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Carrick, and what he doesn’t know about the running of the place, the more important past cases from his colleagues in CID, and local villains must be infinitesimal. At one time a bastion on the desk in the public lobby, this now an enlarged and refurbished reception area, these days he is in charge of the custody suite. For the second time that morning I entered my security code on the number pad by the door that opens into the main part of the building, enquired after him and was told that he was in the canteen having his morning break.
    â€˜Can I get you a coffee?’ Woods offered in his soft West Country burr when I asked to join him.
    I smiled my thanks. ‘Lovely, thank you.’ The stuff wasn’t but I really needed to talk to him.
    â€˜The governor’s in London?’ Woods enquired on returning. He had somehow persuaded the canteen staff to use a china cup and saucer instead of the usual polystyrene thing. He has always liked Patrick.
    I nodded. ‘In the office.’
    Woods drew in breath through his teeth. ‘Not happy, then.’
    â€˜No.’ I stirred the sludgy-looking brew. ‘Derek, I was wondering if you knew anything about Benny Cooper and Paul Mallory.’
    The lines on Woods’ craggy face deepened as he ransacked his memory. After several long moments had elapsed, he said, ‘They were involved when a Mrs Pryce was killed at around the same time the Chantbury Pyx was stolen from a display case at the art gallery. The old lady was a real nasty, complaining kind of biddy and had crossed the square to have a go at Mallory, who played very loud music in his flat with his windows open. Terrible modern orchestral stuff, apparently – someone said it was like a plane crashing on a concert hall. It was the last straw, I guess, and she was beside herself with rage. She met the bloke who had stolen the Pyx just inside the entrance – Mallory lived on the first floor – grabbed the hammer that he’d used to attack the security guards and break into the glass cabinet while he was apparently wrapping it up more securely, and dashed off upstairs, presumably to batter on Mallory’s door with it. She met another old lady on the way and must have thought she was going to try and stop her. The second lady, Miss Braithewaite, I seem to remember her name was, thought she was going to be killed and tried to get the hammer away from the woman. She got hold of it, there was a tussle, Mrs Pryce slipped and the hammer hit her on the head. Her skull was paper-thin and that was the end of her.’
    â€˜I hope Miss Braithewaite didn’t end up in prison.’
    â€˜No, it was a complete accident, although apparently the Pryce woman had looked mad enough to have attacked
anyone
.’ Woods grinned. ‘Especially as Miss Braithewaite was the DI’s old English teacher – Carrick hadn’t been promoted then.’
    â€˜I was told it happened around the time the girl with red hair was murdered.’
    â€˜That’s right. The bloke who had nicked the Pyx, who had form and was dressed as a woman, had thought he had been seen by a girl with red hair as he came back with his loot. He had: Joanna Mackenzie, now Mrs Carrick, was working as a private detective and engaged by Mrs Pryce to find out who was nicking some of the plants in pots from the front of her house. But there was another girl with red hair working over at the nursing home in the same square – can’t remember her name. The bastard – if you’ll excuse my language – killed her shortly afterwards. Mistaken identity.’
    I was wondering how the hell Carrick had managed to sort all this out. ‘And Cooper and Mallory?’
    â€˜Cooper’s a right little s— so and so. He persuaded Mallory to rough up Miss Mackenzie as he’d been lambasting Carrick and the CID here for failing to catch Mrs Pryce’s killer – it was assumed to be murder