Page 28 - THE ATTACK ON THE FERRISWHEEL- 200 PAGES FREE OFFER

Jameson nods, and the police chief continues his word-flow. “However, it was an

utterly mad idea to disconnect the power. Who would think of something like
that? ” The chief of police says, possibly mostly addressed to him self.

Like Jameson, he is well too aware of all the hard work this case would be.

As he packs his pipe, he lets his gaze wander towards the Ferris wheel and the
surrounding area. He looks at the police barriers with yellow and red ribbons.

The yellow ribbon signals that the police are working the area, while the red set

up completely by the Ferris wheel indicate that the investigators sifting the area
and wheel thoroughly. They are especially focusing on fingerprints, footprints

and lost belongings. Purses, discarded plastic, glass, handkerchiefs, shirts,
blouses, toys, balloons, headbands and lots of other stuff lays in a amalgam

spread out on the ground, just beside the wheel.

"Who the hell thinks of doing this kind of shit, huh, Jameson?"
He lightly kicks the ground where he knocked the tobacco out of his pipe, and

then he picks out a new pipe cleaner out of his jacket, and proceeds to clean the

pipe. With a trained motion he gets the pipe cleaner in the middle and throws it
on the ground. He takes his Ronson-lighter and lights the pipe, with his head

slightly tilted and his eyes squeezed, he inhales the smoke with a big drag.
The police chief makes a grumpy grunt, sets his big body in motion and walks

closer to the wheel.

Matthew Sanders from the Department of Economic Crime is alternately looking
at a sheet of paper and taking notes in a small black book.

"Good morning," Sanders says to the chief of police, while looking up from his

notes.
“We’ve received over thirty inquiries from people who have had their bags and

belongings stolen. The thieves have been very effective. The Ferris Wheel's cash

register, the changeover money and whatever else has gone are gone."
"This is really unbelievable," the police chief mutters, letting a finger dance

around under his nose, a habit he has when there is something he can't make

sense of. Then, with a swift move, he pulls out his papers from the inside of his
jacket-pocket, containing the first handwritten reports he had insisted on

bringing before leaving the office.