Page 63 of The Scene of the Crime
Chapman was more optimistic. ‘I reckon he’d have grabbed the watch and the cash first.’
‘Not if he was approaching the building when we turned up. Anyway, it’s not your fault. Anderson is in charge and should have set up an observation from the start while making enquiries to find out more about the suspect.’
‘I did raise it with him . . .’
‘But as usual, he ignored your advice. Be honest, Mike, Anderson couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery. He knew he’d screwed up when there was no one in the flat. He panicked, then beat a hasty retreat to set up the observation. He’ll no doubt be proudly telling Belsham he found the Rolex.’
‘To be fair, I don’t think Anderson just wants to cover himself in glory. It’s more a case of him trying to prove he’s worthy of the rank.’
‘You can’t polish a turd, Mike,’ Wood said.
‘Do you think someone in the office leaked information to the press?’
‘Is that a subtle way of asking if it was me?’ Wood smiled.
‘No, not at all,’ Chapman replied unconvincingly.
‘Look, Mike, we both know I can’t stand the man, and I don’t think he should be a detective, let alone an SIO. I’d love to see Anderson get kicked back to uniform, but releasing stuff to the press is not my style, and I wouldn’t risk my career for the likes of him.’
‘Sorry, I was out of order.’
‘Not at all. Professional standards will ask me the same question, and I’m not afraid to give them the same answer.’
‘Do you think it could have been Anderson himself?’
Wood laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past him, but I don’t think he’s that stupid. He’ll delight in telling CommanderWilliams that the Rolex and cash were recovered due to a tip-off after the press release. Then, when Liam is arrested, he’ll have even more to boast about.’
‘I don’t think he’s so much a big head as insecure. He can be all right sometimes.’
‘Can we change the subject . . . even talking about him does my head in.’
Iris, the flat’s resident, walked into the living room. She was in her late seventies and had lived alone since her husband died two years ago. Originally from Scotland, she’d been in London for forty years but hadn’t lost her soft Highland accent.
‘Would you boys like a cup of tea and some homemade sponge cake?’ she asked.
‘That sounds very nice,’ Chapman said, and Wood nodded.
‘What’s Liam done?’ Iris asked.
‘We need to speak to him about an incident,’ Chapman replied evasively.
‘Is it anything to do with what was on the news last night about that South African man who was robbed and stabbed?’
‘What makes you think that?’ Wood asked.
‘I saw that long-faced detective who asked me questions about Liam on the telly last night.’
‘That was Detective Chief Inspector Anderson,’ Chapman said. ‘He thinks Liam might be able to help us with our enquiries, but it doesn’t mean he’s done anything wrong.’
‘He’s a lovely lad, you know. He regularly knocks and asks how I am, and when the lifts are out of order, he does my shopping for me. You want milk and sugar in your tea?’
‘Milk and one spoonful of sugar, please,’ Chapman said.
‘Just milk for me, ta,’ Wood added. She went back to the kitchen.
‘I’ll bet Anderson’s questions weren’t exactly probing,’ Wood said under his breath.
‘Maybe I’ll have another go, then,’ Chapman replied. ‘You take notes.’
