‘What do you mean, to my advantage?’

‘I’d hate to see an honest officer get dragged under by association with a dishonest one.’

She got out of the car and slammed the door.

‘Fucking arseholes,’ she said to herself.

She was disgusted with their veiled threats and underhand methods. Even if she did discover evidence to prove that Kingston, the Colonel or any member of the squad was corrupt, Bartlett and his cronies would be the last people she’d tell.

Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

Returning to Rigg Approach, Jane’s feet were so sore from waitressing that she trudged up the stairs using the safety pole to pull herself forward.

‘Christ, you look knackered,’ Cam said as soon as he saw her.

‘I’ll tell you what, it’s a lot easier pounding the beat than being a waitress.’

She took off her shoes, sat down and started to massage her feet.

‘How’d it go at the cafe?’

‘Not much to tell, really.’

‘I spoke to that PC at Wood Green this morning about Asil Osman. He made some enquiries and phoned back earlier. Asil wasn’t part of Osman’s gang, and helped the CID to locate his brother after he assaulted his wife. I won’t bore you with all the details, but the fruit export company he owns appears legit. Here’s the company name and address, and the PC’s details if you want to speak to him about it.’

He handed her a bit of paper with the details.

Jane was surprised.

‘So, his money isn’t hooky?’

‘He’s opened a distribution warehouse over here and from the enquiries I’ve made with Customs and Excise it doesn’t appear he’s importing drugs.’

‘Is Murphy in?’

Cam nodded, and she went straight to his office.

‘Lost your shoes?’ Murphy asked.

‘Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.’

‘Be my guest. What happened at the cafe?’

‘I didn’t hear what the Ripleys were talking about, though we did have some casual conversation while I was serving them. George is the more dominant, likes the sound of his own voice and thinks he’s funny. Truth is he’s an ignorant pig of a man with no manners, but Tommy seemed OK.’

‘When he’s not robbing banks with a sawn-off in his hand,’ Murphy reminded her.

‘Point taken.’

‘Did Rachel Wilson turn up?’

‘Yes.’ She handed him the note. ‘She slipped me this.’

He read it and handed it back.

‘Doesn’t tell us much . . . Banks are closed on a Saturday, so “sorting out the driver” probably refers to one of the bridal cars. The other bit about putting the frighteners on a woman is the sort of thing they do, but it could be anyone.’

She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

‘You don’t think it’s Fiona Simpson?’