Monty and Me: A heart-warmingly wagtastic novel!

‘Must’ve fallen off the back of a lorry,’ Salisbury joked.

Rose plonked down on a box of a dozen bottles of shiraz, rubbing her arm.

‘What’s the matter?’ Salisbury asked. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Is this about Operation Nailgun?’

Rose nodded.

‘It’s no secret Leach laid into you. But look on the bright side. He gave you a second chance.’

Rose leaned forward so her forearms rested on the tops of her thighs, and stared at the concrete floor. Leaves from a nearby elm tree blew into the garage and swirled around her soggy shoes.

‘I’ve been a complete idiot, but I’m going to show everyone I can do this. I know I can.’ If she kept telling herself this, perhaps it really would come true? ‘My problem is Pearl. He’s made it clear he wants me gone from Major Crime.’

Salisbury opened a wine box next to her. ‘Gotta say he doesn’t seem very supportive.’ Earlier, Pearl had taken Salisbury aside and loudly instructed him to, ‘Make sure she doesn’t turn this into a bloody fiasco.’ He’d intended her team mates to hear.

‘And he’s supposed to be mentoring me. How perfect is that? Who’s the boss going to believe? Him or me?’

Salisbury moved on to the next box. ‘You’re just going to have to make sure you don’t put a foot wrong. Don’t give Dave any reason to push you out.’

She shook her head. ‘And to cap it all, the dog I rescued from the vet, you know, Monty, has run away.’

‘That dog’s a survivor. I’m sure he’ll turn up safe and sound.’

She covered her face with her hands. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Stop it, you baby! she said to herself.

Salisbury gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Rose, I think you need a cuppa and some breakfast. Knowing you, you haven’t had anything to eat. How’s about I go get us some?’

Rose couldn’t help but look at him and smile. Salisbury was a firm believer that a cup of tea could help solve almost any crisis. ‘Love a bacon and egg sarnie, and tea would be great. Thanks, Joe, you’re a real mate.’

As Salisbury strode off to the café round the corner, Rose continued the laborious task of opening every one of Larry Nice’s boxes. She shoved yet another wine box aside to get to the back of the lock-up when she heard a clank of metal on metal. Kneeling, she discovered a black backpack that seemed out of place in a sea of cardboard. She unzipped the top of the pack, her hands in disposable gloves. She glimpsed polished silver plates, a silver teapot and candelabra. She immediately called Pearl.

‘That inventory from Salt’s insurer. Any chance it listed some silverware that’s now missing?’

Rose heard him yell across the room to Detective Sergeant Kamlesh Varma, who confirmed that some silverware was indeed missing from Salt’s house and that the fastidious professor had photographed all his precious possessions and sent the images to his insurance company. Varma had these photos.

‘Can you send the photos to me via WhatsApp, sir?’

She received them within seconds and compared them to the contents of the bag. Identical.

‘Well, I think we may have found the missing silver,’ she said to Pearl, spotting Joe returning with breakfast.

‘Don’t touch anything else. I’m on my way,’ said Pearl.

Chapter Thirteen (#ulink_2fe15957-0da5-5020-8ed7-04a613d76717)

Later that morning, Rose watched Leach and Pearl interview Larry Nice through a video feed to a TV in the monitoring room. She felt sixteen again and banished from the in-crowd. She longed to prove she could squeeze a confession from a suspect, but that dream seemed about as unlikely as Pearl helping her to achieve it.

Nice was shaking his head, hands on the table, fingers splayed. His wide-eyed terror reminded her of those greetings cards when animals have disproportionately huge, glassy eyes that never blink.

‘No way!’ Nice said. ‘I don’t know this Salt bloke.’

He hadn’t been hard to find: sitting in his council flat watching soccer repeats with a packet of crisps balanced on his stomach and a joint smoking away in the ashtray. He’d mumbled about a dog-attack. Said his nerves were shot to pieces. For a fleeting idiotic moment Rose wondered if the dog attack was in fact Monty. She dismissed the idea as ridiculous but couldn’t help worrying about him.

‘So how did his silverware find its way into your lock-up? Flew in, did it, on a magic carpet?’ asked Leach, crossing his arms and leaning back into a plastic chair too small for his bulky frame.

‘It’s a set-up, that’s what it is.’ Nice leaned forward. ‘I never been to his house. Honest, Mr Leach.’

‘Yeah, and I’m Prince bloody Charles!’ Leach snorted.

Nice smirked as if he were contemplating the rough-as-they-come detective as the future King.

Leach continued, ‘Show me your arms.’

‘What?’

‘Your arms. Show them to me,’ he said, patting the table top.

Nice looked baffled but did as he was told.

‘Got a few scratch marks there, Larry. Looks like a large dog paw to me. How did that happen?’

‘As I told you, Mr Leach, a dog attacked me this morning. I opened my door and the vicious brute just went for me. No reason. Needs shooting, if you ask me.’

‘Really? Anyone else see this attack?’

‘Dunno. Neighbours could’ve heard me shouting.’

‘Did the dog bite?’

Nice squinted at his arms. ‘Nah, don’t think so.’

‘We’ll get you checked out at the hospital, just to be sure.’

‘Very nice of you, Mr Leach.’

Pearl leaned in, his wrist watch hitting the table. It was a showy piece with a thick metal band that he wore one link too loose so it jangled when he moved. ‘Larry, you’ve got no alibi for Friday night. Home alone just doesn’t cut it.’

Their suspect shrugged but the sweat in the cleft of his upper lip and the damp patches under his arms betrayed his agitation. There was a knock at the door and an officer handed Leach a note.

‘Well now, isn’t this a surprise,’ he said, as he showed it to Pearl.

Pearl tutted. ‘You’re in deep shit, now.’

Nice started to fidget. ‘What ya talking about?’