Private Games

Chapter 92

KAREN POPE HURRIED THROUGH the drizzling rain and the dimming light towards Knight’s house in Chelsea. She’d been tipped off by the Sun’s police reporter that something big was going on at the Private investigator’s home, and she’d gone there immediately, dialling Knight’s number constantly on the way.

But Pope kept getting an odd beeping noise and then a voice saying that his number was ‘experiencing network difficulties’. She could see the police barrier ahead and …

‘Oi, Peter call you in too, then?’ Hooligan asked, trotting up beside her. His eyes were red and his breath smelled of cigarettes, garlic and beer. ‘I came from the bloody gold-medal game. I missed the winning goal!’

‘Missed it for what?’ she demanded. ‘Why are the police here?’

He told her and Pope felt like crying. ‘Why? Why his kids?’

It was the same thing she asked Pottersfield when they got inside.

‘Peter believes that it’s a diversionary tactic,’ the inspector said.

Hooligan could not hide the slight slur in his voice, saying, ‘Maybe. I mean this Marta was here for the past fortnight, right?’

‘Give or take, I think,’ Pope said.

‘Right, so I’m asking myself why?’ Hooligan replied. ‘And I’m thinking Cronus sends her in as a spy. He can’t get someone inside Scotland Yard, but he can get this Marta inside Private, right?’

‘So?’ Pottersfield said, squinting.

‘Where are Peter’s computers? His phones?’

‘He’s got his mobile with him,’ Pottersfield said. ‘House phone is in the kitchen. I saw the computer upstairs in his room.’

Twenty minutes later, Hooligan found Pottersfield and Pope talking with Billy Casper. ‘Thought you’d want to see this, inspector,’ he said, holding up two small evidence bags. ‘Picked up the bug on the phone and the keystroke recorders on the DSL cable. I’m betting his mobile’s bugged as well. Maybe more.’

‘Call him,’ Pottersfield said.

‘I tried,’ Hooligan said. ‘And texted him. I’m getting no answer, other than something about network difficulties.’