Nancy read his thoughts accurately. "He will be there!"
"I’m not so sure girl."
"Oh yes when he has had time to think. All those T.V.shows with the detective that always solves the case. He won’t know about the long hours and the disappointments in real life."
"I wish I was as certain as you are Nancy."
She sought to capitalise on the situation. "Tell you what. If he is there then you come along and help at the Gymkhana."
Not for the first time he had been outsmarted and could only nod his head.
When he arrived at the C.I.D Office early he gave himself a quiet pat on the back because Derris was there and would have had DeVere to himself to try and influence and perhaps ask the P.C. to tell him about any impropriety. Seeing that this was not going to happen Derris pointed to the Crime Book.
"You had better go and look at the Post Office break in out at Blasely. Postal Investigation says that quite a lot was taken."
He passed DeVere as he left the office and Compton’s jaw dropped when he saw the cavalry twill jacket and the old school tie.
"I said civilian clothes lad, not dressed up like a fashion model."
"Really sergeant I thought that you would like it. No one is going to take me for the Law in this."
Compton beckoned him closer. "Shut the door and sit down. First lesson. We want people to know who we are. Whether you realised it or not when you dealt with something you had to let them know that you were in charge. The Guvnor. They had to do as they were told. Same thing in detective work only more so. While I’m at it they wanted you to be the one to work with me because they want to see me fall flat on my face"
With cold certainty he said, "It isn’t going to happen. That means that you have got to be saintly in future...and we have both got to watch our backs."
Martin DeVere considered that. "It might be difficult because I still have Sergeant Winters thirsting for blood."
"One of the conditions I insisted on was that you came in here clean. No charges...but don’t go cheeking any of them in future."With a little smile to lighten the comment he said, "Leave that to me!"
As they walked out into the Station yard he confided, "One of the dubious benefits of making me work with you instead of appointing another sergeant is that we get no competition for the car."
He walked around the Sunbeam which had obviously seen better days.
"She is a clapped out old wreck that sounds like an old fashioned sewing machine...but it gets you there. I daren’t put it in workshops at the garage because we would not get it back for months and then it would be no better than when it went in. Got a Driving Licence?"
"Yes sergeant."
"We will get them to give you a test and if they are not too bloody minded then you can drive it too...but always take a careful look to see if there is any new damage and if the log book has been filled in."
After they had driven for a few minutes Martin asked, "Where are we going?"
"Out to Blasely. The Post Office was broken into on Thursday night and they got the pension cash and their postal orders. One of their Investigators will be there and be nice to him. We need their help from time to time even if they are not too swift to make many arrests."
The front door still showed evidence of the force used to spring it open and inside a large individual got up from a chair and offered his hand. He could not hide his surprised at the contrast between Compton’s suit with its buttoned waistcoat and Martin’s sartorial dress.
"Weston and I am very pleased to see you." He beckoned and led them round the counter to show them the metal drawer and the cash register. "They got on the roof and disabled the alarm so this was not found until early in the morning. One of your cars had chased a stolen vehicle so they did a quick check around the shopping areas and found it."
Compton listened to the account and then asked, "They have to be able to stamp the postal orders if they are going to cash them?’"
"Dead right and they found the stamp where it was put behind some cigarettes on the back shelf."
Compton’s head came up at that.
"Can we talk to the Postmaster please?"
A small fussy individual came out of the back room followed by a woman who was obviously his wife.
"Tell me Mr...?
"Sowerby. Walter Sowerby."
"We are from the City C.I.D. Walter. Have you taken on any new staff recently?’
He turned to his wife. "Monica Smith. We took her on two weeks ago. Have we got her cards yet?"
The woman sneered. "No and I don’t think we will. She hasn’t come in this morning. I told you not to hire her but you were just taken in by that short skirt and everything else she was showing."
Compton was serious now. "Did she have her own cup for tea and the likes?"
He followed the pair into the back room and there was a table, which they used to sit and drink their elevenses.
"That’s her cup with the lipstick on it," and she went to pick up a small plastic container that was also on the table.
Compton snapped, "Don’t touch!"
Pointing the woman said, "That is what she brought her lunch in."
