The Stamford Hoard

It was Vicky’s first day in her new job and she had been thrown in at the deep end!

ACOLD shiver ran down Inspector Vicky Allen’s back as she stood in front of the mirror. Was the suit too smart? Too casual?

“They’ll never notice what you’re wearing,” Darren muttered from deep in the duvet.

Vicky smiled. He always knew what she was thinking.

“Probably not. But I want to create the right impression. First day and all.”

“They’re lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, darling.” It was tempting to jump back into bed and avoid the day ahead.

Why hadn’t she stayed in London at the station she knew and with people she enjoyed working with?

“What time will you be home?” Darren murmured, almost asleep again.

“Don’t know. Depends what we have on. I’ll text if I get the chance.”

And that was why she’d moved, wasn’t it?

Because when Darren was put in charge of the new estate build in Upper Stamforth she had continued to work in London, but one or other of them had to commute and it meant they saw very little of each other.

“Right,” she said, more to herself than Darren. “Best get this over with.”

Her new station was an imposing brick building with the word Police etched above the main entrance.

It was very different from the modern glass and steel open-plan office that Vicky had been used to.

“This is DI Vicky Allen, joining us from the Met. We are very lucky to have her.”

Vicky cringed as the chief superintendent made his introduction. She gave a tight smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

The super looked around. “Ah. Hicks. Just the man. DS Hicks has been with us for years. Knows everything about Upper Stamforth. He’ll get you up to speed.”

He nodded at a portly figure lounging against the wall, a mug in his hand.

“Any problems, just knock on my door, OK?”

The super walked off, his heels clipping on the parquet floor.

For a moment, there was silence as everyone stared. “Hi. DS Les Hicks.”

Vicky looked up into the face of an older man, greying at the temples, in a nearly matching jacket and trousers.

“Let me show you round,” he said. “And get you off the stage.”

Vicky gratefully allowed him to steer her across the room and into an area to the side, little bigger than a cupboard.

“Most important – tea and coffee facilities.” Les waved a hand at a kettle that sat on top of an under-counter fridge.

“We used to have a proper canteen,” he said wistfully. “Long gone. People use the coffee shop over the road in the supermarket.

“The plods swing by the bakery and café in the high street. That does good sandwiches.

“So, you were instrumental in catching the Rainham gang?” he asked.

Vicky looked down.

“Yes. A lucky break. We intercepted phone messages so anticipated where their next job would be.”

Les nodded.

“Sounds like more than a lucky break. I hope you’re going to bring honour to this station. We could do with going up in the world.”

Vicky looked up and caught what, for a second, looked like a sneer on Les’s face.

He quickly rearranged his features to a smile but the look wasn’t lost on Vicky.

She knew she came with a successful reputation, one that the super had been happy to impress upon the station.

People would be expecting great things, when she was really only as good as the team she was in.

“What have we got going on at the moment?” she asked, hoping to change the conversation.

“I’ll fill you in.”

He led the way to the open area where desks were close together. There wasn’t much privacy, Vicky thought.

Les waved a hand at the first desk.

“DC Dave Fairworthy . . .” A gingery lad with piercing blue eyes, freckles and patchy stubble gave her a mock salute.

“DC Ed –”

But before Les could finish, a phone rang and Dave picked it up. He listened for a moment.

“CID will be down straight away. Has SOCO been called? OK, on our way.”

He put the phone down. Les raised an eyebrow.

“Robbery,” Dave said. “At the museum.”

“The museum?” Les spluttered. “Don’t tell me. Dippy the diplodocus has gone missing?”

“No,” Dave said. “It’s the hoard. The one found by metal detectors a year or so ago.”

“With me, Les,” Vicky said. “We’ll have a look.”

With some relief, she led the way out of the CID room.

“Tell me about the hoard,” Vicky said as Les drove along the high street.

“It was found, like Dave said, by detectorists, maybe two years ago.

“Every child’s dream – two lads on the edge of a field. It’s not a huge hoard but it certainly set the town alight for a bit.

“We had complaints from local landowners about fields being trashed.

“I thought the stuff had gone to London, to the British Museum. I didn’t know it was still here.” He shrugged.

The museum turned out to be a building of similar era to the police station. A uniformed constable stood on the front step.

He stood straighter as Vicky and Les approached.

“Good morning, constable. What have we got?” Vicky asked.

“Morning, ma’am. Broken display cabinet in one of the exhibition rooms and a smashed pane of glass in the back door. Looks like where they got in.

“There’s a Professor Roberts and two other members of staff inside.

I’ve told them not to touch anything.”

The reception area was well lit and there were shelves of books, postcards and gifts for visitors to buy.

As she glanced around Vicky saw none of the dusty cabinets she had been expecting.

Instead, she glimpsed tableaus with figures in period costume, screens with videos showing and baskets of replica artefacts that could be played with.

