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Manny sat back in his chair. Why would someone go to the trouble of hiding a box of old cameras?
Returning to his find, the last one in the box really caught his interest. He pulled the case out, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. Manny was no expert, but if felt very much to him like snakeskin, or crocodile.
Carefully removing it from the case, he could see that it was gold plated and had a 50mm Elmar lens – which meant fuck all to him. The name informed him it was a Leica Luxus II.
Manny placed the whole lot – apart from the Leica – back in the box, taking care to lock it, and sat back. They may not make him any money but he liked the Leica, a lot. He had plans for that one. And for that reason, he was keeping it.
He figured there was no safer place than Mary’s garage. He could gain entry through the connecting door in the firewall; he wouldn’t even need her key.
Chapter Thirteen
“You can’t do this to me!”
Robbie Carter was back in the interview room, still dressed in jeans but with a different T-shirt. He was on his feet, banging his fists on the table. “I know my rights.”
Gardener closed the door. Reilly was behind him with a tray containing three hot drinks. “So do we, Mr Carter. We know your rights, our rights, and we know the law, and we’re acting within it.”
“You can’t hold me for more than twenty-four hours.”
“As a matter of fact, we can, especially when we’re not satisfied with the answers to our questions.”
“Satisfied!” he repeated. “It’s my fucking wife who’s dead – not yours.”
That sentence struck a raw nerve with Gardener but he had to let it pass.
“I’m being victimised here. I’ll have your badge for this.”
“You’ve been watching too much television, Robbie, old son. Now sit down and drink your coffee.”
“I can detain you for a lot longer than twenty-four hours if I really want to, so don’t bother complaining about rights. Your wife had them as well: we’re also doing our best for her.”
Robbie Carter took his time but eventually sat down, taking a sip of his coffee.
Gardener opened his file, placing sheets of paper on the table. “Let’s start with where we left off last night: your alarm system.”
“What about it?”
“Come on, Robbie,” said Reilly. “Don’t make this any harder. Tell us about your alarm system.”
“It’s nothing special. The CCTV system is linked via the wi-fi. It’s cheap and fairly common and streams straight to a website. Sends me a text if motion is detected.”
“Is it connected to your computer?”
“No, only the wi-fi, and seeing as I have a smartphone that’s all I need.”
“So you don’t have any cameras around the house?”
“No. It’s a simple system for the musical gear. That stuff costs a fortune and so does the insurance for it. If you want proper musician’s insurance, you pay through the nose for it.”
“Be worth it, wouldn’t it?” Reilly asked.
“Probably. I had a mate who insured his drums properly. He reckoned he could leave them in the middle of the garden and they’d be insured. Cost him about four thousand pounds a year and that was ten years ago.”
Gardener would need to check, so he passed over a sheet of paper and asked Robbie to write down the details of the website that the alarm was linked to and where he’d bought it. “What time did you get home?”
“Are you for real? How many times did you ask me that last night?”
“I’m asking again.”
