The Picasso Scam Read Online Free

I was with friends, so I said quietly: ‘When my wife left me she went off with someone called Rudi Truscott. He was a lecturer at the art college. I assume it’s the same one. I don’t know what he wants and I don’t want to know.’
    It had been eight years, and I’d thought the hurt had gone, but it hadn’t. It just lurked in the undergrowth,waiting for something to come along and disturb it. I tried to make light of it. ‘He probably wants me to get him off a parking rap,’ I said.
     
    It was later that afternoon when he caught me. Tony answered the phone. ‘I’ll put him on,’ he said, and passed me the handset. He looked uncomfortable that he had refused to lie for me. Not a bad quality in a policeman, I suppose.
    ‘Hello, Rudolph, what do you want?’ He hated being called Rudolph. He liked to be Rudi to everyone, just as I liked to be Charlie, good old Charlie, everybody’s friend.
    ‘Charlie, thank God I’ve caught you, I’ve got to see you.’ He really did sound frantic.
    ‘Why?’ I asked.
    ‘I think someone wants to kill me.’
    ‘In that case, I’m on their side.’
    ‘When can I see you, Charlie?’
    ‘I work long hours. But you know that, don’t you?’
    He ignored the jibe. ‘I don’t want to come to Heckley. Can you meet me halfway? Say you will, please, Charlie, I don’t know who else to turn to.’
    I’ve always been a sucker for a sob story. But maybe I just wanted to see him squirm. He certainly sounded scared. ‘Where are you?’ I asked.
    ‘Scotland.’
    ‘Scotland! You want me to come halfway to Scotland?’
    ‘Do you know the museum at Beamish?’
    I’d heard of it, but never been.
    ‘There’s a pub near the entrance called The Shepherd and Shepherdess. Will you meet me there?’
    ‘OK, I suppose so,’ I told him.
    ‘Tomorrow?’
    ‘No chance, make it Wednesday, for lunch. Your treat.’ He expressed his eternal gratitude and rang off.
    ‘Bad news?’ enquired Tony.
    ‘No, just the opposite,’ I said, faking a grin. ‘He reckons someone’s trying to kill him.’ I jumped to my feet. ‘I’m off to fetch my car. Then I’ve got places to go and deeds to do. Make sure somebody watches the Chinaman in the morning.’
    ‘Do you want a lift?’
    ‘No thanks, I’ll walk.’
    As I strode through the yard a patrol car was just leaving, driven by WPC Kim Limbert. The chance of a ride with Kim was more than I could resist, so I waved her down. Kim came to Britain from Guyana as a very small child. Her parents believed she was gifted and wanted to give her the chance to realise her potential. She didn’t disappoint them, doing well at school and going on to pick up a degree in law. Then she ruined it by joining the Force, but now she was on the promotion ladder. She was also six feet tall, and could have graced the catwalk of any fashion house she chose, had that been her inclination. I asked her to take me to the garage, then said: ‘Looking forward to leaving us, Kim?’
    ‘No, not really, sir. I’ve enjoyed being at Heckley, it’s a good crew. But I’m in the job for promotion, so I’ll have to move around.’
    Sir. There it was again. It was even more hurtful when a beautiful young woman used it. Why couldn’t she call me Charlie, or … Snufflebum? I said: ‘You’ll be OK. There’s some mean hombres in the city, but you’ll deal with them.’
    ‘No doubt my fellow officers will look after me.’
    I smiled wistfully. ‘It’s your fellow officers I’m talking about. You know where your Uncle Charlie is if you have any problems. Just drop me off on the corner.’
    The car was ready for collection so I found myself way ahead of schedule. Ah, well, a faint heart never fondled a fair maiden. Besides, if I called on Mrs Wilberforce it would give me something to tell Wilf and Betty over dinner. I pointed the bonnet up the hill towards the Top Road and the ancient buttresses of St Bidulph’s.
    Mrs Wilberforce was in the garden. She was going on for my