“Police,” Les said to the receptionist, showing his identity card. “We had a call about a robbery.”

“Yes, yes,” the receptionist said.

“Professor Roberts is this way. Third door along. You can’t miss it.”

Finding the door, Vicky knocked.

“Police!” she called.

The door was pulled open immediately as if the professor had been standing behind it, waiting.

“DI Allen and DS Hicks,” Vicky said, showing her card.

“Professor Patrick Roberts,” the man said, wiping his hand down his trouser leg and then offering it to her.

He waved them into his office, a small room with one dusty window and shelves stacked high with books, box files and loose papers.

On the floor were more piles of journals and magazines and on the desk Vicky noticed plastic specimen boxes with what looked like old coins in.

“The Stamforth Hoard, as it’s become known . . .” The professor cleared his throat.

“It’s quite small, but important for us. I have some photos here, er . . .” He rustled around on his desk.

“Oh, sit down, won’t you?” He waved at a small sofa.

Vicky and Les sat down and Vicky looked around. Tucked behind the door, a rusty double-headed axe

leaned, and on the windowsill was a yellowing human skull, the eye sockets gazing mournfully back at them.

The professor’s hand trembled as he held out some photos.

Vicky gasped.

“Wow!” She was looking at a gold circlet.

“Yes. Magnificent, isn’t it? It’s a torc, or necklace. That was the centrepiece of the find.”

The professor handed over another photograph.

“This is a piece of twisted gold. We’re not really clear what the purpose was.

“That’s what I’m working on, comparing it with other Iron Age hoards. The final finds were coins, all solid gold.” He handed over more photographs.

Vicky stared at the pictures, trying to identify the marks on the uneven surfaces.

“How much is this lot worth?” she asked.

“It’s priceless,” the professor said. “You couldn’t put a value on it.

“Of course, it’s nothing like the Snettisham Hoard, but it put Stamforth on the map.

“We think the pieces were probably buried in a time of upheaval or war with the hope of uncovering them again when the danger had passed.

“When the lads found it we conducted a search of the area but didn’t find anything else.”

Les nodded.

“I remember. We had an influx of treasure hunters in town.”

“Can we take these?” Vicky indicated the pictures.

The professor looked worried.

“Do you have to?”

“We’ll need to be able to identify the pieces if we find them. And we need to see where they were kept.”

The professor led them to a display room. There was no doubting which case the hoard had been in. Splinters of shattered glass glittered like ice on the floor.

Vicky pulled on gloves but didn’t touch anything.

“Well, that was well and truly forced open. Looks as if it was hit with something heavy. Was anything else taken or disturbed, Professor?”

“Well, I don’t know.” The professor looked confused.

Vicky and Les exchanged glances.

“We’ll have to wait for SOCO. They’ll give the place a thorough check – fingerprints, footprints and DNA,” Vicky said in a gentler voice. “Who had keys, Professor?”

“Not many of us. Me, Margaret, our receptionist, and Martin Anderson who works here.”

“Security?” Les asked. The professor looked surprised.

“I don’t know. I don’t concern myself with that.

That’s Martin’s area. I’m exhibits and research.”

Vicky was beginning to feel sorry for the professor.

“Can you show us the back door that was broken?” she asked.

He led the way. A window in the top half of the door had been smashed.

A pile of broken glass lay on the inside.

They all regarded the window for a moment.

“I’ll go and find Mr Anderson,” Les said.

Vicky nodded.

She stayed with the professor, asking more questions that he was unable to answer.

After ten minutes of his hesitant replies, she went to find Margaret on reception.

“It’s awful,” Margaret said, clapping her hands to her face. “Who would do this?”

“Who discovered it was missing?” Vicky asked.

“Martin, when he was opening this morning. We called you straight away.”

“Tell me about the hoard, from your perspective?” Vicky prompted.

“Well, it’s our most important item. We have lots of visitors who come specially.

“Of course, it’s due to go to the British Museum soon. That’s why the professor has been so busy, finishing up his report and findings.”

“He’s writing about the hoard?”

“Yes, yes. He’s done a couple of papers already. Preliminary findings, but this one will be much more detailed.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“I think he’d like to be on the lecture circuit.” She straightened up again.

“Any thoughts about who might have taken it?” Vicky asked.

Margaret’s eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently.

“No. I’ve no idea. I don’t move in that sort of circle.” She gave an involuntary shudder.

Vicky held up a hand. “I wasn’t suggesting – we have to ask. Is it OK if I have a look around?” Margaret nodded.

“Yes, of course. Oldest exhibits are on the ground floor along with a history of the area.

“Work your way upstairs through Roman, Viking and Tudor periods until you get to the Industrial Revolution and then the present day.”

Vicky smiled. She wouldn’t have time to look at exhibits. She just wanted to see if anything looked out of place.

