The South Lawn Plot Read Online Free

aspect of the bridge. There were a number of them spaced out at intervals where the supports of the bridge reached up from the ooze at the bottom of the Thames.
    â€œDS Plaice?” said Bailey from a distance of a few feet.
    The tall man turned. Bailey extended his hand. The gesture was returned.
    â€œHenderson said you might have something of interest for us,” Bailey said. “And given the fact that a detective superintendent has stepped out on a night like this I imagine that it is interesting indeed.”
    Bailey half-smiled. He was pushing a bit but was determined not to walk away with stuff that he could have picked up on the phone.
    â€œFirst of all,” Plaice replied, “the ground rules. No attributions, no names. Make it look as if you just happened on this business by way of a random check. And do me a favor, also make it look as if the story was written in the office, not based on what you see here. Not that there's very much at this point anyway.”
    Plaice was about his business for sure, Bailey thought. Knew how to handle the press. No bullshit, straight to the point.
    â€œNo problem with that, Superintendent. Half the story has already been written in the office anyway. All the Calvi stuff and I'll bet a few lines on the history of the bridge.”
    â€œCome over here,” Plaice said.
    The two men walked over to the stone wall beyond which was a straight drop to the water.
    â€œRight now we're simply treating this death as suspicious. It looks like a suicide at first glance, but given what happened here before, we're keeping an open mind.”
    â€œWhy so?” said Bailey.
    Plaice turned to face Bailey, rammed his hands into his pockets and pulled his shoulders forward.
    â€œI wasn't particularly au fait with the Calvi affair,” he said.
    â€œIt was a long time ago. I was just out of the army and new on the force, more concerned with getting little old ladies across pedestrian crossings in one piece than with international intrigue.”
    Bailey nodded and Plaice smiled, clearly seeing himself for a moment again in his early days as a green young copper.
    â€œBut I had to do some pretty quick homework tonight. Thank the gods for computers. No doubt it makes your job a lot easier.”
    Bailey was paying closer attention. Plaice was drawing some link between the Calvi business and the death just a few feet from where they were standing and only a short while before. This might be something, he thought.
    â€œI hadn't put two and two together but one of my sergeants mentioned Calvi and Blackfriars, the manner of his death and the apparent way in which the man died here tonight.”
    Hanging from the bridge. Maybe with stones in his pockets, Bailey thought. He wasn't going to interrupt the man now.
    â€œBy the way,” said Plaice. “How well do you know Henderson?”
    Bailey was a little taken aback by the question. Plaice was clearly checking himself, considering how much he should give this emissary from his newspaper friend. Or maybe Henderson was just an acquaintance.
    â€œWell,” said Bailey, not quite sure how to handle the question. “We've had our differences. But I think we see eye to eye most times. And he does seem to send me out on big stories. Like this one.”
    Bailey's tone was that of the supplicant. Plaice was checking him out. He might throw him a line and only that. Or he might let him in on something that would only be imparted here, on the bridge, face to face and not over the line by some faceless press officer to an equally indistinct reporter.
    Bailey took a chance. “He was priest,” he said. And then by way of a not so subtle addendum. “Henderson told me.”
    â€œYes,” said Plaice. “Yes, a priest. Are you Catholic?”
    â€œNot much of anything,” the journalist replied. “My mum and dad used go to a little church, one of those gospel places, but it didn't much rub off