Power on Her Own by Judith Cutler Page B

want to do a heist, can you think of three more unlikely criminals? A detective, an accountant and a lawyer turned Baptist minister. I should think with credentials like that we could get away with murder. How much – seriously – would they be worth?’
    Did Giles flick a glance at her ringless finger? There’d never been enough money for anything like that, had there?
    â€˜How much do we insure your engagement ring for, love? Three and a half? We bought that when I was in practice, Kate. Every time we get a major bill I wonder when we’ll have to hock it. Well, those stones were about the same size as yours. So, assuming the insurance value is slightly inflated, let’s say each stone is worth a thousand pounds. Twenty-five times a thousand pounds is –’
    â€˜Twenty-five thousand. Even you should be able to work that out, Giles.’
    â€˜Hmm. Another year in the nursing home,’ Kate said.
    â€˜Let’s hope she lives to enjoy it,’ Maz said.
    â€˜Or enjoys living it,’ Giles amended, thoughtfully.
    The safe was under the carpet in the room Maz had originally emerged from. Her computer was in screen-saver mode, but a pile of papers lay on the printer – a recent laser. The carpet was less new, and the curtains frankly shabby. But the chair was multi-adjustable and the desk looked more solid than the average flat-pack. The filing cabinets looked as if they meant business, too.
    As did the safe.
    â€˜No,’ said Kate. ‘Don’t let anyone see that combination. Even me.’ Seeing their blank looks, she added, ‘It has been known for the odd police officer to be bent!’

Chapter Eight

    â€˜Nothing,’ Kate said, dropping her report apologetically on Graham Harvey’s desk. ‘Abso-bloody-lutely nothing. I’ve tried every database I could think of and then some. And – whatever field I’ve tried – there’s nothing to suggest Chummie’s on any register with any sort of form. So I reckon we must have a nasty new kid on the block.’
    Graham leaned forward to pick up the thin sheaf of papers. ‘These things happen,’ he said, ruefully.
    â€˜All those hours wasted!’
    â€˜Nothing in police work is ever wasted. Surely you know that. All those names, all that form – it’ll be in another computer now: yours!’ He put his fingers on his forehead and smiled. ‘Locked away until you need it. And look at it another way, you could have spent all that time on the streets in pouring rain and still come up with nothing. Next thing you’ll say you’d rather have done that.’
    â€˜Well, since you ask me –’ Kate grinned.
    â€˜All in good time. Tell me, are all your disks in place? Nothing gone walkabout?’
    She looked him straight in the eye. ‘No disks. But a notebook – no, anyone can pick up someone else’s book by mistake.’
    â€˜True. And anyone can return it when they find someone else’s writing in it. I shouldn’t be having to ask you these questions: you should be volunteering the information, Kate.’
    â€˜As soon as I have proof positive. If ever I have proof positive, perhaps I should say.’
    â€˜I’m terribly afraid it’ll be the former. OK.’ He looked at his watch, half standing. ‘You’re looking pretty washed out. Are you all right?’
    â€˜Trouble with the house. No, delays, more like. So when they offered to let me sleep at the Manse, I jumped at the chance. I was daft not to ask earlier. Or go into digs or whatever.’
    â€˜Time for a pint before you go home?’
    She flicked a glance at her watch. ‘I’d love one.’ God knew she’d like a whisky more. Or would she? Perhaps things were getting better. And she’d have liked a drink with him. Pity she had to add, ‘But I’m talking to the chapel Boys’ Brigade tonight: you know I’ve started to