Half an hour later, her tour concluded, Vicky said goodbye to Margaret and walked back to the station, looking at the shops in the high street as she went.

The businesses were hanging on. There was still a greengrocer and a delicatessen and the usual coffee shops and hairdressers. The remaining outlets appeared to be charity shops.

Vicky was approaching the police station when she found the large bakery and café that Les had mentioned.

There were half a dozen tables inside and a glass counter containing a tempting array of cakes, doughnuts, sausage rolls and pies.

She wasn’t surprised it was a favourite. On impulse, she went in and bought a cinnamon roll to take away and have with a cup of tea.

Back at her desk, Vicky opened her computer and searched for the Stamforth hoard.

She found many reports from the local paper about the discovery, including interviews with the two lads who found it.

There were photos of the items, the museum and the professor. She also found a reference to the hoard’s move to London.

“Boss?”

Vicky blinked and looked up.

“Les. Take a seat. How did it go with –”

“Martin.”

“Yes, Martin.”

“Rather more on the ball than the professor. He knew about the security systems and can send us digital copies of the photographs of the missing items. However, he has no idea who took them.”

“Do you have any ideas? Anyone local who fits the picture?” Vicky asked.

Les shook his head.

“Not that I can think of. It’s out of the league of our local criminals.

“I doubt any of them would know what to do with something of real value.”

“So big boys from out of town?”

Les shrugged.

“I suppose. We’ll have to wait for fingerprint comparisons with Martin, Margaret and anyone else, but I don’t know . . .” His voice trailed away.

“Well.” Vicky rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get those digital photographs circulated.

“These items are very unusual. If we can make them too hot to handle we might get a result.”

“I’ll get Dave on to it. We’ve also got CCTV from the high street. I’ll find someone to go through it and see if anyone was hanging about last night.”

“And we should alert local antiques shops and auction houses.” Vicky tapped her pen on a pad of paper as she spoke. “Vicky?”

“Sir!” Vicky stood up immediately.

The chief super was standing in the doorway.

“I heard there’s been a break in at the museum and the Stamforth Hoard is missing?”

He lifted his chin slightly, inviting confirmation.

“Yes, sir. Les and I have just been down there.”

“Good, good. I can’t begin to tell you how important the hoard is for the town. It’s vital we get a result. I hope you’re up to this?”

Vicky swallowed and nodded.

“The press are after a statement. I take it there’s nothing to tell them at the moment?”

“No, sir. Early days and all that. But we could do with all the publicity going.

“If everyone knows where the items come from there’s less chance the thieves can pass them on.”

“Unless they were taken to order,” Les muttered.

Vicky scowled at him. The super didn’t appear to have heard.

“Of course. I’ll ask that it’s given major coverage but you realise they’ll want information as pay-off.” “I know,” Vicky said.

“But of course, if you find it, well, that would be a feather in our cap.”

Vicky looked up. The super was rubbing his hands together, leaving her in no doubt about what he expected from her.

The rest of the day was spent looking into possible local leads and checking where such items could be sold. Dave was glued to his computer, watching the CCTV.

At the end of the day, Vicky was glad to leave the office. She felt the team had little conviction the items would be found.

As she drove home the local radio station was reporting the robbery. They interviewed the lads who’d found the hoard.

“I can’t believe it,” one of them said. “It should have been looked after properly.”

Vicky pursed her lips as she waited at a red light.

That was what was bothering her, she realised.

The museum had a lax attitude to security given the value of the relics it looked after.

“How was the first day?” Darren asked as Vicky arrived home. She watched as he took a lasagne from the oven.

“Oh, you cooked! Thank you.”

Darren shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d feel like it,” he said. “And all I did was heat it up.” He grinned.

“I don’t mind,” Vicky said, sinking on to a kitchen chair. “It was nice of you to think of food. It’s been an interesting day.”

“I heard about the robbery,” Darren said.

“Everyone was talking about it on the site. Most people know the lads who found the hoard. Any leads?”

“You know I can’t comment,” Vicky said, stabbing a fork into her meal. “But, no, not really.”

“You’ll sort it out,” Darren said, taking a large mouthful. “You’re the best. Hey, this is quite good. We’ll have to cook this again!”

****

Next morning, Vicky dressed quickly and hurried into the station.

She was sitting at her desk reviewing the CCTV footage that Dave had flagged when Les came over, his shoes squeaking on the parquet. He had a slip of paper in his hand.

“Just in. There’s been some vandalism up at the new estate build in Upper Stamforth.”

Vicky frowned.

“On Market Road? Darren’s in charge there.” She picked up her phone and checked for messages.

“You’d better go, Les. It might be a conflict of interest if I went.”

“Sure, Boss. I’ll take someone with me.”

“Yes, but not Dave. I need him.”

She found it hard to concentrate for the rest of the morning and kept checking to see if Les’s car was back. When at last he returned she looked up expectantly.

