THIRTY-EIGHT
LEWISHAM, LONDON, THE NEXT DAY
Meade was pleased to find that the Chief Inspector wasn’t too discomforted by the disintegration of his pet theory. Quite the opposite, he was galvanised into action. He congratulated his sergeant on his fine nose for a suspect and then he phoned through to the Thames Valley police.
“Mmm. How are you fixed for manpower, Graham?”
“Same as everyone else, Ron, understaffed. Why?”
“I wondered if you could spare a couple of lads to keep tracks on a certain Simon Lightbourne.”
He explained who Lightbourne was and his connection to the American of the same name, filling in his Oxford counterpart with details from the FBI.
“This Simon Lightbourne isn’t a professional crook, but with a bit of luck he might just lead us to the Fells woman.”
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