeman politely enough. After all, that’s how he had been brought up, but he felt uneasy as he tried to make sense of what the policeman was doing talking to his father.

"I mentioned to the Earl of Stanton that my dad went all the way through without so much as a scratch. Isn’t that amazing?"

Ant gave a faint smile and nodded as he turned to a side table and poured a cup of coffee.

No visible scars, anyway.

"Well," said the earl, "I’ll leave you two gentlemen to get on with things. I’m sure the detective has had quite enough of the ramblings of an old soldier."

Riley managed an embarrassed smile.

"Goodbye, Detective Inspector Riley, and thank you for the wonderful work your colleagues and you do in keeping us all safe."

You might well blush.

Ant escorted his father into the terrace conservatory and made sure he was safely seated before rejoining his visitor in the library.

"He’s a remarkable man. Mine’s the same. They don’t make them like that anymore, do they?"

Ant nodded.

Maybe there’s more to Riley than I give him credit for.

"His generation are certainly tough cookies, Inspector. Not surprising given the experiences they all went through."

Ant offered Riley a top-up of his coffee.

"They’re all the same. War doesn’t distinguish between high and low born, does it, Lord Stanton?"

Ant paused as he replenished Riley’s drink, unsure if the detective had reverted to type, but gave Riley the benefit of doubt.

"As you say, Detective Inspector, war doesn’t give a damn who it hurts."

The room fell into silence.

Riley glanced around his elaborate surroundings, seeming to linger on the more ornate features of a pair of bookcase cabinets.

Ant watched and waited.

Wait for it. One rule for the rich, another for the workers.

He was pleasantly surprised when the expected sarcasm didn’t materialise.

"We traced the car that stopped you on Sunday."

"Really?" replied Ant, caught out that the detective had bothered to follow the matter up. "And the owner?"

"It was stolen, I’m afraid, so no trace there. We found it burnt out on an abandoned World War II airfield between Norwich and Cambridge."

Ant took a few seconds to digest the information and formulate where to go next. Taking Riley’s empty china cup and saucer from his outstretched hand, he returned the delicate object to a veneered mahogany side table.

"Dare I ask about fingerprints?"

"As I said, the car was burnt to a crisp. We think a couple of local scallywags found it, took it for a spin before dumping and setting light to it."

"Then how did you come to find it?"

Riley smiled, which was not something Ant had seen him do often.

"A coincidence, and good police work. Over recent months, we’ve had reports of kids using laser pens to distract pilots.

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