who looks at tickets probably saw him.'
'Go on,' I urged.
'It was after the concert started. A few people were hanging around in the foyer; latecomers who'd been hoping for a ticket, that sort of thing. She says she particularly noticed one character because he was carrying a sports bag. A black and red Adidas. She was quite the little detective, this lady. She said he must have been a tennis or squash player.'
'Why?' I queried.
'Because there was a hole cut in the end of his bag, for his racket handle to poke through.'
'Or a shotgun,' I murmured.
'Or a shotgun. She described him as being small five two to five six wearing a baggy suit and a hat. That's about it.'
'So you reckon Eddie Grant's back in the frame?'
'I'd say so.'
'No. It's not him. I can feel it in my wobblies.'
'You've told me often enough never to trust hunches.'
'That's true. But it's late. I want to go to bed and you're going home. That's an order. Otherwise I'll report you for pimping on the lady next door.'
'I think you ought to carry a gun,' Sparky said.
'We don't carry guns, remember?'
'You could always book one out for yourself 'I'd get the sack.'
'Mmm, probably. What about the radio? Do you have one?'
'No.'
'Bloody hell, Charlie! What's the matter with you? Some madman's out to kill you, so you keep it to yourself and don't even carry a radio.
Not to mention visiting the main suspect without telling anyone. Do you want him to succeed?'
I sighed. 'When you put it like that, it does seem a bit stupid.'
'Here.' He reached over and grovelled in the glove compartment, producing a personal transmitter receiver 'Take mine.'
I accepted it and opened the door. 'Cheers,' I said. 'And, er, thanks.'
'Bugger you, Charlie,' he called across to me before I closed the door again. 'I'm looking after that ten-pound bet we have.'
I walked the hundred yards home. As I unlocked the door I heard his engine cough into life.
The hospital has fairly liberal visiting hours, and they didn't mind me calling in at any time. I was making toast for a quick breakfast before going there when the phone rang.
'Is that Mr. Priest?' asked a female voice.
'Yes. Who's that, please?'
'It's Sister Williams, on ward B. Will you be able to visit Annabelle this morning, please?'
'Yes, why? What's happened?' My heart was pounding.
'Nothing to panic about, but she's had a restless night and has asked me to call you. She wants to see you and is worrying herself into a state. I don't know what it's about, but she says it's important.'
'OK. I'm on my way.'
I poured my untouched mug of tea down the sink and grabbed my jacket. I wanted to race there, but I regularly hear of the results of such impatience and went with the traffic flow. I parked in the big car park, stuffed some money in the machine and ran to the hospital.
Annabelle was sitting up. Someone had done her hair and she was wearing one of her own night dresses but her face was lined with worry.
'Oh Charles, I've been so worried about you.'
I bent forward to give her a kiss and she flung her arms around my neck, almost pulling me off balance. I extricated myself and sat on the bed, holding her hand.
'Worried about me?' I said. 'You're the one everybody is worried about.'
She sank back against her pillows. 'I've remembered what happened,' she said, the words tumbling out. 'The man with the gun…'
'Look,' I interrupted. 'We know all about him. He's a long way away now, so don't you concern yourself about him. He won't come here.'
'But I saw him.'
'You saw him? When?'
'When he fired. He wasn't shooting at me, Charles. He was shooting at you. It was you he was trying to kill.'
I stroked her long fingers. The wedding ring was made of silver wires, twisted together in a local design by some Kenyan silversmith. It looked so simple against her suntanned skin, its elegance representing everything about her that I loved. 'Yes, I know,' I said. 'We have a good idea who he is. He'll be arrested soon.'
She shook her head in agitation. 'But you don't understand. I saw him. He was wearing a man's hat, a trilby, but I don't think it was a he. I think it was a woman. A woman in men's clothing.'
I couldn't hide my incredulity. 'Are you sure?' I demanded.
'No, it was just an impression. But that's what I think I saw. Please be careful, Charles.'
A nurse came and put a thermometer in Annabelle's mouth. 'I will,' I said. She couldn't speak, so I told her that I had a bodyguard, that Sparky was following me everywhere I went and armed police were never far away. It wasn't true, but hopefully it eased her mind.
The nurse read the thermometer and entered the result on the chart.
When she'd gone I said: 'I understand you're staying with Rachel to recuperate. It's a good idea.'
She sighed. 'Yes, I said I would. I'm not so sure about it being a good idea, though.'
'I thought he was a doctor?'
'He's an osteopath. He manipulates the bank balances of the wealthy.
Qualified by correspondence course with a college in Medicine Hat, Nebraska, or somewhere.'
'Gosh. That's worse than Nairobi.'
The old smile came back, enslaving all before it. 'Not to mention Batley College of Art,' she chuckled.
A frond of hair had fallen across her left eye. I brushed it aside and said: 'Have you forgiven me for falling asleep on your settee?'
'You really know how to make a woman feel wanted, Charles, but you are forgiven.'
'Oh, you're wanted,' I stated. 'Believe me, you're wanted.'
It was a struggle, but I tore myself away. From home I rang the office, but nobody was in, not even Gilbert. I made some fresh toast and a pot of tea, but restlessness blunted my appetite. I carried breakfast through into the front room and placed it on a low table at the side of my favourite easy chair, in front of the gas fire. There was still nobody in the office, so I dialled Control.
'Where is everybody, Arthur?' I asked.
'Hello, Mr. Priest. Out on the job; we had three ram-raids last night. Plus I understand you have a couple off sick.'
'Sick? It's not allowed. What's wrong with them?'
'Virus going round. It's called one-day flu.'
'So they'll be back tomorrow?'
'No, it takes about a week to get over it.'
'Well, why do they call it one-day flu?'
'Don't ask me, that's just its name.'
'I see. If anybody comes in, ask them to ring me at home.'
'Will do. Do you want me to chase them?'
'Er, no, I don't think so. Bye.'
I finished the toast and tea. I was just reaching over to switch on Radio Four when the phone rang.
'Priest!' I snapped.
'Hello, Charlie. It's Gav Smith. I hear you were after me.'
