'No, I wouldn't have anything better to do, and yes, I'm afraid I have eaten.'
'Never mind. What did you have?'
'Frozen curry.'
'Sounds delicious,' she laughed.
'It was OK,' I told her. 'I was just settling down to watch a video.
Sparky lent me JFK. It's about a District Attorney from New Orleans, Jim Garrison, who took out a prosecution against some gangsters over the Kennedy assassination.'
'I've heard of it. It's on my list of 'must sees'.'
'Do you want me to save it for another time?'
'That would be nice,' she said. 'I was going to invite you round for a meal. We could watch it afterwards.'
'Great. When?'
'Tomorrow?'
'Super. That's something for me to look forward to. How did your trip go?'
'Very well, Charles. I'll tell you all about it when I see you.'
We said our goodbyes and I put the phone down a happier man than when I picked it up. I rewound the tape and tried to pick up the threads of The Bill. It wasn't too difficult.
Les Isles nodded approvingly when he saw my fancy computer-generated diagram. 'It's nice to see that my older officers are embracing the new technology,' he said, grinning.
'It was on the flip-chart until late yesterday,' I confessed.
'Don't disillusion me, Charlie. What does it tell us?'
I went through the list of characters, starting with Ged Skinner and making a diversion to tell him about Darryl Buxton and the rape. He listened, nodding and sucking his teeth.
'What's happening with this one?' he asked, tapping Rodney Allen's name with the tip of his pen.
'The malpractice allegation,' I said. 'DS Newley's contacting Scarborough CID this morning. If he's available we'll dash over to interview him.'
'Is that where he lives?'
'Mmm, but he originates from Heckley. Apparently he's a bachelor, not very bright, lived with his mother, hence the grief when she died.'
'It sounds better all the time,' Les declared. Middle-aged men living with their parents always attract suspicion, even if their only crime is to be unlucky in love.
'It does, doesn't it?' I agreed.
'And then there's this lot.' He pointed to the box marked 'Abortions'.
'God knows what we can do about them. Keep working at all these alibis, Charlie, but cross your fingers that Rodney doesn't have one.
It's him, I can feel it in my water.'
We'd all said that about Ged Skinner, but I didn't remind him.
Nigel was in the office, typing a report. I clicked the switch on the kettle and asked him what was happening.
'Waiting for Scarborough to ring me back,' he replied. 'I've faxed the details to them. Sparky and Maggie are paying a return visit to the White Rose Clinic, encouraging the nursing staff to gossip about their medical director.'
'Dr. Barraclough,' I sighed, for no reason other than to give a name to the title. In this job, we deal with individuals, not positions.
'What did Mr. Isles have to say?' Nigel asked.
'He's happy enough. Thinks it's Rodders what did it. Carry on as we are, no extra staff.'
'Great' 'It won't be great if we don't arrest someone soon and it goes to review. Then it'll be: 'What have you been playing at for all this time?'
I brewed myself a mug of tea, paused with the tea bag dripping off the spoon as I looked for somewhere to put it, said: 'Oh, sod it,' and dropped it in the bin.
Nigel was on the phone when I turned round, looking as if the lottery unclaimed prizes crew had finally tracked him down. 'Scarborough CID,' he hissed at me, briefly covering the mouthpiece as he listened. 'One moment,' he told them. He moved the instrument away from his face and said:
'They sent a DC round and he's now in hospital. Rodders laid about him with what he thinks was a double- barrelled shotgun and he's barricaded himself in. Fancy a trip to Scarborough?'
'You bet!' I told him.
'We're on our way over,' he told them. 'It'll take us about two hours.
You'd better give me some directions.'
We needed a breakthrough and this looked like it. You have a murder on your conscience, there's a knock at the door and when you answer it a detective flashes his ID at you and asks your name. You panic. The more I thought about it, the better it looked. I drove while Nigel phoned City HQ to get a message to Mr. Isles. No harm in letting him know that his hunch was paying off.
It's a fast road to Scarborough, on a Tuesday in winter. As soon as the days lengthen and the sun comes out for more than an hour it clogs with caravans and a procession of coaches and asthmatic family cars that have seen more polish than petrol. But not today. Driving can be a pleasure on empty roads, even when the temperature is hovering just above zero and sleet is in the air. Going to catch a murderer adds a sense of purpose to the journey.
A Scarborough panda was waiting for us in a lay by on the outskirts of town. I pulled in behind him and Nigel dashed out to introduce himself. They led us to a little estate of bungalows, ideal for retired couples, on the north side.
'Birr! It's freezing,' Nigel had complained as he got back in. His coat was spotted with raindrops.
It was circus time on the estate. The street was cordoned off but everyone was out to watch the excitement, wearing big anoraks and woollen hats against the weather. I expected the ice-cream man to pull round the corner anytime, jingle blaring, desperate for a sale. The wind was coming straight off the North Sea, and tasted of salt. I pulled my down jacket on and we went looking for whoever was in charge.
''
'DI Charlie Priest, from Heckley,' I told the uniformed inspector, when we found him, 'and this is DS Nigel Newley.' I explained our involvement, and why we wanted to talk to the man barricaded in the house, namely Rodney Allen. He was grateful for the information. Up to then, he'd been struggling to know what it was all about.
'How's the DC who was assaulted?' I asked.
'Not too bad, Charlie,' he replied. 'It's just a scalp wound.'
'But Rodney hit him with a shotgun?'
'That was the first story, but since then the DC has changed his mind.
He thinks it might have been a length of pipe, wrapped in a plastic bag.'
'What, to look like a gun?' Nigel asked.
'Possibly. The DC can't be sure, but now he says it didn't feel like a shotgun.'
We all smiled. 'Is he an expert on how it feels to be bashed on the bonce with various tubular devices?' I wondered.
'I think I know what he means, with the emphasis on the think, but we can't take chances.'
'Of course not,' I said. 'Have you seen Rodney?'
'Oh, yes, he keeps appearing at the window, brandishing what could be a gun, or a piece of pipe in a bag. There's a phone in there, but he won't answer it.'
'So what's happening?'
'Nothing until we get some reinforcements. I've sent for a negotiator, too. Up to now we've just concentrated on housing him. Soon as I've a few more bodies I want the street clearing and some form of communications setting up. In the light of what you've told us I'd say we need the TFU, as well.'
'What do the neighbours say about him?'
'That he's a bit simple. Lived with his mother until she died, now he's alone. He's a voluntary patient at North
