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Page 26
“Well, it is a Robert Mumford.”
“I’d like to speak to Robert David Mumford.”
Bollocks.
“Who are you?”
“DC Skinner -
“Yes.”
“Are you alone in the house?”
“Of course I am….at the moment, but I might not be soon.”
I needed to concentrate more. This was not funny. Was it him, or was it the police? Or, was it him pretending to be the police? It wasn’t the police pretending to be him.
“We need to speak to you about last night.”
If it was the police, then I was impressed. It had taken them less than seven hours to get in touch. When my old bike had been stolen, it had taken them longer than that to answer the phone.
“What about last night?” I said.
There was a silence. Was he thinking of an answer?
“We had a report of a visitor to your garden and that you may have got a picture of him.”
Only he could have known this. If Helena had seen anything, she would have told me at the bus stop. Wouldn’t she?
“We need to talk to you this morning,” he said, “but we don’t wish to make a scene on your doorstep.”
A scene on my doorstep? What’s that?