The Murder House Read Free Page B

CID are listening in.’
    Oakley slipped into the derelict building and went up the stairs to where two dark shapes were outlined at the window: Anderson and DI Clare Davis.
    â€˜You were right, Neel.’ Davis sounded pleased. ‘The rumours about a daytime delivery were a blind, to make sure we knocked off at dusk. How did you know?’
    â€˜I didn’t,’ admitted Oakley. He grinned at Anderson. ‘Looks like you’ll arrest one of the most dangerous villains in the West Country tonight.’
    The operation went smoothly, and before dawn Noble and six accomplices were locked in New Bridewell’s cells and ten kilograms of heroin had been seized. The drug squad was delighted – especially when one suspect offered to give up even bigger fish in exchange for a lighter sentence.
    True to his word, Oakley made sure the honour of arresting Noble went to Anderson, and he found himself doubly rewarded – by her pleasure and Wright’s fury that she should be the hero of the hour. A preliminary interview was arranged for the morning, so that Noble’s lawyer could not claim his client had been questioned late at night when he was tired.
    Oakley reminded his team that everything needed to be done by the book, then told them to go home and snatch some sleep before the interviews and reports the following day. Mark Butterworth lingered, however, too wired by the night’s happenings to go home. After writing up his pocket book, he went to look at Noble through the grille on the cell door, enjoying the look of indignant rage on the man’s face.
    Noble was wearing white overalls, as his clothes had been taken to see whether the white powder on them could be matched to the heroin that had been found on the smugglers’ boat.
    â€˜You won’t get me,’ warned Noble, masking his temper when he saw he was being watched. ‘Not for smuggling. I might enjoy a bit of crack now and again, but I don’t get involved in dealing.’
    â€˜The forensic boys will prove you do,’ taunted Butterworth. ‘They’ll find it on your clothes.’
    â€˜Yeah, my personal stash,’ said Noble with a shrug. ‘It don’t prove I had anything to do with the boat. All I did was watch it arrive. I’m an innocent bystander.’
    Butterworth closed the grille and went to the property book – a thick tome in which the contents of a prisoner’s pockets were recorded before being placed in a canvas bag and stored until the arrested person left the cells. The custody sergeant, Derek Jones, had gone to fetch someone a cup of water, so Butterworth unlocked the cupboard, found Noble’s bag, and emptied it on the counter. Sure enough, there was a packet containing white powder. He glanced at the property book and saw its presence was duly noted. The following day, when Noble’s lawyer was present, the packet would be sent to the Forensic Science Service, or FSS, for analysis.
    Butterworth, tired and edgy, could see the case going up in smoke when the courts decided that any traces of heroin on Noble’s clothes originated from his personal supply, not the boat. Noble was right: he might walk free.
    Butterworth looked quickly through the other entries and saw that Noble was not the only one with drugs: Mike Gray had had five tablets in a pouch – ecstasy or some similar party pill. Quickly, Butterworth changed the record so that Gray had three of the tablets and Noble had two. He deleted all references to the powder – which went in his own pocket. There, he thought with satisfaction: Noble could not claim any powder traces on his clothes came from his personal stash if he did not have one.
    By the time Derek Jones returned the cupboard was locked, the property book was back on its shelf and Butterworth was innocently studying the arrest file. Jones told him he should get off home if he wanted to be any good in the morning, and Butterworth left