“Everything OK?” she asked Les, trying to check the note of worry in her voice.

“Mmm. Looks like a case of vandalism. Someone has broken into the show house and sprayed graffiti on the walls. Kids, I’d guess.”

“Any structural damage?”

“No. Most of the houses are still only foundations.” “Tools? Equipment?”

“Not touched. Mr Allen showed me their store. It’s locked up tight. You’d need to know where it is.”

“Anyone in mind?” Vicky asked. “You know the local youth.”

Les shrugged.

“I can think of a few candidates. But nothing concrete.”

“Well, make a few enquiries. The new houses are providing homes for locals.

“If there’s damage the costs will get passed on to the purchasers.”

Les shuffled.

“I thought they were big houses. Outside the price range of locals.”

Vicky looked at him. “There are both. One side of the road is fourbeds. The other is affordable housing. That was the deal for the build.” Les scowled.

“Locals won’t be able to pay for the new places. It’ll be out-of-towners who move in.”

Vicky shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’d think local families would be interested.

“It’s got to be better than the terraces down by the river, hasn’t it?”

“If people can afford to move,” Les muttered, turning and striding back to his desk.

Vicky pressed her lips together. She’d have to be careful what she said.

Les obviously had a chip on his shoulder about the new houses.

She immersed herself in details of the Stamforth hoard case. There were a couple of people on the CCTV that could be interviewed to find out what they were doing in the area.

It was her turn to cook dinner so she stopped at the supermarket on the way home.

She’d kicked off her shoes and was sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine when she heard Darren’s key. She stood up.

“OK?”

Darren grimaced.

“So-so,” he said.

“So, tell. I’ve got stir-fry. Pour yourself a glass and tell me what’s going on.”

Vicky fried the ingredients in the wok as Darren talked.

“The show house was wrecked. We’ve spent all day cleaning the walls but it will need repainting.

“The bathroom sinks had been smashed. Looks as if whoever did it came prepared.”

“How did they get in?” Vicky asked.

“Broke a window in the kitchen. It must have taken some effort because it was double-glazed.

“The living-room was spray-painted No Dinkies – we need homes in green paint.”

“Dinkies?”

“Double income, no kids.” “Oh.” Vicky stirred the vegetables. “Les was saying something like that, too.

“Is there a feeling that the new houses will be too expensive for locals?” Darren shrugged.

“I don’t know. But your sergeant thinks it was kids messing around and nothing to worry about.”

Vicky frowned as Darren went on.

“I don’t know, though. It wasn’t like the random damage kids would do.

“This was a deliberate break-in and the message was clear. I’d say it was someone with a grudge.”

Vicky nodded. She agreed with Darren.

****

Vicky didn’t sleep well. She tossed and turned, and had only just dropped off to sleep when Darren got up and showered.

“You’re early,” she mumbled from the depths of the duvet.

“I want to check the site. Make sure we’ve had no more unwelcome visitors.”

“Text me if there’s a problem.” Vicky half sat up. “In fact, text me anyway.”

She was first in the office and it was quiet. She pulled out the file on the Stamforth hoard and spent some time looking over it. Nothing jumped out at her.

In fact, the most noticeable thing was that there was nothing.

No leads at all, and the preliminary report from SOCO indicated no unexpected fingerprints at the scene.

Soon after half past eight people began arriving.

Vicky was closing the file when Dave rushed over.

“Boss! Missed you last night. I found something on the CCTV.”

Vicky beamed at him. It was dark. A parked car glinted under the glow of a street lamp and the white lines down the centre of the road showed up clearly.

“This is the high street, nearest camera to the museum – although it has to be said, not that close.

“This is about midnight on the night the hoard went missing.”

Two figures in dark clothing with hoods pulled up over their heads walked away from the camera.

On of them carried something long in one hand.

Vicky leaned in closer, squinting at the screen.

“Can you make it any bigger?”

“Sure. But you’ll lose clarity.”

“Try. No. Wait a moment. Everybody, over here, please. We need to identify these two. Any suggestions welcome.”

Dave played the clip repeatedly as everyone juggled for position.

“It’s not clear –” Les began.

“Could be those lads we arrested last month for possession and supply.”

“Might be anyone,” someone else said.

At that moment, Dave managed to increase the resolution so they glimpsed the face of one and the skin tone of his hand.

“Caucasian,” Vicky said. “That narrows down the search a bit.”

Les grunted.

“Right, I want everyone thinking. We need to identify these two,” Vicky went on. “There are no unexplained fingerprints in the museum, but they could have worn gloves.

“But if we have suspects we can check clothing for glass fragments and try to match them to the broken display case.”

“Long shot, isn’t it,

Boss?” Les said.

Vicky gave him a hard stare.