"Don’t touch please Mrs Sowerby. Have you got a small box that I can use?"
One was produced and DeVere watched with a great deal of interest as Compton carefully lifted the container with his handkerchief. He gingerly picked up the cup in the same way.
"I will give you a receipt for these if you have a typewriter?"
The cup and container were listed with the place and date and shown as being handled by a new employee known as ‘Monica Smith.’ When he lifted his head expectantly the wife went to a card index and supplied an address.
Compton gave one of the carbon copies to Weston. "Perhaps you can give me a short report listing what was taken. The P.O’s will have serials but I expect the notes were just old cash?"
Weston nodded only too pleased to see the investigation being handled by the C.I.D. "I’ve got the word out about the Postal Orders but it takes time to circulate that information."
They walked out to the car and Compton wedged the box carefully in the back. "Now I will take you to see a real character...Bill Bridgeman. We don’t have the staff or the money to have a separate forensics and fingerprint expert, so Bill is the man. Doesn’t say much and he has a short fuse, but if he gets to his feet in Court they always take what he says as Gospel."
They left the car parked precariously with two wheels up on the pavement and Compton led the way down some stairs holding the box as if it contained an explosive. Martin opened the door to the windowless room which had benches crowded with equipment.
A big man wearing a lab coat was peering through a microscope and humming to himself. Music was playing softly and it was a classical piano piece. He felt the draft from the opened door and snapped, "Come in can’t you. It’s cold enough in here as it is."
Seeing Compton his voice mellowed a little. "Well look who it isn’t. I haven’t seen you for some time Daniel."He stood up and eyed them both. "Who have we here?"
"This is a young gentleman who will be helping me for a while, so mind your manners."
Bridgeman put his hands on his hips. He sniffed, "I hope he knows what a cheap lot we work for."
Then he looked a little closer and asked, "Are you the one that helped young Ramsay?"
Compton put the box down carefully in a clear spot on the bench. "The less said about that the better William."
Raising his chin as if he was going to argue, Bridgeman nodded eventually. "O.K. Daniel what have you brought me?"
Compton showed him the receipt and Bridgeman gave it back.
"Smith...Smith how very original. Are we going to be hoodwinked by the criminal mind Daniel?"
He pulled on a pair of thin gloves and carefully lifted the items out of the box. "We will wait to tag them until we see if there is anything there."
He held the mug under a powerful lig
ht while the camel hairbrush gently dusted the powder around the outside. "No manners this girl. She didn’t like to use the handle but she put her fingers round it."
He gave Compton an impish look. "We know a few fellers that could do with some manners don’t we Daniel?" The container was similarly treated.
"Lots of nice dabs. Let’s get them tagged and I will circulate the best ones."
Looking at Compton he held his hand up. "I know...I know. I will let you know as soon as I get anything."
Martin watched carefully as a label was attached to each item in a spot decided by Bridgeman and both Bridgeman and Compton initialled the label with a date.
As they drove off Compton said, "They probably told you a bit about evidence procedures. In this line of work it is very important. You have to preserve the chain of evidence or some clever defence lawyer is going to do rude things to the case."
When they got back to the Station Martin sat and watched as Compton put a brief entry in the Crime Book. He then pulled another book out of the drawer in his desk.
"We are going to have to give you a desk and a correspondence tray but the Crime Book entry is fairly important. You will still keep your pocket book and use it when necessary."
He waved the book that he was holding. "Sooner or later they are going to want you to have a diary. It is supposed to have each day’s activities and I suppose you will quickly realise that the shorter the entries and the less specific the better."
He wrote a couple of lines and then returned it to the drawer. "Now this might come as an unwelcome surprise but there are no nine to five days in this kind of work. Most people are at work during the day and apart from the type of work we did this morning we are going to be working most evenings."
He saw the protest being formed and quickly said, "I will do the best I can to let you do some domestic things."
Then with a grimace, "I have been roped in for the ladies good works this weekend so we will be sharing a bit of public service. Get off home and be back here about six. Dusty never stays after five if he can help it."
"Dusty?" was the puzzled query from the younger man.
"If you had any interest in flowers you would know that the stuff they put on roses to kill the bugs is called Derris dust. Poisonous stuff it is too."