Cooper Peter - The Munich Connection (30 str).pdf

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The Munich
The Munich
Connection
Peter Cooper
Longman
Chapter one
My name is Robert Scott. I am Chief Superintendent of Police at
Scotland Yard. When a very bad crime happens – for example, if
a thief kills someone – the police in that town or city usually asks me
for help to find the criminal. There are many kinds of criminals – my
job is to catch the worst ones.
One afternoon in December last year, Detective-Inspector Lane
telephoned me. He is the chief detective in a police station at
Wembley. We were young policemen together many years ago, and
we are still friends.
‘Hello, Bobby,’ he said. ‘It’s John here.’
I smiled. I am not “Bobby” to many people now. It is a short
name for Robert. But it is also a friendly name for a British
policeman. My friends think it is very funny and very clever, too.
‘How are you, John?’ I said. ‘And how are Mary and the
children?’
‘We’re all well, thank you,’ he replied. “You really must come
and see us soon. But this is business. I need your help with a crime.’
‘Oh? Tell me about it.’
‘I am telephoning from the police station. It’s only a few yards
from Ashwell’s jewellery shop in Wembley High Street. Ashwell’s
dead with a bullet through his heart.’
‘What time did it happen, John?’
‘The doctor thinks it was between 12.30 and 1.30.’
‘In the lunch hour?’
‘Yes. It’s only a small shop – just Ashwell and one woman, Miss
Morgan.’
‘Miss Morgan wasn’t there then?’
‘No, she was out to lunch.’
‘How much did the thief take?’ I asked.
‘We’re not certain yet,’ he replied. ‘Miss Morgan thinks that they
took only a few rings.’
‘Does she know the value of the rings?’
‘About ₤800, she says.’
‘You mean that someone killed a man for ₤800? There must be
another reason.’
‘I had the same idea, Bobby. If you can give me some help, then
perhaps we’ll catch him quickly.’
‘All right, John,’ I said. ‘Try to find anyone who saw or heard
anything. I must finish one or two things here. Then I’ll drive over.
I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.’
Wembley is a very busy part of London. It is north of the River
Thames, and it is only eight miles by car from Scotland Yard. There
is always a lot of traffic on the roads in London, but on that day it
was worse than usual.
Detective-Inspector Lane was standing outside the jewellery
shop. Two policemen were keeping that part of the road free of
traffic and talking to a small crowd of people. I parked the car, and
John Lane opened the door for me.
‘Sorry I am late, John,’ I said. ‘The traffic was bad today.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s always the same just before Christmas.’
I looked at Ashwell’s jewellery shop. Then I pointed to the shops
beside it. The one on the left was a shoe shop; the other was
a bookshop.
‘Have you questioned the people in those shops?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I have,’ replied the Detective-Inspector. ‘No one heard
a shot or saw anything unusual.’
I turned to look across the street. There were some more shops
there. One sold dresses another sold toys and there was also a flower
shop. The windows of the dress shop and the toy shop were full of
coats and dresses, toys and games. I couldn’t see inside the shops.
But I was able to see a girl with a small watering can through the
flower-shop window.
‘Have you crossed the street yet, John?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps that girl in the flower shop saw something.’
‘I’ll send Sergeant Baker across the road to speak to her,’ he said.
‘At the moment, he’s questioning Miss Morgan. She’s still checking
all the jewellery in the shop.’
‘All right then, John. Let’s go inside.’
I pushed open the glass door of Ashwell’s jewellery shop. The
bell on the door rang. There were five people in the shop, and they
all turned to stare at me.
A young man was talking quietly to two girls in one corner. Both
girls were crying, and they were trying not to look at the body on the
floor. A coat covered the head and the top of the body, but I could
see Ashwell’s legs.
At the back of the shop, a large man with black hair was standing
beside a short, thin woman with a checklist in her hand. She was
about forty years old and she wore spectacles. The large man with
the black hair came towards us.
‘This is Chief Superintendent Scott, Sergeant Baker,’ said my
friend. ‘He wants you to go across the street and question the girl in
the flower shop. If she saw anything, lock the shop door and bring
her back here.’
