Riding had promised the taxi driver an extra fifty quid if he'd take him home and let him pay on arrival.

It turned out that this was not an easy feat when ringing from a police station!

Although his solicitor had miraculously secured bail for him with strict conditions, Riding's property had been seized as Crime Exhibits, including his mobile phone.

The joys of Internet banking. No cash, no card, everything via app. Modern conveniences – Until you get your bloody phone sealed up in an evidence locker!

He knew there was a few hundred pounds at home, so paying the driver wasn't a problem. Getting a driver who trusted him was another matter. Two bloody hours it had taken him.

Wandering around taxi ranks, begging for a favour, finally tempting the guy with a £50 tip! What he'd give to tap his phone and have an Uber there within a few minutes!

Dawn was threatening by the time the cab swung into his road. Swinging around the block drive, stopping outside the house. All was in darkness.

The Audi was conspicuous by its absence, still undergoing forensic examination? God knew when he'd get it back – and what state they'd leave it in.

A black Range Rover stood in its place, Riding hoping that the bloody police weren't still inside turning his home upside down, but surely there'd be at least one light on if they were?

The cabbie got out, pointedly folding his arms, making a show of how impatient he was for his fare.

'Sorry, mate, two ticks, you can come in if you'd like. I'm not going to do a runner or anything. Really appreciate you doing this!'

As Riding strode to the door something nagged at his mind, something wrong with his feet? He glanced down at them, the driveway, herringbone flagstones, dimly terracotta in the predawn.

Riding had heard of law enforcement replanting gardens they'd dug up in searches, but never of them replacing a gravel drive. He'd have a good look in the morning, give his brief a call, sort things out.

He was conscious of the cabby following him up the three steps to the porch. He was close enough for the smell of the cheese and onion crisps he'd had an hour ago to assault Riding's nostrils!

The security lights activated as Riding put his key in the lock. Tried to put the key in the lock. Registering the door was blue, not his gorgeous antique oak. What the hell?

For one second he had the thought that maybe the cabby had driven him up the wrong driveway, the 'Rover, the gravel, the key, hell, even the bloody door!

Flashes of recent events, panic rising. His research gone, the book gone, no trace of him on the Internet. Ridings' heart sank.

His house was different because it wasn't his house. He'd never written a bestseller, hadn't earned fame and fortune, never had the cash to buy this place!

He smiled at the cabby apologetically.

'Another fifty if you can drop me off in Wallasey, at my parents'?'

FWR

06.05.24 Front Page

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