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“Probably from that paper you’re reading.”
Jones opened his eyes wider, started turning pages. When he found the relevant article he quickly scanned it and lowered the paper back to the counter.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”
“So was I,” said Robbie, “but she wasn’t all I lost.”
“I hope they catch the bastard who did it.”
“So do I,” said Robbie, before adding. “At least before I do.”
“Know what you mean.” Jones folded the newspaper up. “What brings you in here, Mr Carter?”
Robbie wondered why he’d asked that question. Either the article he was reading hadn’t concentrated on the stolen guitar, or he genuinely didn’t know about it. Or he did and he was being coy. Robbie would find out which.
“I’m looking for a guitar.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” he said. “Go and have a look in the back. If you want to try anything just give me a shout. I’ll not bother you; I’ll just carry on reading my paper. Maybe you need a bit of time to yourself.”
“I’m okay but you’ve misunderstood me. I’m not looking to buy a guitar, I’m looking for the one that was stolen from me.”
“Stolen? When?”
“The night my wife was murdered.”
Terry Jones picked up the paper again but put it down quickly, as if he had no idea what to say, or do.
Robbie could tell by the expression in his eyes that he desperately wanted to read the entire article.
He moved in for the kill, walking as close to the counter as he could, so that the pair of them were less than three feet apart.
“Yes, Mr Jones, stolen. You see the bastard that broke into my house to steal my personal possessions not only took the money I’d earned from the gig that night, he made the mistake of taking my most personal possession...”
Robbie left the sentence unfinished, seeing which way the music man would go.
“The guitar?” Terry asked, screwing his face up.
“Nearly,” replied Robbie. “But I meant the wife... this time.”
Terry Jones could do nothing other than nod his head. Robbie knew he had the upper hand from the body language. It was something he had learned over the years: how to read body language and how to take charge of the situation.
“Now,” continued Robbie, leaning closer still, placing both hands on the flat of the counter. “I can’t get my wife back, so I’m going to have to make do with something she bought me.”
More silence from Robbie forced Jones into talking.
“The guitar?” he said, for the second time.
“You’re learning.”
Jones blinked. Always a good sign.
“What was it?”
Robbie glanced around the shop, studying all that was on offer. He left the counter and strolled slowly into the back before returning and placing both hands flat on the counter again.
“A Strat.”
“A Fender Strat? What colour?”
