Rainstone Fall Read Online Free Page B

‘Morning, sir! You remember Mr Honeysett, don’t you?’
    Needham stopped in his tracks, turned his big, mobile face towards me and gave me an evil stare. I had the feeling he’d known I was here all along. ‘He’s hard to forget. What’s he doing here?’
    ‘He’s become a victim of crime, sir.’
    ‘Make a nice change for him.’ He disappeared through the same door and shut it hard behind him.
    ‘How is your corpulent Super these days?’ I asked Hayes, who wasn’t exactly skinny himself.
    ‘Lousy of mood and short of temper. But I’m sure seeing you here cheered him up no end.’
    ‘What’s eating him? This year’s crime figures out?’
    ‘He’s got a medical coming up in three weeks and has gone on another diet. He’s like a bear with a sore head when he doesn’t get his two sugars in his tea. Personally I think it’s the artificial sweeteners driving him round the bend . . .’ Hayes suddenly put the brakes on his indiscretion, remembering I was only a meddling civilian. ‘Okay, that’s fine.’ He ran his eyes down the form. ‘It’s more than likely then that someone stole the keys to your car while you were at the Rose and Crown. Unless you left them in the ignition, of course. Ah, ah, ah.’ He stopped my protests with a calming gesture. ‘It’s easily done and we come across it all the time. Now don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll turn up,’ he added reassuringly. ‘It’s not the kind of motor that gets nicked to order after all. What state it’ll be in is another question.’ He gave me his sweetest smile.
    Back outside I turned up my collar in a feeble attempt to keep pneumonia at bay and scooted along Manvers Street. The rain was back, driven by a wind that seemed to come from all directions at once. Everyone else was hurrying too with hunched shoulders or fighting umbrellas more a hindrance than an asset. By the time I got to York Street and pushed open the door to the steamed-up Café Retro I felt clammy and miserable and in need of comfort. I found a tiny table at the back. When the waitress appeared I ordered a large mug of hot chocolate and a bowl of chips. The Retro was, as the name implied, made to look like it had been there since time immemorial with the aid of imitation marble, fake gilded mirrors and distressed waitresses, but now it had been here for so long it had taken on a genuine patina of its own. It seemed an age until my order arrived but it was worth it just for the chips. I drowned them in ketchup and took comfort by the handful. Losing the car was bad enough but while I was filling in the form for Sergeant Hayes I’d realized how much stuff I’d left in it: video camera, binoculars, Dictaphone, CDs, sunglasses . . .
    The big café window was blind with condensation and the door opened constantly with people looking in, hoping to find a table just to get out of the rain. I called Annis on my mobile; I was in no mood for getting soaked at a bus stop. She answered grumpily and my request for her taxi service didn’t exactly cheer her up but the offer of hot chocolate finally swung it. After a short while I put in the order and made sure the waitress took the empty chip bowl away so it couldn’t damage my culinary reputation. French fries, moi ? When Annis splashed through the door her hot chocolate had only been standing on the table for a minute which puts the respective speeds of the disgruntled painter and harassed waitress in perspective.
    ‘What a sight for sore eyes,’ she said and sank her face into the mound of whipped cream. She had hardly got wet in the rain which could only mean one thing. ‘I’m parked right outside on a triple yellow. Any parking fines payable by the passenger,’ she slurped.
    We ran the few yards across the street and jumped into the cab of the Land Rover. She had a fabulous moustache of whipped cream. I leant over and kissed it away. ‘Thanks for coming to the rescue once more.’
    ‘That’s okay. I was getting a bit fed