Chapters (41)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- About the Author
- Lynda La Plante Reader’s Club
- Letter from the author
Jane knew she’d need a date or year of birth to narrow the search down on the PNC, and said she’d wait until she had more details about O’Reilly. The secondary keyholder on the card was a Maria Fernandez, with an address in Stamford Hill and a phone number, which she also recorded in her pocket notebook.
‘There’s no mention of the owner or manager on here.’
Jane handed him the keyholder’s card. He put it back in the tray.
‘That’s not unusual – often they don’t want to be woken up in the early hours of the morning if the alarm goes off, so they get a member of staff registered as a keyholder. Fernandez isn’t on my index cards.’
‘I suppose she might be the barmaid or some sort of hostess at the snooker hall.’
‘Possibly. What were the other names?’
‘Judge and Webley, that’s all I’ve got, but to be honest I can’t be certain about those names either.’
Bottomley stroked his chin. ‘They don’t ring any bells for me . . .’ He looked in the index trays. ‘I’ve got two with the surname Judges and one Judge, but they’re either black or juveniles – and there’s no Webley on record. It could be that none of the names you’ve given me live on the Tottenham police manor so they’re not on my cards.’
‘Thanks for your assistance, and I’m sorry if I’ve made you late for your doctor’s appointment.’
He put his coat on. ‘My pleasure, Sarge, and don’t worry about the doc’s. It might be worth phoning Companies House. If the snooker club is a limited company, the owner should be registered with them. If not, the tax office might be able to help – if they pay any!’
‘That’s a good idea. Do you have their number?’
‘It’s in the address book on my desk, along with the reference code, which you need to give them, then they’ll know you’re police. They close at five, so feel free to use my phone. I could put some feelers out about the snooker club for you, on the pretext we think there’s illegal gambling going on – which wouldn’t be unusual for those types of places.’
‘Thanks, but I’d rather do a bit more digging first and see if Companies House or the tax office can help.’
‘Feel free to call me if there’s anything else I can assist you with.’
‘What’s your poison?’
‘Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, but you don’t need to bother—’
‘I want to. Where shall I leave it?’
‘The bottom drawer of that filing cabinet over there is fine,’ he said with a grin as he walked out.
*