TWO SIMON GRANT MYSTERIES
HIDING THE ELEPHANT – Chapter 44
‘What’s eating you?’ Grant was refusing to get used to a grouchy, testy Debs. Why today of all days when his heart was singing and his head was in the clouds?
‘D’you think it’s easy to obtain a fistful of unspecified search warrants at this time on a Saturday morning? D’you think I have no life of my own?’
Debbie’s face grew purple and she shot a quick glance towards the galley. Tully was running hot water into the sink. There was a whitish mist of steam trailing into the office from behind the partition.
She shook her head. ‘Do I hell. Young Tibblets are being shipped off to their maternal grandmother for two weeks. Mrs. Tibb has booked an expensive second honeymoon. Or is it the third?’
‘I’m sorry.’ He meant it.
‘You don’t give a fuck. May not happen, though. Tibb’s in a bit of bother. Someone collapsed at the Branton estate this morning when he was making an arrest there. A child, and it’s critical. There’re some ugly noises coming from the estate as we speak. Mrs. Tibb could easily lose her deposit. Which reminds me, did your wife manage to talk to you yesterday? I’m sure she thinks I’m hiding you under my petticoats.’
LOCK UP YOUR DAUGHTERS – Chapter 44
Saturday, 24. 07. 1993
The news from Isebrook on Saturday morning was cautiously optimistic. There were no signs of any infection. But, there were no signs of recovery either. Debbie Jones was not regaining consciousness and there was no reason to expect that she ever would. Or would not. Courtesy of the Chief Constable, the night before she’d been moved into a private ward, still connected to all the supporting machinery and with the assessment date set for the following Wednesday.
‘The assessment meaning that…’ Barbara Cunningham, who’d been alternating her self-appointment as the liaison person with the hospital with Sergeant Duncan, stopped short of completing the sentence.
‘I can imagine what that means,’ said Grant. ‘Her family should be involved.’
‘We are her family,’ said Cunningham darkly.
Which was painfully true. With one brother in jail for grievous bodily harm and the other on a submarine in the Pacific and not particularly interested, a very sick mother and a young child, there was no family to speak off.
Hartman’s office phone rang out a few times, then announced a call transfer.
‘We must stop meeting like this, Grant. People will start talking,’ Hartman complained mournfully into his mobile. The background noises suggested a vehicle in motion. ‘There hasn’t been much progress in the Asante case. Your Northampton colleagues still need to interview someone called Tibb. He’s a lecturer at the police college…’
Grant grinned in spite of himself. There was a slim chance that Tibb may reap his just desserts yet. Then he explained the need for someone to represent Debbie’s interests at the “assessment”.
‘If it’s a question of money, I’ll …’
‘I don’t think there will be any need for that, Chief Inspector,’ Hartman interrupted. ‘The Force is pretty good to its own. Of course, I can’t defend young Asante and represent his victim at the same time. I’ll pass this one on Corrigan in Loughborough. An excellent man, Corrigan. Nothing to worry about. Leave it with me.’
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