Chapter 43
In the office, he removed the price tag and placed the bag in the bottom drawer, stuffing the receipt in his wallet. He was a bit nervous but he quite liked it and the woman in the shop was certain Lizzie would, so what could go wrong?
He wandered across to Degsy’s office. “Derek? Got a moment?”
The DI looked up. “What did you get?”
Thurstan stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Lizzie’s prezzie.” He smiled. “I heard you on the phone earlier. What did you get her?”
“Oh! Right. I got her a dress. The woman in the shop said she’d like it and I think it looks quite nice.” Thurstan leaned against the doorframe, affecting a casual air.
Degsy’s face straightened. “You do know they say that to everyone?” The look on the DCI’s face told him he didn’t. “Where’ve you put it?”
“In my drawer in the office.”
“Go and get it, Boss. I’ll take a butcher’s. Go on!”
When he got back, Alison was waiting with Degsy. Thurstan hovered in the doorway. “I’ll come back when you’re finished,” he said.
Degsy grinned. “It’s ok, Boss. Alison knows. Lizzie’s told her. They phone each other.”
Thurstan went pale. “What else has she told you?”
Alison laughed. “Nothing, Boss. Absolutely nothing. Come on, let me see it.”
He opened the bag and she lifted it out, holding it full length by the shoulders, a little frown on her face. “Well, it’s ok, I suppose but I don’t really think it’s her sort of thing. The size is wrong for a start. You need the next size up. Have you still got the receipt and label, Boss?” He nodded. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to take it back and get you something better? I know exactly what would suit her.”
He looked at Degsy who nodded. “Thank you, Alison. That would be very kind of you. Here’s the receipt and the label’s in the bag.”
They watched her leave then Degsy said, “I take it you wanted me for something?”
“What? Oh, yes. When was the last time you did a check on our man Nickson?”
“Last month.”
“Well do another one.”
“No probs. What’s happened?”
Thurstan recounted his meeting with George. “Sounds a bit too familiar to me,” he said, turning to leave. “Intoxication, fall down steps, undone shoelace, broken neck and the profile of the victim does fit the sort of thing that would mark him out for a bit of Nickson’s rapid justice. Let me know, as soon as you can, Derek.”
Fifteen minutes later there was a tap at the door. It was Degs. “I’ve checked and it appears he’s not come back in, which doesn’t actually mean he’s not here. It’s a bit tenuous though, don’t you think?”
Thurstan stood up and slipped his jacket on. “I wouldn’t disagree but ... has there been anything in the news lately? Anything with a hint of his M.O. on it?”
Degsy shook his head. “Not that I know.” He looked thoughtful. “I think there was something on the local BBC news earlier on. Some woman in Manchester shot on her doorstep. Apart from that nothing rings any bells. Arthur recorded it. He was on.”
The DCI gazed at him, his lack of understanding plain to see.
“He was featured in a little item about prize gardens. He won a competition. Didn’t you know?”
“It seems I know very little these days, Derek. Where is he now?”
“Gone to the canteen for his dinner.”