“It’s the best we’ve got, Les. At the very least we need to know why these two were roaming the streets at night and what that is.” She pointed at the thing in the hand of one of the suspects.

“Is that a baseball bat or cricket bat? We need to explore all avenues.”

The rest of the day was spent checking the whereabouts of known offenders and suspects.

Uniform brought in one Jamie Mulligan, who had been arrested for criminal damage in the past.

After interviewing him with Les, Vicky ruled him out.

“He has an alibi,” she told the department. “His girlfriend claims he was with her.”

Les snorted.

“If she’s to be believed.”

****

By the time she got home that evening Vicky was fed up with the criminal youth of Stamforth.

Of about a dozen candidates, three were already locked up or in youth detention, several could not be found, and the others appeared to have reliable alibis.

Darren was already home and stirring spaghetti bolognese sauce.

“Hello.” He leaned forward to kiss her. “How’s my lovely wife?”

Vicky scowled at him. “You’re very perky this evening.”

“Just glad there was no damage this morning.

“We’ve managed to replace the windows in the show house and the crew have cleaned up most of the mess.” He switched the spoon to the other hand.

“How was your day? Has my hot-shot wife solved the local crimewave yet?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “I don’t seem to be as competent here. Still, we’ve got a lead that looks promising.”

Tired from the previous night, Vicky went to bed early and was sound asleep when the phone rang.

Darren handed it to her even though it was his phone. Force of habit,

Vicky presumed.

“Hello. Is Mr Allen there? This is Stamforth police.”

“This is DI Vicky Allen. Why do you want my husband?” Vicky was confused.

“Oh, sorry, ma’am. There’s a problem at the building site. I was trying to locate Mr Allen . . .

“Someone’s broken into the site office and got the keys to a bulldozer.”

“Darren!” Vicky nudged her husband. “Darren. Get up! There’s a problem up at the site,” she hissed before returning to the phone call, thanking the officer and telling him they would be there directly.

When they got to the building site a police car, blue light flashing, was parked on the verge.

A constable shone his torch so they could see.

Darren followed the direction of the light, and at the sight of a bulldozer mounted on the foundations of a house he put his head in his hands.

“Has anyone called Les Hicks? He’s in charge of this investigation,” Vicky said.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s on his way.”

It was another five minutes before Les’s Audi drew up beside Darren’s car.

He borrowed a torch from the constables and walked round with Darren.

Vicky stayed by the cars, suppressing the urge to get involved. When Les came back he was angry.

“Mindless vandalism. Joy riders.”

“Any ideas?” Vicky asked. Les made a face and shook his head.

“No more than we had yesterday. Looks opportunistic. We’ll have to wait for daylight for a good look around.”

Vicky left Darren and Les at the site. The constable dropped her back at home, but it was impossible to sleep. By six o’clock she was on her way to the

police station.

At 10 a.m., she left everyone going through files and checking suspects. She needed to get out.

Everyone knew that the biggest break-through in any case came early on, and they were running out of time. Vicky needed coffee.

Without consciously planning it, she found her feet taking her towards the museum.

“Hello? DI Allen, isn’t it?” “Oh, yes. Hello,

Margaret. Aren’t you working today?”

“I’m not, but I came by to see if the professor was here.”

“Has he gone away?” A note of alarm sounded in Vicky’s voice.

“No. Well, I don’t think so. He just hasn’t been in.” Margaret glanced about.

“Look, rather than standing here talking, would you like to get a coffee? If you have time, that is?”

“What a good idea,” Vicky said.

They walked together. “Here or over there at the bakery?” Margaret asked.

“Best not the bakery,” Vicky said. “Too many colleagues. I wouldn’t want them to see me drinking coffee while they’re working. Wouldn’t do my image any good.”

Margaret smiled.

“In that case, I know just the place.”

She led the way round the corner to a small café with lace curtains across the windows.

“So, where is the professor?” Vicky asked when the waitress left.

“At home, I suppose.” Margaret made a face. “He was pretty distraught about the hoard going to London.

“He was worried he wouldn’t be able to finish his paper. And now it’s disappeared altogether I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“Who was he writing this paper for?”

“I don’t know. A journal? Some academic paper? I know he was hoping for great things from it. A lecture tour. Cruises?

America, perhaps?” “Cruises?” Vicky asked. “Yes. Cruise ships often have a lecturer on board if they are going to places with historical sites.

“The lecturers give talks and have a jolly nice time, as far as I can see.”

“I wonder if they need policewomen,” Vicky said with a smile.

Margaret grinned.

“But I’m worried the professor is becoming depressed. I came by today to see if he was in. Do you have any leads?”

Vicky shook her head. “No. Not much, I’m afraid. It’s such a specialist crime. We think whoever has taken the hoard may have taken it to order. It’s possible it’s vanished.”

“But can’t you find fingerprints or DNA or marks or something?”

Vicky smiled. Margaret watched too much CSI and thought they could wring evidence out of the air.

