AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do we need one?” asked Reilly.
“It won’t hurt,” replied Briggs. “And it isn’t going to cost us anything. He’s got a lot of experience dealing with these people. He worked on the Yorkshire Ripper case.”
“Peter Sutcliffe? That’s reassuring,” retorted Reilly. “They never actually caught that bastard in connection with his crimes. He was apprehended on false number plates.”
“We should have had the bloke who caught him working for us,” shouted Thornton. “At least he clocked number plates.”
The comment raised a laugh, and Gardener did his best to bring the meeting back to order. “What’s his name?”
“Trevor Thorpe.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of him.”
“Well, all this is irrelevant,” said Briggs. “He’s offered to help, the Chief Super’s accepted, so he’s coming in during the next day or so to study everything we have. So, the next time we meet in this room, we’ll have a guest. Can we show him some respect?”
The officers dispersed without a word. Gardener wasn’t particularly happy about it, and judging by the expressions of his team as they were leaving, neither were they.
Chapter Seventeen
Martin Brown leaned forward and stared at the documents on his desk.
Running the fingers of his right hand around the inside of his collar, he realised the office was too warm. The general mess – which resembled the aftermath of a nuclear fallout – was also adding to his discomfort. The cupboard to his right was crammed full of magazines and journals. The shelves on the walls were at the point of collapse. Papers were strewn everywhere, on window ledges, pinned to the walls, left on chairs. But they were students; what could he expect? And they were so bloody noisy. He could hear them now in the corridor, shouting at each other all the time, even though they were standing together.
“Hold on a second, Dave.” Martin rose from his seat and closed the door. He came back to the desk and picked up the phone to continue the conversation. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, Martin. I’ve worked for BT for about thirty years. I’ve checked it out three times.”
Martin struggled with the information he’d been given. “But this is William Henry Corndell we’re talking about.”
“So you keep saying. But who the hell is William Henry Corndell?”
“Probably one of the greatest actors of our time,” replied Martin, growing more frustrated.
“Well, I’ve never seen any of his films.”
“He’s not really in films, Dave,” said Martin. “He’s more a classical actor who works in the theatre.”
“So where have you seen him?”
“London.”
“When?” Dave asked.
“Oh God, years ago.”
“What in?”
“When I saw him, he was in rehearsals for Phantom of the Opera.”
“Good, was he?” asked Dave.
Martin wasn’t keen on his friend’s tone. “The best, from what I saw.”
“So, why didn’t he get the part instead of Michael Crawford? And did you actually see the play itself?”
“No. I missed the opening night. Apparently, Corndell had a major accident. Fell off a piece of scenery and broke his leg.”
“And after that?”
