Geoffrey Breed had
commented that wherever
Richard was trouble
followed. It looked as if the chap was
right. Richard himself was
a comparative newcomer to the
town which was expanding at
an incredible rate, but apart
from the one murder, the
crime rate wasn’t too alarmingly
high. It seemed that was
changing.
“All right,” he said. “Who
and where?”
“Mr. John Berwick, sir.
He’s the manager of Wall’s
Department Store.”
“Crikey! What’s he been
doing? Short-changing the
customers? Where did it
happen? Is the cause of death
known?”
“In his own office in the
store, and it looks like
poison.
Happened around lunchtime.”
Richard frowned. “Well, if
you had to bother me, why
didn’t you do it earlier?
It’s just gone five-thirty.”
“Yes, sir, but I didn’t
know you were back until a
constable said he’d seen
you. I thought you were returning
this evening. We’ve got
everything under control, of
course, but," he
lowered his voice, “Inspector Coleman
took charge, and I’m afraid
he’s getting up the noses of
the people here. I’m
phoning from the store, by the way.
Inspector Coleman told the
staff none of them could leave,
and they—well, I’m afraid,
sir, they’re just ignoring him.
Putting on their things and
walking out.”
Richard sighed but
recognized the unconscious appeal
in Jim’s voice. “Let them
go,” he instructed. “We don’t
want any undignified
tussles between irate shop assistants
and the police. I’ll be
there in about half an hour.” He
turned and met the accusing
gaze of his wife. “Sorry,
love.”
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