“No. Sorry. We’re waiting for the full report but I’m not hopeful.”

Margaret wrung her hands together and Vicky was struck by her level of concern. She gave a little smile.

If she wasn’t mistaken Margaret was very fond of the professor. Maybe she was hoping to accompany him on those cruises?

“Listen, if it’s any help I’ll go and see the professor. Check he’s OK and reassure him that we’re doing our best.”

She saw Margaret swallow and compose herself.

“That would be kind. Thank you. He always joked about taking the hoard home to look after it.

“It would’ve been better if he had, wouldn’t it?”

****

Back at the station, officers were still going through the motions but Vicky could tell they were winding down.

“Anything on the building site, Les?” Vicky asked when she saw him stand up and stretch.

“Nothing definite,” Les said. “Most of our known felons are in the clear.

Seems like it was out-oftowners or someone new.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it? Someone from out of town suggesting that housing should be for locals?”

Les winced.

“Well, maybe not out-oftowners, but . . . ”

He appeared to be trying to backtrack. Vicky was puzzled by his attitude.

She’d thought he had a handle on most things that happened in Stamforth.

“A problem for Monday, eh?” she said eventually, putting him out of his misery. “Got any plans for the weekend?”

Les smiled, happy to be on safer ground.

“No. Nothing much. The usual.” He shrugged.

“Well, enjoy,” Vicky said. “Right, Boss. Have a good weekend.”

****

Darren was peering in the fridge when Vicky got home.

“Did you pick up anything for dinner?” he asked. “Argh. Was it my turn?” Darren shrugged.

“I forget. I’m so wrapped up in work.”

“We could go to the pub to eat?” she suggested.

Darren let the fridge door swing shut and stood up. “Grand idea! Now?”

“It’s early –”

“I could do with a drink.” They walked into town and by mutual agreement went into a pub on the high street.

“They have a band on later,” Darren said, nodding at the drum set, guitar stands and microphones set up in one corner.

“We could see what they’re like. It’s a while since we’ve had an evening out together.”

Vicky nodded.

Darren went to the bar to place the order.

Vicky’s thoughts drifted to the events of the week. She would have liked to see the torc and the gold coins from the hoard. She wondered if they would ever find them.

Darren came back carrying their drinks.

“Have you seen the Snettisham hoard?” Vicky asked him.

Darren held a hand up. “Whoa. No business at least until we’ve eaten, eh? Let’s have a bit of a break.”

“OK.” Vicky made a rueful face.

“What are we going to do this weekend?” Darren said. “There are still boxes to unpack and we were going to redecorate the bedroom.”

“Oh, yes. We could go and look at paint. ”

They chatted on about a colour scheme and what furniture they might need until their food came.

A few minutes later Darren looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. Vicky frowned as he put his knife down and held up a hand.

“Listen,” he whispered. Vicky looked around. There was a general hubbub in the pub, people talking, a low-level commentary from a distant television, glasses clinking and occasional guffaws of laughter.

“What?” she mouthed back.

Darren pointed over his shoulder to the booth behind him, partitioned from them with trellised woodwork.

Vicky cocked her head, listening. Gradually she was able to distinguish one slurred voice, the words garbled but the message clear.

“Shouldn’t be allowed – women should be in the home, not on the streets.”

There was a thud as a glass was banged on the table.

“That job was mine . . . been doing it for three months . . . should have gone to someone who knows the area instead of some out-of-towner who knows nothing – jus’ like those new houses, too big and fine for us . . .”

Vicky’s eyes widened. It was Les, and it sounded as if he’d been in the pub since he left the office.

She had no idea who he was with and the other person didn’t seem to be speaking.

“Is that your colleague?” Darren whispered.

Vicky nodded.

Darren grimaced and mimed eating their food and leaving.

The fish and chips tasted dry now and Vicky couldn’t be bothered to finish it.

They drained their glasses and left the pub, avoiding the booth next to them.

“Wow!” Darren said as they got outside. “He’s got an almighty chip on his shoulder. Did you know?” Vicky shook her head. “No. He’s been pretty helpful, really. He showed me round the first day.

“I didn’t know he put in for my job. It must be pretty galling to be passed over.” She gave an involuntary shiver.

“Sounds as if he’d made himself at home. Expected to be appointed and had his slippers on,” Darren said.

The conversation in the pub had unsettled both of them.

About two a.m., Vicky heard Darren get out of bed.

“What is it?” she asked groggily.

“I can’t sleep. I think I’ll drive up to the building site.”

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I forgot – you’re a great detective.” Darren dropped a kiss on her nose and pulled his jeans on.

“Wait. I’ll come with you. I won’t sleep now.”

They drove round together, but everything was quiet.

The disturbed night set the pattern for the weekend, with neither of them able to settle to anything.

