‘Several places have them. Padstow in Cornwall, Combe Martin in Devon — ’
He raised a finger. ‘Do I need to know this?’
‘I thought you’d be interested.’
‘I’d rather you got to the point.’
Her lips tightened. ‘You could download the piece if you want.’ She knew damned well he wouldn’t.
‘You’ve obviously digested it,’ he said.
She nodded.
‘So what were the tasty bits?’ He watched her wince a little.
‘It’s clear that he visited Minehead at some point and spoke to people on the hobby horse committee.’
‘When was this?’
‘The article was dated 2008.’
‘No chance he interviewed Ossy Hart, I suppose?’
‘Ossy was living in Wells by that time. I guess Stan could have caught up with him there if he wanted to talk about what it’s like acting the Sailor’s Horse, but he doesn’t mention him by name, or list him in the acknowledgements.’
‘If I’ve learned anything from all these years of sleuthing, Inge, it’s that nothing comes easy. At least you’ve found proof of what we suspected — that Stan Richmond knew about the hobby horses.’
‘I’ll get you a printout if you want.’
‘That would help.’ He reached for the lists again.
She stepped to the door, hesitated and turned her head, in Lieutenant Columbo mode. ‘One other thing, guv.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Shouldn’t we be tracing that film man, Cubby, or whatever his real name is?’
‘If we knew his real name, yes,’ he said. ‘Anything you can do to find him would be helpful.’
She smiled. ‘Anything? Like a trip to Hollywood?’
‘That might be hard to explain to our paymasters.’
‘Is there any proof that Cubby also made a cash offer to Stan Richmond?’
‘Not yet. It’s starting to sound possible.’
‘And Harry Tasker? What if he met this guy?’
‘That’s something I hope to find out from his widow. I’m seeing her shortly.’
‘Again? People are going to start talking.’
‘Get outta here.’ But it did him good to know someone on the team still had a spark of humour.
The sight of Bath’s last gasholder didn’t do much for his morale when he drove up and parked across the road from Onega Terrace. Unsightly and outmoded, the great drum of gas seemed to sum up his self-image. He was about to cross the road when a sudden barrage of sound came from behind him. He stepped back and a motorbike that had just started up from a parking place a few cars away zoomed past and away towards the city. The rider was in black, just as the motorcyclist in the woods had been.
Don’t get paranoid, he told himself. There are thousands of these things on the roads and they’re not all out to get you.
The large neighbour opened Emma’s front door, took one look at him and said, ‘Right, I’m off home.’
‘What’s this called — respite?’ he said as she pushed past.
‘Man, I’ve earned it. You can go in.’
He found the angry widow in the living room kneeling on the floor. ‘Watch where you’re walking with those great plod feet,’ she said and he saw that the carpet was littered with CDS. ‘I’m supposed to choose the music for the committal, as they call it. Harry wasn’t a believer, so I don’t want any of that so-called sacred music. When I told them, they said it was up to me. Pick a favourite piece for a send-off, they said. Fat chance of finding anything here. We bought these for easy listening, not a cremation.’
He let his gaze travel the width of the carpet, taking stock of the Taskers’ collection. Most of it would be called retro: big bands, crooners, even skiffle. Difficult to find a farewell piece among that lot. ‘I Did It My Way’ was supposed to be the most popular choice for funerals, but didn’t sound right for a murder victim. He gave some thought to the few facts he knew about Harry’s life and an idea came to him. ‘You may think this is in poor taste.’
‘Try me.’
‘I see you have some Louis Armstrong here. There’s an old Satchmo number with Bing Crosby called “Gone Fishing”.’
Her deep brown eyes locked with his and seemed appalled. Then they slipped aside briefly and came back to him with a gleam of understanding. ‘ “Gone Fishing”?’ The start of a smile lit up her face. ‘That’ll do nicely. He’s gone for sure and if he’s got any choice, fishing is what he’ll be doing.’ She stood up. ‘You can have that tea. Is my neighbour Betty seeing to it?’
‘She went home for a bit.’
‘Lazy cow. I’ll have to make it myself. Tidy up the discs, would you? I won’t be long.’
Left alone in the room, he made a show of poking the CDS with his foot into a smaller area near the fireplace. He wasn’t going to risk kneeling. That done, he inspected the few paperbacks displayed on a built-in unit along one wall. No new insights here. Several by Stephen King and John Grisham, the
Emma returned with a mug of tea in each hand. ‘It was two sugars?’
A distinct improvement in relations, courtesy of Louis Armstrong. ‘Thanks. I was looking at your books.’
‘His, not mine. If you want any, take them. No point in me keeping them.’
‘That wasn’t why I mentioned it. I was thinking we don’t know much about Harry except his fishing and his TV viewing.’
‘Why do you want to know?’ She sat in an armchair and gestured to him to do the same.
‘Oddly enough, I know more about the other guys who were shot. Harry was one of our own.’
‘Typical, isn’t it?’ she said, back on her familiar tack. ‘He was just a number and a uniform.’
‘That’s not been my experience.’
‘You got lucky, then.’
‘I did my stint in uniform. I started in the Met a long time ago.’
‘That lot? We were always hearing horror stories of them. We were country cops, in Cornwall at the start. That’s where we met, Harry and I.’
He’d forgotten she was originally in the force with her husband. ‘Which part of Cornwall?’
‘Helston.’
His brain dredged up something Ingeborg had tried to tell him about town customs and traditions. ‘My geography isn’t up to much. Is that anywhere near Padstow?’
She shook her head. ‘Padstow’s a good forty miles away, on the North coast. Why do you ask?’
‘It was a long shot.’ Stupid bloody expression to use, he thought, the moment he’d said it. He’d never been noted for discretion. By some miracle the words got past her, so he followed them up fast. ‘I was trying to find some connection between the three officers who were killed.’
‘The only connection is the sonofabitch who shot them.’
‘There is that note you found.’
‘The “You’re next” thing? Are you taking that seriously?’
‘I can’t ignore it.’
‘That would mean Harry was a marked man and probably the others as well. Did they get notes?’
‘We haven’t found any.’
‘They could have thrown them away. Why did you ask me about Padstow just now? Was one of the others from Padstow?’
‘No.’ This was as good an opening as he was likely to get. ‘But there is a possible link between the first two victims, Ossy Hart and Stan Richmond. It may amount to nothing. When you said you served in Cornwall, I
