Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 (10 page)

There didn’t seem much point in Jimmy letting Hobbs build a case blind against Clegg, however skilful the sting. Even for someone like Jimmy it was risky. Clegg would get a barbwire brief, and juries didn’t pucker up so easy these days.

But why was Jimmy coming down so hard on me? From the moment Officer “Dibble” had shown an interest in all things Eddie, he’d been all over me like an undersized gimp suit. What did Jimmy have to hide? Besides controlling ninety per cent of crime enterprise within the Weighton County line, of course. It seemed like the case could hurt him, but I couldn’t see how. If he hadn’t killed Porson, he was in the clear. If Clegg had done it, well, that couldn’t touch him either. Maybe the guy was just paranoid. A murder he hadn’t sanctioned taking place in the Kingpin’s Kingdom. His ego affronted by the very notion. Plain as?

One thing was for sure. “Good-Guy Eddie” was on the case, and one day, smart-boy Jimmy might regret he hadn’t totalled me in the forest. For fight fans everywhere, ain’t that the good news.

~

Overall it had been a cluster-shit of a day. And it was far from over. I could have done with roping down the remainder. It would have gone something like: go to Blue
Café
, order all-day breakfast special with extra toast and brown sauce, no questions asked. Meet Kate at six, hear that voice, see that smile, no questions asked. Go home to Mum, receive soothing balm inside and out, no questions asked. See Debbie, be overwhelmed with affection, no dopey questions asked.

What I hadn’t bargained for was the day getting worse. But it did.

The sales rep dropped me in the middle of town, a short walk from the café. So close, I could almost smell the bacon. It was a powerful incentive as I set off, but as soon as I began to walk my body stiffened up. It hurt even to limp. Then the “whah whah” started.

After suffering two telling blows to my head within the hour, I thought at first I was hearing an internal ringing noise. But as Weighton shoppers stared with curiosity behind me, I began to ken it was not an altogether ethereal sound.

I listened to the wailing sirens for a few hundred yards. They got louder by the second, stopping just before they deafened me. The orangy, greeny, yellowy “Maria” parked right behind me. I turned slowly to watch Hobbs getting out. Eyeing the gathering onlookers, I waited to see who would lead the “Weighton One” campaign. Hmm, no takers.

I folded my arms, hands gripping my sides. Hobbs greeted me with a grim smile. I raised my voice as loud as a crushed chest would allow.

‘Do you have to humiliate me like this?’

He made no reply, only held the car door open. Even a mumbled “evenin’ all” would have helped.

~

Hobbs came charging into the interview room, his sonic boom rocking my chair backwards. His face pulsed with anger.

‘Why’d you see Clegg?’

Jeez, if only I had a pound for every time that had been mentioned. I’d have more than one anyway.

‘The way I see it, I’m down as the prime murder suspect.’ I stuck out my elbows. ‘And as I ain’t all that loaded with confidence in our gallant police force, I decided to carry out some investigations of my own. My QC might need a second opinion.’

‘You’ve caused me a shitload of aggro you little … shit.’ His finger jabbed at my head. ‘You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?’

I figured that was as close as the guy might get to ranting.

‘No,’ I said. It hurt to talk, so I opted for a minimalist approach.

‘Thanks to you, the Mayor’s bringing the rain down on us. Now I’m coming down on you. Understand?’

‘Yes.’

His voice rose again. ‘From now on you stay out of it.’

‘Gotcha.’

It would have been nice if just once I heard someone say, “Go on, Eddie, get stuck in there”.

‘You better had,’ he gnashed, pressing his knuckles hard into the table.

After a long, purposeful stare, he pushed his weight off the desk and trekked around the room, hands in pockets. As he paced a circle of eight, the tension seemed to lapse. Suddenly his voice changed, becoming mellow.

‘I knew your father,’ he said. Hobbs didn’t look at me at first, then he leaned heavily on the table and tried to impart a visual ceasefire. ‘He was “old school”. One of the good guys.’

I stared at the off-grey walls of the interview room, grateful at least that Bugg wasn’t present. Besides the drone from Hobbs, all I could hear was the thud of dodgy plumbing.

‘Yes, he was.’

Hobbs gave a slow nod.

‘How come you didn’t mention you knew him before?’ I asked.

‘I was trying to figure you out. Didn’t want you thinking you’d get any favours.’

‘He wouldn’t have done me any.’

‘No, you’re right. Like I said, he was a good policeman. Played everything by the book.’ Hobbs sat down and pulled his chair closer. ‘He was a straight shooter, and so am I.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Despite all the front, Eddie, you’re a lot like him. How about being straight with me?’

‘Is this a
Cracker
rerun?’

‘Skip the talky-talk and answer the question.’

‘I’ll do you a deal,’ I said, smiling. ‘Keep that lunatic Bugg off my back, and I’ll be straight with you.’

‘I’ll keep him in line. Best I can offer.’ Hobbs pointed at my face with his index finger. ‘What happened by the way? I take it you fell over?’

‘Yeah, onto some big twat’s elbow.’

‘Who?’

‘He didn’t give me his card.’