The Sergeant nodded his head. ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ he said. ‘But
first, have a look at this.’ He opened his hand to show us a bullet.
‘I dug it out of the wall behind Ashwell. It went straight through
him.’
I took the dead bullet from Sergeant Baker and I looked at it.
I knew that someone at Scotland Yard could tell me all about it.
I wanted to know the kind of gun that had fired it.
I turned towards the young man and the two girls, ‘Which one of
you works in the bookshop?’ I asked.
‘I do,’ said the young man.’
‘This bullet went into the wall between this shop and your
bookshop,’ I said. ‘Think carefully. Did you hear anything unusual
between 12.30 and 1.30?’
‘I heard nothing. I didn’t know anything had happened. It was
a nasty surprise when Miss Morgan asked me to phone for the
police.’
‘I turned to Miss Morgan. ‘Haven’t you got a phone here?’
I asked.
‘Yes, of course we have.’ Miss Morgan took off her spectacles
and she cleaned them. Her eyes looked different without the
spectacles. She was unable to see clearly without them.
‘Then why didn’t you phone from here?’
Miss Morgan put her spectacles on again. She walked to the back
of the shop, and she picked up the phone. I could see that the thief
had pulled it away from the wall.
‘Oh yes,’ said Detective-Inspector Lane, ‘I was going to tell you
about that. Do you want to ask the girls from the shoe shop any
questions?’
I looked at the girls. They were still crying.
‘Do you think they can help us much?’ I asked.
‘No – certainly not at the moment.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Just get their names and addresses – and that
young man’s as well. Then they can all go.’
The three young people gave their names and addresses to the
detective-inspector, and then left the shop in a hurry. Almost at once,
the doorbell rang again, and Sergeant Baker came in with a very
pretty girl. She had long brown hair and she was wearing a blue
dress. Her eyes were the same colour.
‘This is Kate Henderson, sir, from the flower shop across the
road,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘I think that she saw something
important.’
‘What did you see, Miss Henderson?’ I asked. ‘And what time
was it?’
‘Well – I saw a car outside this shop at about 12.45. It was there
for about twenty minutes.’
‘Was it a new or an old car? Was it British?’ I asked. ‘And what
colour – do you remember?’
‘I was a big car – I don’t think it was British – but it was gold-
coloured,’ said the girl. ‘I noticed that they parked there under that
sign.’ She pointed to the “No Parking” sign just outside the shop
door. ‘The traffic wardens are always walking along this street. They
look for cars outside the shops.’
I turned towards Sergeant Baker. ‘Perhaps a traffic warden gave
someone a ticket in this street between 12.30 and 1.30,’ I said. ‘Find
out, Sergeant.’
I smiled at Katie Henderson. ‘Now, Miss Henderson,’ I said, ‘did
you see anyone in this gold coloured car?’
‘A man and a woman came out of this shop. They didn’t hurry
into the car.’
Was there anyone inside the car?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said the girl. ‘It had those smoky coloured
windows.’
‘Yes, I know the kind – they keep the sunshine out.’ I looked at
Sergeant Baker. ‘I hope you’re making notes,’ I said to him. ‘I shall
need them.’
Sergeant Baker was staring at Katie Henderson’s pretty face. His
own face went red, and quickly he took out a notebook and a pencil.
‘Now,’ I said to the girl from the flower shop, ‘tell me about the
man and the woman. What were they like? Young? Old? Well-
dressed? Anything you can remember.’
‘I am sorry, but I didn’t really notice the woman. She was on the
other side of the car.’
‘Do you mean on the passenger side?’ I asked.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she replied. ‘I remember that she was quite
short, and I think – but I am not certain – that she had red hair.’
‘What was the man like?’ I asked.
‘I got a better look at him,’ she said. ‘He walked round the car to
the driver’s side. He was quite young but rather fat. He was wearing
a new grey suit...’
She stopped and looked at Sergeant Baker.
‘What’s the matter with you, Sergeant?’ I asked. ‘Have you
missed something?’
‘No, sir. May I ask Miss Henderson a question please, sir?’
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ I said, ‘... if it’s about the crime.’
Sergeant Baker’s face went red again. ‘I only wanted to ask...
was the man tall?’

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