needed a lift. A friendly panda took me back to Heckley, and as we drove past the municipal sewage works I looked into the sky and watched the huge flock of seagulls that scavenge a living there. They were looping the loop and practising their barrel rolls.
I needed to unwind. Nigel had a date and Sparky shook his head when I suggested going for a drink.
‘Sorry, Chas,’ he said. ‘Going out with Shirley.’
‘Oh. Anywhere special?’
‘No. Just…out.’ He was uncomfortable, almost blushing. This was a rare event, like a visit from Halley’s comet, or Mrs Thatcher contemplating that she might have made a mistake.
‘Whaddya mean, out?’ I demanded.
‘Out. Just…out. That’s all.’
‘Why all the secrecy?’
‘It’s not secrecy. We’re just going…’
‘Out.’
‘Yes. Out.’
‘Why don’t you tell me to mind my own business?’
‘Because I’m too polite.’
‘Since when?’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘But you’re thinking it.’
‘Yes!’
‘Right I will.’
I went home, showered, and walked down to the pub about half a mile away; the nearest thing I have to a local. I only go there as a last resort.
Nothing had changed since my last visit. The landlord resented my interrupting his conversation with the three cronies who occupied their permanent positions at the little bar, and checked the tenner I handed over by holding it up to the light. I did the same with the fiver he gave me in my change. The regulars were local businessmen of the upstart variety. Their Pringle jumpers had crossed golf clubs on the breast, and they fell silent while I was being served. I ordered a home-made chicken pie and chips and found a table away from the door.
The food was reasonable. No, fair’s fair, it was good. I enjoyed it, and a second pint relaxed me. Long time ago I started hitting the booze hard, but not any more. It’s an occupational hazard, an antidote to the long hours and the stress of the job. I saw where it was leading me and looked for a different strategy. I decided it was all a matter of attitude.
A third was tempting, but I decided to stick to my two-pint limit. As I placed my empty glass on the bar one of the cronies said, ‘You’re the policeman, aren’t you?’ making it sound like an accusation. He had a Zapata moustache that made him look much older than he probably was, and would have been horrified to learn that in some circles it was a badge of homosexuality.
‘That’s how I earn my living,’ I confessed.
He elbowed his way round his colleagues. ‘I’ve just been done for speeding,’ he declared, which was more- or-less what I’d expected. ‘Said I was doing fifty-five on the by-pass, and I wasn’t doing an inch over forty-eight. Bloody diabolical, I call it. When somebody had a go at the wife’s Clio you didn’t do a thing about it.’
‘It’s a forty limit on the by-pass,’ I said. ‘And three people have been killed on it so far this year.’
‘One of them was in a stolen car.’
Presumably that didn’t count. I smiled at him. ‘Just regard it as payment for all the times that you weren’t caught,’ I suggested, turning to leave.
‘It’s all right for you, though, isn’t it?’ one of the others said.
‘What is?’
He nodded at the glasses on the bar. ‘This job.’
‘You mean drinking and driving?’
‘That’s right. It’s all right for you.’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘It’s the same for me as it is for anyone. Possibly even worse. That’s why I walked here tonight.’ This time I made it out of the door before they could reply.
As soon as I arrived home I rang Sparky’s number. ‘Hello, Sophie,’ I said when she answered. ‘It’s Uncle Charlie. Can I have a word with your dad, please?’
‘Hello, Uncle Charlie. They’re not in. Did you see our picture in the Gazette?’
‘Yes, it’s good, isn’t it? Are you sending for a copy?’
‘Mum said she would, and one for you, too.’
‘That’s kind of her. Where have they gone?’
‘Urn, I can’t tell you.’
‘Oh, why not?’
‘Because Dad said that if you rang to ask where they’d gone, he’d kill us both if we told you.’
‘Honestly?’
‘He meant it.’
‘Right. Put Daniel on.’
He was right there. ‘Hi, Uncle Charlie,’ he said. ‘Did you watch the match?’
‘Never mind that. If you don’t tell me where your dad is I’m coming straight round and I’ll dig your kidneys out with a chair leg. Understood?’
‘He made us promise, Uncle Charlie.’
‘Right! And I’ll wear my flared jeans with budgie bells on the bottom and play a Bob Dylan tape while I’m doing it!’
‘Whaaa! Anything but that! I’ll tell you.’
‘Go on…’
‘They’ve gone line dancing.’
‘Line dancing!’
‘I never said a word!’
‘Right, Daniel. Let’s just call it our little secret. See you sometime.’
Line dancing! I’d struck pay dirt. This could run for weeks and weeks.
I had one shoe off when the phone rang. I clip-slopped over to it, smiling like a toyshop, willing Annabelle to be on the other end.
‘Priest,’ I growled, in my pretend officious tone.
It was Heckley control room. ‘Hi, Mr Priest,’ the duty sergeant said. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but a woman’s been asking for you. Said she’s called Lisa Davis. Do you know her?’
‘Hardly. Interviewed her husband sometime last week. Did she say what it was about?’
‘No. Wanted to speak to you and you alone. She sounded ferret and skunk to me. I’ll give you the number…’
I wrote it on the pad. ‘Cheers. I’ll give her a ring.’
‘Please yourself, Charlie, but I said I’d pass it on. One of your many fans, I expect.’
‘Work, Arthur,’ I told him. ‘You know how it is: CID never sleeps.’
I flipped the cradle and dialled the number he’d given me. She must have been sitting right by the phone.
‘Hello,’ a husky little voice greeted me.
‘It’s Charlie Priest, Lisa. You wanted me to ring you.’
After a hesitation she drawled, ‘Hello, Charlie. I didn’t think you would.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘I’m not sure. I just didn’t. Nobody seems to want to talk to me, tonight. I don’t know why.’
‘I’ll talk to you, Lisa. What can I do for you?’
‘Thank you. I could tell you were kind. I bet you’re a Virgo, aren’t you? That man at Heckley police station wasn’t very polite.’
‘Wasn’t he, by jove! I’ll have a word with him, first thing in the morning.’
