Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) Read Free Page A

perturbation at the mention of Jones’s name, however, gave way to apparent relief when Swift informed him that it was a murder investigation.
    “No, we didn’t have a blazing row on Friday evening,” he responded to a question from Swift. “Who told you that? We happened to arrive home at the same time and exchanged a few civil words. Jones invested in my firm. I needed his cash to set up and he needed my expertise to produce a profit.
    “Jones invested in dozens of businesses in this town – and further afield. Some were more successful than others. Mine was among his better choices.”
    So what had Warren done since that conversation, Amos wondered.
     “It was about quarter to five when I left Jones talking to Joanna Stevens. She’s his nosey parker accountant. She lives in the block two floors directly below Jones at 6B. You want to talk to her. I reckon Jones was making unwelcome advances to her. Maybe he went a bit too far.”
    “Your movements,” Amos prompted him.
    “I did a bit of paperwork, tidied up the week’s accounts, then I stuck in some oven chips and grilled a chop. I went down to the pub, had a couple of pints and a few games of darts with the usual crowd, and got back to the flat about 11.30 pm.
    “I always have a lie-in on Saturday mornings and play squash in the afternoon. I took a girl friend out in the evening - I can give you the name of the restaurant – saw her home and got back latish on.
    “Sunday I read the newspapers. It takes most of the day to get through the heavies. In the evening I had three friends round to play bridge until quite late.”
    “I shall need the names of the people you say you have been with,” Amos interjected.
    Warren hesitated for several seconds. Finally he replied reluctantly: “I can give you the names, of course, but I’d rather you didn’t approach them unless you really have to. I don’t greatly like the idea of my friends knowing that I’ve been interviewed in a murder inquiry.”
    “You live alone, I take it?” Swift said.
    Warren nodded.
    “So for large chunks of the weekend you were in the flat on your own?”
    “So was Joanna Stevens,” he ventured by way of a reply. “You should talk to her.”
    “We shall talk to all the Killiney Court residents,” Amos said sharply. He was annoyed at being told how to do his job and doubly annoyed because Stevens was the next person he intended to interview anyway.
    Nor was he best pleased when Warren added brightly: “You’re in luck. Here she is now.”
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    Amos and Swift looked out through the internal glass window of Warren’s office overlooking the public area of the establishment. A woman was already pushing her way past the protestations of a secretary.
    Warren squeezed out while the officers were momentarily distracted and opened his door to her.
    “Don’t worry,” the intruder was saying to the unsuccessful keeper of the entry barrier. “I shan’t disturb Mr Warren.”
    Then, seeing him at his office door: “Good morning, Scott. Just a routine VAT tidying up. I needn’t bother you. I know where the books are.”
    She seemed slightly suspicious that Warren was taking her arrival with aplomb. She had expected him to be nervous if, as she believed, he had something to hide.
    “No time for that now,” Warren answered cheerfully. “These people want to talk to you first.”
    Stevens was becoming increasingly perplexed. Warren was certainly good at escaping under a cloak of confusion.
    “VAT inspectors?” she asked with a frown. “I thought I knew everyone at the local office.”
    “Police officers,” Warren replied deliberately.
    Stevens glanced at the occupants of the small office. Had the police found out about something more serious than she suspected? Embezzlement, perhaps? Why was he looking so complacent? Had he blamed her as the accountant?”
    Warren was clearly amused at her discomfort.
    “It concerns our mutual friend,” he went