The Killings at Badger's Drift (Chief Inspector Barnaby #1)

by Caroline Graham

The bungalow was called Tranquillada. Barnaby thought this suggested a slightly relaxed version of the Spanish Inquisition.

‘Well, hullo again.’ He seemed delighted to see Barnaby. ‘And you’ve brought a friend.’ He gave Troy a radiant smile which bounced off the sergeant’s stony countenance like a ping-pong ball off a concrete slab. ‘Come in, come in. Mother,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘it’s the constabulary.’ He pronounced it ‘constabewlery’.

‘A bit careless,’ he said as they re-entered the hall, ‘leaving the door unlocked.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Barnaby opened it a fraction and checked the view, then stepped out. ‘The only room where there might be anything worth pinching was secured.’ ‘Great works of art, d’you mean?’ jeered Troy as they walked back towards the hedge. ‘I was thinking of canvases—they cost a hell of a lot. So do paints. Or of course he might be doing a Keating.’ ‘Come again, sir?’ ‘Tom Keating. A very successful forger.’ ‘Well, whatever he’s doing he’s not successful. I’ve seen families on the Social living better. Didn’t even have a telly.’ ‘And you can’t sink much lower than that.’ Troy looked at his chief suspiciously as they walked on, but Barnaby’s expression remained bland.