“Ha-ha. Indeed, sir. We get enough neo-nazi propaganda with the
council elections.”
“Talking of which,” Waterman's smile was as false as Nana White's
teeth. “I hope I can count on you vote in the upcoming
by-election?”
“Upcoming? It's not until October. That's six months away.”
“Nevertheless.”
“I' can promise you I'll think about it.”
“Excellent.” Waterman gave him a two-hand handshake. He felt like he'd been immersed in a claustrophobic sauna and tried to surreptitiously wipe his hand on his trousers after it was released. “If all I do is make people think it will be a campaign worth fighting.”
“I'm very glad you think so.” White coughed and withdrew his
notebook. “We've conducted a tour of the ground floor and found no
obvious point of entry. There is, however, a broken catch on the
French window in the room with a painting of mice at bedtime and we
did not at this time investigate the cellars, since your daughter
believes there to be motion detector alarms down there. Is this
correct?”
“Perfectly, Inspector. Thank you for your time.”
“Just doing our duty, sir. Your little girl is a credit to you. She
hald my hand most of the way around the hall.”
Harold smiled. “She's a treasure, isn't she? She just wanted to
make sure you weren't frightened out of your skin.”
“Bless.” White gave Peters an upward nod and they left. Once they
were safely back in the car he let out a heavy sigh. “There's
something fishy going on there, Sergeant, and I don't mean the cat
food.”
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