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“What have we got?” Hartridge came over to watch as James pulled on a pair of gloves and worked the flap up.
“It looks like it’s a photo collection of jewelry and gems. A kind of inventory.” James set the photos out on the desk one by one.
Hartridge whistled. “If this is what they got out of the safe, no wonder they killed Harry Fingers for it.”
“Agreed, but why kill him while he was on the job for them? Why not do it back here late at night when no one would hear the shot? They had to get out of that jewelers much faster after Harry cracked that safe for them than I’m sure they’d have liked to because of that gun shot. It doesn’t make sense.” James didn’t like how much didn’t make sense in this case.
“Maybe someone got trigger happy. Like when they shot through the window at you,” Hartridge said. “They may not have meant to kill him then and there.”
That made the most sense of any theory.
“Do you have a torch?” James asked.
Hartridge shook his head. “There’s one in the car, though.”
“Go get it, then we can search under this desk a bit more thoroughly, and we’re going to look behind and under every piece of furniture in this room.”
While Hartridge headed out to get the torch, James studied the room with fresh eyes, looking for places where Harry could have hidden other envelopes.
By the time Hartridge got back, he’d pulled out a few filing cabinets, and moved some of the tables away from the walls.
“I’ll look, you hold,” James said, and Hartridge crouched beside him and pointed the torch upward.
They found one more envelope, stuck behind the heavy filing cabinet, but James also had Hartridge help him tip over a table that stood empty to the side beneath the window, which had metal cylindrical legs, in complete contrast to the rest of the furniture, which was antique and looked extremely expensive.
They found two cardboard cylinders hidden in the two back legs, with rolled up documents inside.
“Layman’s going to lose his mind over the team missing this,” Hartridge said, and there was some trepidation in his voice.
“You think they’ll blame us for showing them up?” James asked. Which some very well may do.
Hartridge shrugged.
He had lost confidence since Galbraith had tried to manipulate him and James sympathized. It was similar to his own feeling when he’d worked out his boss, DI Whetford, was on the take.
“I’ll talk to Layman about managing that, but we can’t do our jobs and worry about how others will take it when it looks like they haven’t done theirs.” James was still wearing his gloves and he lifted the first envelope. “Besides, we’re the third lot to go over this office, including the heist crew. It isn’t as though these were easy to find. If the desk lamp plug hadn’t come loose, we wouldn’t have found anything either.”
Hartridge seemed to relax a little at that.
He wanted to fit in, to be one of the lads with the other junior officers, and James couldn’t blame him. Working alone, with no network, made a hard job even harder.
He got the flap of the first envelope up and pulled out a few sheets of double-sided, typed paper. With them was a slim book and two photos.
He started to read, and then drew in a quick breath.
“What is it?” Hartridge was watching his face, and whatever he saw there must have alarmed him.
“If you think about it, a cracksman will no doubt come across all sorts of information in the safes he gets into. He’s mostly after gems and money, obviously, but sometimes, he must come across secrets that are maybe even more important to the people he’s stealing from than all the money and gems in the world.” James slid the paper back into the envelope and then pulled out some money from his pocket. “Go down to the tea shop, take the bobby with you and tell him to get himself some lunch and have a break while we’re busy up here, get us some sandwiches and tea as well, and then come back.”
Hartridge took the money. “This is big,” he said.
“Yes,” James confirmed. “Very big.”
Evidence that a member of the House of Lords was being blackmailed for associating with escorts didn’t get any bigger.
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