“Are you thinking it might be a burglary gone wrong, sir?”
“I have no idea, yet, Mike, but it’s looking that way. I’d like you to try to locate it, through handlers or second-hand shops etc. I’d also like you to talk to your Intel cell and ask the CHIS Handlers to press the snouts for info on someone having the gear – or a load of cash.”
Gardener felt that Mike Atherton was best placed for that last task. A CHIS is a Covert Human Intelligence Source, in other words, a police informant. Every CHIS had an officer they could trust, called a handler. A CHIS Handler was someone who dealt with police informants. An Intel cell is a group of intelligence officers who work specifically on developing intelligence.
Gardener glanced at his watch. Time was moving on and they needed to speak to Robbie Carter. He also wanted another word with Cragg, whom he found out in the lobby. “Maurice, is Robbie Carter known to us?”
“Not as far as I’m aware.”
“What about his wife? Is she known to us for any reason?”
“None that I can think of.”
“Okay. Can you check on that and do one last thing for me? I’d like a list of all the known burglars in the area: names and addresses and any whose prints we have on file.”
Chapter Eight
Jane Rogers glanced at the clock as the door opened. At shortly after two she was already late for her dinner. Now she had another client. Though not in the mood, she placed her pen on the desk in front of her and smiled. Business had been quiet of late: people don’t want to think about moving or buying houses with the festive period approaching.
“Afternoon, can I help you?”
“I hope so. Have you got a brochure on the property in Haygate Lane?”
“Of course,” she replied, leaving her desk and heading for the cupboard at the back of the shop. Maybe it wouldn’t take too long after all.
The man waited patiently while she found the one he wanted. “It’s quite a large place,” she said as she returned, “detached, three bedrooms, double-glazed, gas central heating.”
“It was my wife who saw it first?”
“Do you have a family?”
“Two children.”
“How lovely, sounds like the perfect place. Most of the year the area is very quiet, but it does back onto the showground and the events arena so the summer months can prove quite lively.”
“Exactly what my wife was thinking. She has visions that we’ll be sitting in the conservatory in the summer, sipping wine and listening to the concerts.”
“Sounds perfect. I’m sure your children will be happy with all the space as well.”
“They’d be happy anywhere. You know what kids are like. Nothing on the outside interests them these days.”
“Tell me about it. Most of them have to be surgically removed from a tablet, and if they are outside all they do is stare at a mobile phone all day. They used to say television killed the art of conversation. Not so sure now.”
“I see you have kids then.”
“No, just very observant,” she replied. Her stomach growled. Breakfast was the last thing she had eaten, following a five-mile run and a shower. She held her stomach, as if she could somehow deaden the sound. “I’m so sorry.”
The man smiled. “Don’t be. Sounds like someone needs to eat, so I won’t keep you any longer.”
Well done, stomach, thought Jane, but she held her professionalism to the last. “Nonsense. Do you own your own property at the moment, or are you renting?”
“Renting. We moved up here recently from Suffolk.”
“Oh, what made you move?”
“The job.”
“What do you do?”