The Fast Food Robbery

Carlton took no notice of the delivery boy’s obvious distress as he shivered from cold and shock in his flimsy uniform. “Go over what happened again,” he ordered.

Robbie nodded. “We’d received a big order for a party, so I loaded up the van and set off. As soon as I arrived, I knocked, delivered the fast food and received the payment of £572.50 in cash. It was a lot of money, so I counted it quickly and wanted to get back to the store as soon as possible.”

“And then?” Carlton pressed, his pen hovering over the notebook.

Robbie nervously looked up at the police detective, who loomed almost a foot above him. “Well, I was opening the van door when a man jumped out from behind the bushes with a gun. He waved it in my face and demanded that I give him the money. I was so scared I just handed it straight over. Then he demanded the van keys, got in and drove off.”

Carlton had finished noting down the boy’s story. “Would you be able to describe him to a police sketch artist?”

Regretfully, he shook his head. “He was wearing a mask. I only knew he was above average height, fairly heavily built, with a couple of days of stubble and dark hair. Sorry I can’t be more accurate.”

“Hey, sir!” A uniform came running over, sweat running down his pink face. He paused in front of Carlton, breathing heavily as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

Carlton sighed. “Spit it out, Brent, for god’s sake.”

“We’ve – we’ve found the van, sir. It was – dumped only a few streets away.”

Carlton’s eyes lit up. “Show me,” he commanded, and whirled round to Robbie. “Can you come with us to identify it?”

The van had been clumsily driven into a ditch and dumped there at a precarious angle, its rear wheels sticking out into the road. Carlton ducked easily under the police tape surrounding it and greeted the officers who were swabbing it for prints.

“That’s the van, alright,” said Robbie, nervously. “I know the number plate.”

Carlton nodded. “What are you guys getting?”

A blond uniform emerged from the boot. “Where’s River?” was his first question.

“On holiday in Seville,” Carlton answered curtly. “Now answer my question, Curtis.”

Good-humouredly, Curtis grinned. “Okay. We’ve only got one set of prints here, and my guess is that they match yours, Robbie.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope. Looks like your man was wearing gloves.”

Carlton shrugged. “It was a bit of a long shot. Let’s have a look inside.”

He opened the door and got in the driver’s seat, and then swore sharply as he tried to squeeze his long legs in.  After sliding back the seat, he examined the glove compartment, panniers and seat wells, all of which were empty.

“I think our bird has flown,” muttered Curtis, as Carlton emerged from the van.

Carlton gave his curious half-smile, the kind he always did when he knew something others did not.

“What?” Curtis demanded, and Carlton’s smile broadened.

“I think if we search hard enough, we’ll find our guy,” he commented.

Who is the thief, and where should they look?

Answer (highlight to read): If there really was an “above average height” villain, why did Carlton struggle to get in the car? It must have been driven by someone shorter – i.e. Robbie. He was making up the story of thief and stole the money himself.