There were quicker and easier ways to lay his hands on a lotof cash quickly and most of these did involve gambling. A lottery win would bethe easiest to engineer, but there were other possibilities. Kent mulled themover in his mind.
In addition to money, the other topic that had been dominatinghis thoughts was injustice. Kent had suffered a lot of bad luck over the years,and much of this had been at the hands of other people. For a start, there werethe countless humiliations by friends, ex-girlfriends and work colleagues. Heknew that revenge was not an admirable trait, but he would dearly love to go backand wipe some of the smiles from some of their faces.
Then there were the other regrets and missed opportunities,like the girls he let slip through his fingers when he was young because of hiscrushing shyness. Then there were the many crimes that he had failed to solvebecause of his own incompetence. Deep down he knew he wasn’t a very gooddetective, but, like a gambler seeking that one life-changing win, he had livedin the hope that one day he might crack a big case.
It had never happened. There were hardly any decent casesfor a start. Oxfordshire was certainly not the hotbed of crime that a certain long-runningITV series had led him to believe in his youth.
In the months leading up to his departure, his lack ofsuccess had been brought up by his superiors. In his defence, he had protested aboutthe town’s low crime rate but it hadn’t cut any ice with Summerfield. He hadpointed out that on the rare occasions anything serious had happened, Kent hadinvariably failed miserably to catch the villains.
In one last, desperate roll of the dice, he’d gambledheavily on the outcome of the case of a teenage girl who had gone missing justa few weeks previously. That had ended in complete embarrassment for Kent. Shehad turned up safe and sound, but only after he’d detained her seventeen-year-oldboyfriend and accused him of her rape and murder. The boy’s mother had filed anofficial complaint against him which was ample ammunition for Summerfield touse against him.
That was the last in a long and sorry list of failures. Ayear or two before the missing girl case there had been a spate of burglariesin the area. His next-door neighbours were among the victims, even though heand Debs had promised to keep an eye on the place while they were on holiday. Acouple of weeks later, Debs had dragged him off to a car boot sale where he hadbought a second-hand strimmer for £20 from a cheerful young man who had evencalled him by name.
“You’ve got yourself a bargain there, D.I. Kent,” he hadsaid. “I only wish I could keep it, but my new flat hasn’t got a garden.”
When he got it back home and started using it, his neighboursaw him over the fence and came over to chat.
“Oh, I used to have a strimmer just like that,” he had said.“It got stolen in the robbery.”
On closer inspection, it transpired it was the samestrimmer. Needless to say, the cheeky young man who’d stolen it and then hadthe audacity to sell it to Kent was never seen again.
And so the catalogue of embarrassing incidents went on andon. They were all events that Kent saw little point in wasting a day going backand rehashing. He would have got a little satisfaction from nicking the man who’dsold him the strimmer, there was no question of that, but he only had six days toplay with. He couldn’t waste one of them on something so trivial.
And then he remembered the biggest crime that had happenedon his watch, the one that would have made all the difference had he been ableto solve it.
He knew enough about what had happened that day to beconfident he could catch the criminals red-handed and become a hero as a result.The icing on the cake was that he could make some serious money out of it aswell. If he got it all right he could manufacture a true red-letter day for himself.
It was easy to find out the exact date he needed to go backto. A quick Google search was all that was required. When the angel appeared,right on cue, there was no need for any preamble.
“Take me back to Saturday 6th April 2013,” he had said.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” replied the angel, witha knowing look in his eye.
“Oh, I’m sure,” replied Kent.
He didn’t need to explain his motives. The angel could readhis mind anyway so would already know where he was going and why. There was noneed for a debate about it and he certainly wasn’t seeking his approval or disapproval.Perhaps what he was planning to do wasn’t a particularly worthy cause. It was allvery much in self-interest but what the hell did it matter? He still had fourmore trips. He could go back and save the planet later.
Without any further delay, the angel once again clicked hisfingers, something that Kent was beginning to find a little irksome. Why did hehave to do that? It was such a cliché. Perhaps he did it just for dramaticeffect.
The next thing Kent knew, he was waking up in his bed, fiveand a half years ago. Unlike his previous trip back through time, waking upthis time wasn’t much of a shock to the system. Kent’s body hadn’t changeddramatically between 2013 and 2018, other than getting a stone or so fatter.
He was alone in the bed but he could hear the sound of Debsusing her electric toothbrush in the bathroom. There was no sign of any cup oftea and he felt particularly rough. But it was a Saturday so that was to beexpected.
Kent’s heaviest drinking night of the week was Friday whenhe would usually manage a good eight pints at The Red Lion, washing it downwith a pizza or a kebab on the way home.
The toothbrush fell silent and Debs came back into the room.
“It stinks in here!” she
