Chapter Forty-Three

639 70 2
                                    


With Grey a pace behind him, Stone made his way up the path to the front door. Someone must have seen them through the living room window, he realised, because the door was opened just before his finger could press the bell. He recovered from his surprise quickly and flashed a smile.

"Mrs Eileen Rodgers?" he queried of the woman who stood in the doorway, guessing from her age that she was Jeffrey Rodgers' wife, rather than his daughter.

"That's right." She nodded. "How can I help you?"

"Is your husband home?"

A concerned look crossed Eileen's face. "What do you want with my husband? Who are you?"

"I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself," Stone apologised. He took out his warrant card. "Detective Inspector Stone, and this is Detective Constable Grey. Is your husband home?" he asked once Eileen Rodgers had satisfied herself that his warrant card was genuine. It always amused him when people scrutinised his warrant card; he was pretty sure that those that did wouldn't have a clue how to tell whether it was real or fake.

Eileen nodded. "Yes." She shut the door behind the two detectives once they were inside, and then guided them through to the living room, which was just a few paces away. "Jeff, this is Inspector Stone and Detective Grey, they'd like to speak to you," she said once they were all in the room.

"What have you been up to, daddy?" a light voice asked from the corner of the room.

The question made Stone look around, at which point he saw Cara Rodgers, the daughter, sitting on the sofa by the window. Though her question had been accusatory, her expression was one of amusement, and she was struggling not to laugh as her father shrugged.

"I don't remember doing anything," Jeffrey Rodgers said. "Are you sure they're not here for you, and simply need me to be your responsible adult? You were pretty late getting home last night; anything you'd like to admit to?"

Cara smiled mischievously. "If I'd gotten up to anything last night, you'd already know about it, someone would have put something up on Facebook or Instagram, and you'd have seen it."

"I'd rather not see pictures or videos of whatever you get up to; no father wants to see their daughter drunk, half-naked, and making an idiot of themselves." Rodgers turned to Stone then. "Sorry, inspector, how can I help you?"

"Did you attempt to transfer the title on a blue Vauxhall Astra, registration number T248 GUU, into your name recently?" Stone asked, glad that the father and daughter had finished their bantering.

Rodgers nodded. "The DVLA sent the form back, said it wasn't filled out properly. Took their bloody time about deciding that as well, I only got it back middle of last week. I sent it back off at the weekend; waste of time that was," he grumbled. "Why're you interested in the car?"

Stone ignored the question and instead asked one of his own, "Where's the car now?"

"It was stolen on Saturday night," Rodgers said after a moment.

"Did you report the theft?" Grey asked.

Stone wondered about that, no report of the theft had come up when the vehicle's details had been put into the police database.

"I tried to," Rodgers said, all humour gone from both his face and his voice. "I was told I couldn't, though, because the DVLA hadn't transferred the title; I can't even claim on the insurance because the insurance company wouldn't cover it until the title was in my name." Frustration lined his face and anger tinged his voice. "I bought the damned car for Cara, for when she goes to college; I can't afford another, and there's no insurance, so unless you guys can find the damned car and get it back to us..." His voice trailed off.

"It's okay, dad," Cara tried to reassure him. "I can manage without a car."

"Can you tell us the circumstances of the car's theft, Mr Rodgers?" Stone asked.

Rodgers shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. Eileen and I went out for the evening, and when we got back the car was gone. It was parked in the drive when we left – I couldn't leave it on the street while the DVLA crap wasn't sorted."

Where There's A WillWhere stories live. Discover now