In the end, Vicky was almost glad to return to work on Monday, although she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Les.

“Morning, boss.” Les greeted her cheerfully with no trace of resentment and no trace of the hangover that Vicky sincerely hoped he’d had on Saturday morning. “What’s on today?”

“We’re still trying to find those two lads in the CCTV.”

Les scowled.

“Do you really think they had anything to do with it?”

“I don’t know. But they’re our best lead at the moment.”

Les wandered off for a word with the others.

Dave brought a file over to her.

“SOCO report, Boss.” “Thanks.” Vicky smiled up at him.

She opened the first page and began reading.

“Les!”

“Yes, Boss?”

Vicky stopped, remembering Les’s feelings about her.

“No, it’s OK. You carry on with the building site enquiry. I’ll take Dave.”

She reached round behind and grabbed her jacket.

“We’re off to the museum,” she said as Dave hurried after her, looking as if he’d just won the lottery.

Vicky gave Margaret a quick wave as they passed through reception.

“Where are we going?” Dave asked.

“This way.” Vicky led the way to the back door, which now had a sturdy piece of wood where the window had been.

“The glass was broken and there was a pile of fragments on the floor,” Vicky said.

“Smashed so the burglars could get in?” Dave asked.

“That’s what I thought.” Vicky ran a finger down a page.

“Here, it says that traces of glass were found outside the window and the glass inside contained contaminates, namely soil consistent with the ground outside.”

“So –” Dave frowned.

“So it looks as if someone smashed the glass from the inside, then picked up the fragments from the other side and moved them. It looks like an inside job.” Dave’s eyes opened wide. “Who do –”

“I don’t know. But we only have three suspects really. Margaret, Martin or the professor.”

“Martin,” Dave said straight away.

“He knew all the security details, such as they were.” He reddened as Vicky stared at him. “I read it in the file, ma’am.

“Why would the professor take the hoard when he was busy working on it, and what would Margaret do with it?”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Vicky said thoughtfully. “I wonder where Martin is.”

They walked back to reception.

“Where can we find Martin?” Vicky asked. Margaret’s eyes widened. “Oh, he’s on holiday this week. I have the keys.”

“Oh?” Vicky frowned. “We should have been told.”

“Is he a suspect?” Margaret glanced around. Dave stepped forward. “Do you know where he was going?”

Margaret shook her head.

“No. Not for certain. He usually goes to France, I think. They have a cottage.”

“We need to speak to him urgently,” Vicky said. “If he gets in touch, please let us know.”

The remainder of the day was spent in the office, checking what they knew about Martin.

“Do you want me to run a check on him?” Les asked. Vicky shook her head. “No, you concentrate on the damage at the building site. Dave can check for me.”

Searches on Martin, however, revealed nothing.

“Not so much as a speeding fine.” Dave shook his head sadly. “He’s hardly a master criminal.”

Uniform had been to check his house, but there was no-one there and the neighbours thought he was away.

By four o’clock Vicky had had enough. They were chasing round in circles.

“I’m going to see the professor,” she called. “I’ll see what he knows about Martin.”

Elm Grove turned out to be a cul-de-sac of averagelooking houses. Vicky found number 14 rather less cared for than others, with grass growing between the paving slabs in the front and net curtains hanging haphazardly at the windows.

She walked up to the front door and used the small brass knocker. She heard footsteps approaching and the professor opened the door. “Oh, Inspector . . .?” “Allen,” Vicky supplied. “Good evening, Professor. Can I come in? I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if I may?”

“Come in, come in.” The house smelled musty, as if windows hadn’t been opened in a long time, and every conceivable space was piled with papers and journals.

“Hah, an extension of my office,” the professor said, seeing Vicky look around. “I should tidy up, really.” He hastily moved a large tome from the sofa.

“Can I get you a coffee? Despite the appearance of my house I’m very particular about my coffee.” He smiled.

“Oh. Go on then.”

Vicky was about to walk to the window and look out when her phone rang.

“Boss, we’ve just pulled

in two lads with a baseball bat. The two from the CCTV.” There was excitement in Dave’s voice. “Looks like glass embedded in the wood, too.”

“I’ll be there directly.” Vicky turned quickly, briefly noticing more photos of the hoard on the coffee table. The professor appeared in the doorway carrying a tray.

“I only have a moment,” Vicky said with a smile. “Something has just come up. More photos of the missing pieces?”

The professor shook his head and handed her a mug with a photo of the Sutton Hoo mask on it.

“I was trying to work on my paper, but it’s hard to concentrate.”

“Can I take these pictures?” Vicky asked.

The professor waved his hand.

“Was there anything else?” he asked.

“Yes. Martin is away on holiday this week.”

“Is he? I suppose he might be.” A crease appeared across the professor’s forehead.

“Do you know where he might be? He’s not at home. We want to speak to him about the robbery.”

