The Paderborn Connection Read Online Free Page A

now if we can see the room please.”
    The manger rang reception, “Kathy, I need a key card to room three one six please.”
    The manager took them up to the third floor and along the corridor, where he inserted the key card into the slot on the door handle.
    â€œThanks,” said Mick “we can manage now.”
    Mick and Bob went into the room and immediately went through the wardrobe – two suits, four shirts, three ties, socks and pants, a pair of highly polished brown shoes.
    â€œCheck the pockets for anything useful, receipts or anything to indicate his movements.”
    â€œNothing of interest,” said Bob. The cupboard drawers were more rewarding, his passport, return ticket to Dusseldorf for Thursday, his security pass, which also included a photo, in the name of Captain P G Austen for the Military police in Paderborn and a small loose leaf folder with several pages of numerals and letters.
    â€œIt must be some sort of code,” said Mick. “When we get back can you get on to Stansted and see if you can get the passenger list for that flight from Dusseldorf.”
    They then turned to the bedside cupboard where there was a photo of Captain Austen with a middle aged woman and two teenage boys.
    â€œWe’ll take that Bob.”

    *
    They went into the bathroom, there was nothing out of the ordinary, just a toothbrush and toothpaste, razor and shaving gel, aftershave and deodorant.
    They put it all into the Samsonite case on top of the wardrobe and went down to reception, asking for the manager.
    â€œWe’ve put everything into his suitcase and will take it away with us. We shan’t need to go in the room again so I think that’s all we can do here. Oh, by the way do you have records of phone calls in or out?”
    â€œNothing booked to the room but that’s not unusual, most calls are from mobiles now,” said the manager.

    *
    They set off back to Hatfield, Mick was very quiet and Bob asked him if there was a problem.
    â€œSorry,” said Mick. “My father is in the hospice in Stevenage, I should have gone to see him on Sunday.”
    â€œWell if you drop me off in the town centre I’ll make myself useful checking any CCTV camera locations between the Service Yard and where he parked his car.”
    â€œOK Bob, but extend your search to anywhere the major may have parked. I’ll give you a call when I’m leaving the hospice and you can tell me where to pick you up.”
    Mick dropped Bob off and carried on to the hospice, deep in thought. His relationship with his father had never been close. His mother had died when he was thirteen and his father had brought him up in on his own, well sort of. His father had a friend, Sandra, who often spent the night when they had been out together, either dancing or down the Trumpet Major, a local pub that stayed open until the early hours for the regular customers. As a teenager, Mick could never understand how a woman could look so different on a Sunday morning to how she had looked on the previous Saturday night. As he grew older he learnt their secrets, the tricks they employed. That was one of the things he loved about Sue, she might have looked a bit bleary eyed on a Sunday morning but she was still good to look at it.
    He pulled into the hospice car-park and parked under the chestnut tree. Walking towards the entrance door he became aware of the smells and sounds around him, the wet grass underfoot, the white roses looking somewhat bedraggled, their petals curling at the edges. A Landrover with a trailer was parked at the end of the drive, a women dressed in jodhpurs and an old jumper was shovelling out horse manure. Apparently she ran a riding school and her husband had died in the hospice, this was her way of giving something practical to them, the gardener certainly appreciated it.
    He went into the lobby, wiped his feet and approached the desk.
    â€œGood morning Mr Joyce, if you want