the top step, with the others crowding behind them. They lowered their sticks from their shoulders.
In front of the pub, a group of youths had knocked a Cotswold morris dancer to the ground. He was on his knees, and his white
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shirt and trousers were covered in dirt, and his baldrick was torn and flapping loose. He put his hand to the side of his head, where a stream of blood was running into his beard. One of the youths put his boot to the dancer’s backside and pushed him over, making the bells on his legs jingle. The rest of the youths cheered, and gathered round the fallen morris man.
‘What’s going on here?’ said Melvyn. At first, they thought it was an impromptu performance being staged by one of the Cotswold sides. It was strange that there was no music, and they didn’t recognize the dance. In fact, there seemed to be no pattern to it, and the dancers kept falling over a bit too often, even for hanky men. And how come the audience seemed to be joining in, and doing less falling over than the dancers?
‘Fight,’ said Scott, with a note of admiration in his voice. He never knew that hanky dancers were fighters.
They’re getting a pasting, aren’t they?’
And in fact, it was clear through the slight haze of alcohol that two white-outfitted Cotswold morris men were being given a kicking by a group of football supporters. No doubt the row had started with some sarcastic comment. But it didn’t usually descend to this level of violence.
Then one of the group looked up and nudged the youth next to him.
‘Hey, look,’ he said. ‘What the hell’s that?’
The youths turned towards the steps and looked at the Border Rats. They saw figures dressed all in black, with blackened faces and mirrored sunglasses, and heavy sticks in their hands.
‘Hey, mate, you need a wash!’ shouted one youth. ‘Have you been up a chimney?’
‘Well, there’s no need to give me a black look. Ha!’
Scott and Melvyn could hear the other Rats breathing excitedly behind them, and were conscious of their strength as a group. They looked at each other briefly, though they couldn’t see each other’s eyes because of the mirrored sunglasses. They took a firmer grip on their sticks and leaned forward, balancing their weight on their toes. Renewed energy flowed through their limbs. At a silent count of three, they leaped into the alley. Their screams reverberated off the stone walls as their sticks swung through the air. And then they attacked.
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35
Alex Dearden was going to upset Gavin Murfin again. His silence was wasting tape. And not just one tape, but triplicate tapes, all turning slowly in the West Street interview room. With a solicitor sitting alongside him, Dearden was saying nothing.
‘Would you care to tell us why you needed to borrow the Audi car from the Renshaws?’ said Diane Fry. ‘You have a car of your own, don’t you? A Mercedes, I understand.’
‘My client accepts that he asked Mr and Mrs Renshaw for the loan of a vehicle when his own had mechanical problems/ said the solicitor. ‘He also agrees that he has a vehicle of his own, which is a Mercedes. Beyond that, he declines to answer any questions/
‘The car in question is an Audi, which was seen in the Southwoods area, near Southwoods Grange. Would you tell us why you were near Southwoods Grange on the night you borrowed this car?’
Dearden was wearing black jeans again, but a different T-shirt. His goatee beard was neatly trimmed, and almost as dark as the T-shirt.
‘We’ve made enquiries at Eden Valley Software Solutions, Mr Dearden, and it seems you’ve bought yourself a- partnership in the subsidiary company that will develop uses of the software you were telling us about the other day. That must have been the chance of a lifetime, from what you were saying. It could bring you a fortune. At such a young age, too/
Alex Dearden smiled a little. His solicitor began to smile too, but resumed his professional seriousness when he found Gavin Murfin glowering at him.
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‘You must have needed a large amount of money quickly, so as not to miss that opportunity. How much do you earn, Mr Dearden?’
The solicitor leaned over and whispered.
‘My client is prepared to produce his salary details. He’s quite well paid, and has very few commitments.’
‘Really? But stolen antiques are much more lucrative, I imagine. Large quantities shipped to the right buyers. But I can’t see you as a burglar, so what was your role? Are you the man with the right contacts?’
Dearden could have been quite good-looking. He had good bone structure, and he was well groomed. If he made an effort to be pleasant and courteous, it would be no surprise that Sarah Renshaw had a soft spot for him. Besides, he was a link to Emma.
‘DC Murfin here has been talking to some of your contacts/ said Fry.
He frowned for the first time then. His hands, which had been quite still, moved a little on the table.
Murfin looked at his notebook. ‘You’ve been to the USA quite a bit in the last couple of years,’ he said. I’ve never had the chance to go myself. But they tell me they’re very hospitable, the Americans. And very keen on British heritage, stuff like that. Not having much history themselves, like.’
Fry watched Dearden carefully. If anything could break his complacency, Gavin Murfin could. He certainly did it to her every time.
‘Some of the blokes on the list were very interesting to talk to,’ said Murfin. This one here, in California - he said he thought my accent was “awesome”. He says I can take my family over and stay at his beach house in Malibu any time I like. That’s brilliant.’
‘Er, Detective Sergeant …’ said the solicitor.
‘And he was happy to talk about you, Mr Dearden. He knows you very well. What’s this Silicon Valley place? Is it where they make breast implants?’
‘Get on with it,’ said Alex Dearden impatiently.