“I don’t rightly know. Sometimes he goes to France. I believe he has a property there.

“But I think he runs a camp not far from here for kids sometimes. Sports, you know. That American game . . .” The professor clicked his fingers. “Baseball! That’s it! Baseball.”

“Thank you, Professor. Thank you very much.” Vicky put her coffee down. “I must go.”

He showed her to the door and Vicky hurried back to the station.

“Les,” she called, entering the office. “Check on youth camps around, especially those running baseball sessions. Martin might be running one or working there.

“Dave, with me. Interview room. Has someone bagged the bat and sent it to forensics?”

Dave nodded.

“Ask them to process it

ASAP, please.”

Any hope Vicky had of a quick result ground to a halt in the interview rooms.

Neither of the boys would say anything.

In the end, she left them overnight and in the morning she phoned forensics.

“Not a match,” she was told. “Wrong sort of glass.”

Vicky ran a hand through her hair.

“Boss?” Les was standing in front of her desk.

“Martin is at a youth camp in Collington. Apparently, he runs a baseball session every year. Do you want me to go and get him?”

Vicky leaned back in her chair and thought. Something wasn’t right.

Martin had opportunity but not motive. The professor had motive, but could he carry out such a daring plan?

“What am I missing?” she asked. “We’ll have to let the boys go.”

“Martin has access to baseball bats, too.”

“But it doesn’t mean he did it, does it, Les? Why would he want to steal the hoard?

“He has a house here. He has a place in France. He’s obviously not hard up.”

Vicky shook her head, hoping to clear her thoughts, and put her hand down on the photos she’d taken from the professor the night before.

The top one showed the torc, and at the edge of the picture was a coffee mug. Just like the one she’d had yesterday.

Vicky gasped.

Les was still in front of her.

“Let the lads go, Les.”

She called Dave and drove them both to the professor’s house.

He opened the door quickly.

“Professor. May we come in?”

He nodded slowly.

They went into the living-room. Vicky looked around. Then she pulled the door to.

Behind it, standing against the wall, was a double-headed axe.

She pulled gloves from her pocket and put them on. Then she looked at the axe closely and showed it to Dave.

“Professor? This was in your office the day after the robbery. Is there anything you want to tell us?” Vicky asked gently.

The professor sat down on the sofa and swallowed.

“Desk. Second drawer,” he said with a catch in his voice.

Vicky put the axe down and searched the desk.

Feeling her heart flutter, she pulled aside the contents.

A glint of gold. The torc! Holding her breath as if she thought it might vanish before her eyes, Vicky picked it up.

It was cold to the touch and surprisingly heavy.

Vicky turned to the professor, her head cocked on one side.

“I had to take it. My research wasn’t finished. The hoard was about to go London.”

The professor’s voice broke and his eyes misted over as Vicky took out her phone.

****

An hour later Vicky had just handed the professor over to the custody sergeant.

“Put him an interview room, please. I’ll be down shortly.”

She turned to go upstairs when there was a fluster at the door as someone half-fell into reception. “Margaret?”

“I saw those two boys you were asking about. Well, I think it was them.

“Your sergeant, the one who came to the museum with you, was talking to them. Have you arrested them? Did they steal the hoard?”

Margaret was breathless and clutched at the doorframe.

“Why don’t you tell me what you saw?” Vicky said, indicating a room off the reception.

****

“It seems Les knew the two lads very well,” Vicky told Darren later that night. “He put them up to the attack on your building site and gave them the bat.

“The second time they took it into their heads to go there themselves.

“I guess it was bad luck they found the keys to the bulldozer.

“Anyway, if the glass embedded in the bat links them to the show house we can charge them.”

“So it’s all related to that outburst in the pub?” Darren asked. “He resents you taking what he sees as his job and he thought if I left you’d go, too?”

“Something like that.” Vicky grimaced. “Perhaps there was some concern about the new houses being priced beyond the reach of locals, but I think he was protecting his job.”

“And the hoard? Quite a feather in your cap!”

“Luck, really.” Vicky pressed her lips together. “The professor resented the fact the hoard was being sent to London.”

“So both cases involved people trying to protect their jobs?”

Vicky pulled a face. “I guess you could say that . . .”

****

Next morning there was a cheer as Vicky walked in.

“Excellent work, excellent.” The super rubbed his hand together.

“The hoard’s return is quite a coup for the station.”

“And Les?” Vicky asked. “On indefinite leave. We’ll wait to see if he’ll be charged. Incitement to criminal activity is not something we encourage. But good work, all!”

He waved a hand and left the office.

Vicky felt all eyes on her as she walked to her desk.

She wondered how everyone had reacted to Les’s activity. He had been here for years. She was the new kid.

She got to her desk and gasped. Piled in the centre was a heap of gold chocolate coins.

She grinned and looked around but everyone was studiously focused on their computers.

The End.