Rob Johnson - Lifting the Lid by Rob Johnson

and slid the patio door shut behind him.
     
    * * *
     
    As Logan began to back the car up the gravel driveway, Swann could see Doyle in the front room window. He was on the phone and gesticulating wildly at whoever he was talking to.
    ‘I think we might have rattled him,’ she said.
    ‘Stroke of genius, wouldn’t you say? The stuff about Veronica and the photos.’
    She decided not to feed his already bloated ego. ‘D’you think he really did take a bribe then?’
    ‘Expensive house. Fancy car. Wife dripping with designer fashion. Must be on a bloody good pension if he didn’t.’

 
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     
    This was the second time in the space of a few minutes that Patterson had been subjected to the ridicule of a small group of total strangers, and he was less than happy about it. He had never liked being the centre of attention even in social situations – not that he ever encountered many of those – but it was part of his job to be as inconspicuous as possible. Being publicly groped by three almost naked, middle-aged Cupids would hardly conform to anyone’s notion of blending in with the crowd, and now here he was, sat on his arse in a puddle of muddy water, being watched by a bunch of guffawing buffoons. He scrambled to his feet and scowled as he felt the cold wetness of his pale beige trousers clinging to his lower regions.
    ‘You all right, chief?’
    Patterson rounded on his denim-clad colleague, his mouth loaded with a variety of abusive remarks, but his brain seemed unable to select any one in particular. Instead, he pointed at the guy with the ponytail who was staggering away and bouncing off the occasional parked car. ‘Get after him, Colin. I want a word.’
    ‘Who is he?’
    ‘I don’t know yet, but I reckon there’s a good chance that if we lose him, we’re stuffed.’
    Colin Statham set off at a trot, and Patterson dabbed his handkerchief at the damp patch on his trousers, which had begun to spread slowly downwards. If it hadn’t been for those damn Cupid poofters, this would never have happened. Not only that, but he’d have got to the van a couple of minutes earlier and would probably have a better idea of what the hell was going on. All he’d seen was the guy with the ponytail reeling backwards from the side of the camper and then the van lurching off and almost running him over. He was pretty sure the man behind the wheel was the same one he’d collared at the arena exit, but who the woman was, he hadn’t got a clue.
    He raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into the sleeve of his jacket, ‘Come in, Sneezy. Do you read me?’ Not for the first time, he wondered which idiot had had the bright idea of codenaming this job Operation Snow White.
    His earpiece hissed momentarily, and he winced as he heard the words, ‘Sneezy here. Go ahead, Grumpy.’
    Patterson thought he could hear a stifled snigger in the background. ‘There should be a white VW camper van passing your position any second now,’ he said. ‘Registration whiskey six three five papa juliet tango. Keep on its tail but do not intercept. I repeat, do not intercept. – And don’t bloody lose it. I want to know exactly where it goes.’
    ‘Will do, Grumpy. Van just passing us now.’
    He was certain he heard a giggle this time. ‘Who’ve you got with you?’
    There was a brief pause and then: ‘Sorry, sir. Can’t tell you that.’
    ‘What are you talking about, you can’t tell me?’
    ‘It’s just that… ‘ Sneezy was obviously trying to compose himself. ‘He’s Bashful , guv.’
    The suppressed giggling suddenly erupted into an explosion of laughter so loud that Patterson snatched the earpiece from his ear to avoid being deafened.
    ‘Oh ha bloody ha. And now you’ve had your little joke, just remember this, Mr Sneezy. You two clowns lose that van and you’ll be sneezing out of your sodding arseholes. Got it?’
    Through his earpiece, which he was now holding a couple of inches from the side of