‘What’d he look like?’

‘I told you, a big twat.’

There was a large sigh from Hobbs. ‘You’re not being very straight.’

‘Best I can offer.’

He looked up at the ceiling and spoke, his voice trailing. ‘You really don’t get it.’

‘Enlighten me.’

Hobbs got up and went on his travels around the room again. He was no doubt in deep deductive thought, but the perpetual motion was making me nauseous. He sat back down and arranged a pile of papers in front of him.

I ached all over. I wanted to sleep in cotton wool for two days. If co-operation would bring the prospect any closer, then co-operation was looking favourable. I glanced at the clock; I might still make the Punchbowl by six.

‘Let me bring you up to date,’ said Hobbs, looking up from the papers. ‘Tony Porson has identified his mother’s body. That’s item one. Item two, the initial forensic report is in. Cause of death: strangulation. Particles from the ligature found on the victim’s neck are unidentified. A cotton mix, some type of cord. Difficult to trace. Her larynx was crushed. Restriction of oxygen caused brain damage to an unusual degree. There was little sign of any struggle on the body, which suggests she knew the killer. Time of death put at approximately three hours before discovery. That’s two and three quarter hours
before
the alleged phone call to you. Your guess was remarkably accurate, don’t you think?’

‘I’d say so. Sign of a kick-ass detective.’

In my head I wind-whirled through the facts. The key to the case had to be the phone call. Porson was already dead when the call had been made. How was it done, and why? The killer wanted me to find the body, yet it wasn’t much of a set-up if that was the purpose. Nothing else tied me in. Nothing made sense.

‘I think you’re holding out on me,’ said Hobbs. ‘There’s something you’re not telling. Just look at you. You’re a mess. It’s got to be connected.’

‘If I really thought I could help, I would. Believe me. But I can’t.’

‘You mean won’t.’

‘Izzzz the wrong answer.’

Hobbs put his hands to his chin and stared at me like he was trying to read my mind. ‘Shall I tell you what I think?’

‘Take to the field.’

‘I don’t think you had anything to do with the murder. But you know more than you’re telling. Someone out there’s applying an awful lot of pressure to keep it that way. We’re under maximum pressure to get a result, and presently you’re all we’ve got. If we have to, we’ll make it stick. All we have to do is assert a motive. Believe me, it won’t be a stretch. Your only chance is to level with me. I’ll help you. We’ll protect you.’

I let out a low wheeze. ‘You couldn’t protect the Terminator.’

‘Eddie, face facts. You’re way, way out of bounds on this. Let us handle it. On your dad’s life, I promise I’ll look after you. Trust me.’ His eyes worked at mine.

I stood and scuffled over to the door. ‘This is the bit where you let me go.’

He spoke, but didn’t turn around. ‘You’re out of your depth.’

‘Let me out, and we’ll soon see who’s swimming and who’s sinking.’

CHAPTER TEN

Friday – 18:35

I walked into the Punchbowl just after six thirty. It was busy, full of important-looking, professional types. Even without a messed-up face my entrance wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. My eyes surfed the happy-hour crowd as they pulsed around the bar, my shifting gaze set on “Kate-watch” in earnest. But I couldn’t see her. How long would she wait this time? I was about to terminate the recce when I felt a tug on my arm. A beautiful tug. Out of the corner of my eye I could see it was Kate. She pointed towards an oak-panelled booth just behind the main bar and gently pulled me in the same direction. Surrounded by noise and clamour, the small alcove seemed an oasis of tranquillity. On the booth’s glass-topped table I could see a wine bottle and two glasses nicely arranged. I nodded in approval and sang to myself:
I hope it’s red, it’s red, I hope it’s red, it’s red.

We sat in the booth and she studied me through the glow of the tea-light, her eyes assessing my swollen features. Without showing any sympathy, she tilted her glass at my purple-hued lumps and bumps.

‘How does this unpleasant tale begin?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s like one of those bad dreams. You never remember how it starts. But the ending, well, that’s a different matter.’

‘Are you going to share?’

‘Can you keep a secret?’

I took a sip of my wine. A Chilean merlot, if I wasn’t mistaken. That’s the first thing they taught me on the wine course: read the label.

‘Solicitors are like doctors,’ she said quietly. ‘We have an oath of confidentiality to our clients.’ She held up a hand before I could say anything. ‘Even prospective clients.’

‘No offence, but for ninety pounds an hour I’d expect the Attorney General.’

She smiled and swirled the wine in her glass. ‘Consider it
pro bono
.’

‘I thought you’d be more pro Edge.’

‘Your one-liners aren’t getting any better, Ed. And you used to be so rock’n’roll.’ She gave up on the sarcastic smile and inclined her glass at my bruises again. ‘Anyway, I’m more interested in
your
story.’

I looked over at the bar and surveyed the revellers. Apart from me, everyone seemed to belong. At least that meant no spooks were watching us.

I turned my gaze back to Kate. ‘Assertive. I like that in a counsel.’

‘Glad that’s settled. Now, confide in your legal team.’ She looked at me and drew a face circle in the air. ‘I take it this has to do with your case?’