‘Better get forensics on this.’
Shap gave a derisory snort. ‘They’ll be lucky. Be like getting prints off a cinder.’ Nevertheless he dialled the number, reported what they’d found and took details of the registered keeper – a Mr James Harper – who had reported the theft the previous evening.
‘You up for this?’ Shap nodded at the wreck.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Butchers glared at him.
‘Well, just… you know…’ Butchers had only confided in Shap about it all once: a very drunken night before either had got their stripes when all the other coppers had gone home and just the two of them were left, slurring words and spilling drinks. Butchers had turned out to be a sentimental drunk though he hadn’t wallowed in his own story, just mentioned it when they were talking about why they’d joined the force. Shap had asked a few questions and Butchers had given him the facts, though not much more, and then the talk had turned to something else, something less personal and that had been it. Not a whisper since.
Now Butchers just kept staring ahead.
‘Fine,’ Shap raised his hands in surrender. ‘Forget it!’ That’s the way you want to play it, he thought, then fine, no problemo. Maybe back then Butchers had been so pissed that he hadn’t remembered telling Shap at all? Shap had no idea if anyone else at the station knew. Probably not. Well, at the end of the day it was Butchers’ funeral; Shap had given him a get out clause and he’d turned it down. What else could he do?
James Harper had what the estate agents would call a desirable residence on the outskirts of Sale, south of the city. Butchers ran an eye over the facade with approval. Some of these more modern houses were slipshod but he knew quality when he saw it; even the wood cladding was patently high-grade material and the dimensions were generous. Integral garage, picture windows above. Nice landscaping in the front, low maintenance gravel and alpines. Solid hardwood door, though the rest was uPVC. Must be making a bob or two, Butchers thought, place like this and running a Merc. All right for some.
‘Detective Sergeant Shap, Sergeant Butchers,’ Shap made the introductions. ‘You reported your car stolen last night?’
Harper’s face lit up with surprise. The smile accentuated his prominent cheekbones and the deep dimple in his chin. ‘You’ve found it? I thought it’d be halfway to Russia, by now.’
Butchers grimaced.
‘If we can come in, sir,’ Shap said.
