The Labyrinth Makers by Anthony Price

Author:Anthony Price [Price, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781780220482
Google: DYs9c3o9b2YC
Amazon: 0753828278
Publisher: Orion
Published: 1971-01-29T08:00:00+00:00

IX

The chill remained with him as he walked beside Faith through the Sunday morning streets of Knaresborough. If Steerforth had raised the devil, they were also in some sense on the devil's work, with their own load of trouble and mischief.

With a start he realised they were actually passing Tierney's electrical shop. It seemed quite substantial, with one window loaded with television sets garnished with offers of allegedly amazing terms. Tierney had done better in life than Morrison–which wouldn't do at all. Except that the rich were often greedier than the poor …

Roskill's man was waiting for them in his hotel room across the street, from which he had been able to keep a comfortable view of the shop.

'Richardson–Miss Jones–Dr Audley, I've been looking forward to meeting you!'

Richardson had a long brown face made longer by a jutting chin, but redeemed by good-humoured dark eyes, and Audley couldn't imagine why he had been looking forward to the encounter.

'I saw you play for the old Saracens, Dr Audley,' explained Richardson.

'That was a long time ago,' said Audley. He felt pleasantly flattered, despite the implication of hoary old age in the young man's memory of him. He searched for something suitable to add. 'You've got the build of a wing three-quarter.'

'Scrum-half, actually. And it wasn't so long ago that you played either–I was always afraid I might meet you on the receiving end!'

Faith laughed. 'He was brutal, was he?'

'Sheer murder, Miss Jones. It must have been like being run over by a locomotive! Do you know the game?'

'I've got two young step-brothers who are besotted with it.'

They were suddenly like children sharing a joke, and Audley felt he had to call them to order. Their sudden pleasure didn't fit his mood.

'Is Tierney in?' he asked sharply.

'He is,' said Richardson, unabashed. 'By the grace of God he lives in a flat above the shop, with no rear entrance. The flat entrance is just to the left there. So I've had it easy!'

'Give me a run down on him.'

Richardson flipped open a notebook.

'Arthur Lawrence Tierney, born Leeds 1922—'

'Not a biography, man. Tell me about him here and now. I know what he was. But what do people think of him here? What's his credit like? Don't read it out. Tell me.'

Richardson looked uncertainly at his notebook.

'There's one thing I should have told you first, sir. They want you to phone the department, extension 28–as soon as you can. Sorry about not telling you right away.'

Audley sat unmoving. Richardson's jumbled impressions would be all the better if he wasn't given time to rearrange and edit them. The department could wait.

'Tell me about Tierney.'

The young man took a breath, stuffing his memory into his pocket.

'A nasty character, for my money. Tricky, certainly. He's a sharp enough businessman–he's respected for that. Always got an eye on the main chance, and not too finicky about what sort of chance it is too. I talked to a detective sergeant –he didn't say so in so many words, but I think he'd like to get his hands on him, and he thinks he will one of these days.

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