The Spoilers. Desmond Bagley

      DESMOND BAGLEY

       The Spoilers

       COPYRIGHT

      Harper an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by Collins 1969

      Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1969

      Cover layout design Richard Augustus © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

      Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      Source ISBN: 9780008211196

      Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008211202 Version: 2017-03-13

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

Copyright

The Spoilers

Dedication

One

Two

Three

       Four

       Five

       Six

       Seven

       Eight

       Nine

       Ten

       About the Author

       By the Same Author

       About the Publisher

THE SPOILERS

       DEDICATION

       This one is for Pat and Philip Bawcombeand, of course, Thickabe

       ONE

      She lay on the bed in an abandoned attitude, oblivious of the big men crowding the room and making it appear even smaller than it was. She had been abandoned by life, and the big men were there to find out why, not out of natural curiosity but because it was their work. They were policemen.

      Detective-Inspector Stephens ignored the body. He had given it a cursory glance and then turned his attention to the room, noting the cheap, rickety furniture and the threadbare carpet which was too small to hide dusty boards. There was no wardrobe and the girl’s few garments were scattered, some thrown casually over a chair-back and others on the floor by the side of the bed. The girl herself was naked, an empty shell. Death is not erotic.

      Stephens picked up a sweater from the chair and was surprised at its opulent softness. He looked at the maker’s tab and frowned before handing it to Sergeant Ipsley. ‘She could afford good stuff. Any identification yet?’

      ‘Betts is talking to the landlady.’

      Stephens knew the worth of that. The inhabitants of his manor did not talk freely to policemen. ‘He won’t get much. Just a name and that’ll be false, most likely. Seen the syringe?’

      ‘Couldn’t miss it, sir. Do you think it’s drugs?’

      ‘Could be.’ Stephens turned to an unpainted whitewood chest of drawers and pulled on a knob. The drawer opened an inch and then stuck. He smote it with the heel of his hand. ‘Any sign of the police surgeon yet?’

      ‘I’ll go and find out, sir.’

      ‘Don’t worry; he’ll come in his own sweet time.’ Stephens turned his head to the bed. ‘Besides, she’s not in too much of a hurry.’ He tugged at the drawer which stuck again. ‘Damn this confounded thing!’

      A uniformed constable pushed open the door and closed it behind him. ‘Her name’s Hellier, sir – June Hellier. She’s been here a week – came last Wednesday.’

      Stephens straightened. ‘That’s not much help, Betts. Have you seen her before on your beat?’

      Betts looked towards the bed and shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Was she previously known to the landlady?’

      ‘No, sir; she just came in off the street and said she wanted a room. She paid in advance.’

      ‘She wouldn’t have got in otherwise,’ said Ipsley. ‘I know this old besom here – nothing for nothing and not much for sixpence.’

      ‘Did she make any friends – acquaintances?’ asked Stephens. ‘Speak to anyone?’

      ‘Not that I can find out, sir. From all accounts she stuck in her room most of the time.’

      A short man with an incipient pot belly pushed into the room. He walked over to the bed and put down his bag. ‘Sorry I’m late, Joe; this damned traffic gets worse every day.’

      ‘That’s