He turned hishead abruptly towards the shadow and was met with the sharp crack from the buttof a shotgun.
It was just how he imagined heaven tobe. Deep, penetrating warmth. His head in the lap of a smiling,flaxen-haired Scandinavian with a low-cut top, her breasts nudging the side ofhis head. Morton brought his eyes into focus. It couldn’t beheaven. In heaven he wouldn’t have a nettling, wet stain in his boxers ora headache like he had never felt in his life, as if his brain were full ofbroken glass.
‘Try not tomove,’ the Scandinavian said in a voice that was distinctlyun-Scandinavian. He knew the voice from somewhere. It was thewaitress from earlier. He flicked his eyes around and saw that he was notin heaven at all, but in the middle of Sedlescombe village green withurine-stained jeans and a marble-sized bump above his left ear. Heignored her advice and sat up, trying to cover his groin. ‘It’s okay,’she said, ‘it’s just a bodily function. Involuntary. I trained tobe a nurse. Well, sort of.’
‘Whathappened?’ Morton asked, glad that he still had the power of speech, if not ofhis bladder. He hoped to God he hadn’t leaked from any other orifices.
The womanshrugged, inadvertently rubbing her breasts against his hair. ‘I don’tknow. We just found you here on the green, unconscious. We’vephoned for an ambulance.’ And, as if by magic, an ambulance with theadded humiliation of blue flashing lights pulled up beside them, flagged downby the frumpy woman from behind the counter of The Clockhouse Tearoom.
‘Thanks,’ hesaid.
Evidently thesarcasm wasn’t clear enough as the waitress replied, ‘You’re welcome. Icould hardly leave a man who left a two pound tip half dead now, couldI?’ Two pounds, it sounded piffling now, but when he had left it on topof a five pound twenty bill, it had seemed rather generous.
‘It ain’t goodfor business neither,’ the frump added, needlessly pointing Morton out to thetwo paramedics hurrying across the grass towards him.
‘Oh dear, whathave you done, sir?’ one of the paramedics said to him, as if he were a child.
‘Banged myhead,’ he answered, figuring that the truth would only serve to complicatematters and elongate this embarrassing incident even further.
‘That isa nasty bump,’ the other medic said, running a latex-gloved hand through hishair like a meticulous nit-nurse. ‘I think we need to get you off tohospital.’
‘No, really –I’m fine. I don’t want to go to hospital.’
The firstparamedic gave him a quizzical look.
‘Really, I’llphone my girlfriend. She can come and collect me. I’ll be fine.’
‘I told you it was a stupid idea, didn’tI?’ were the first words out of Juliette’s mouth when she collected him fromThe Clockhouse Tearoom. He had been released into her care on the provisothat she monitor him for twenty-four hours. Even though the Mini’s bootand entire back seats were crammed with enough bags of clothing to open a smallboutique, Juliette still resented having her shopping spree brusquely curtailedby a phone call from the paramedics. ‘What did you think would happen?’she persisted. He didn’t really have an answer for that. Then thePolice Community Support Officer in her came to the fore. ‘Did you get alook at who did it to you?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And?’
‘The one andonly Mr Daniel Dunk,’ he said.
‘What?’Juliette said, shooting him an angry, quizzical look.
‘I know; that’stwice, at least, he’s had the opportunity to kill me and hasn’t taken it.’
‘This has gonefar enough, Morton. We know who he is, where he lives and who he worksfor; it’s time to call this one in.’
‘I’m surethey’ll overlook the fact that I trespassed, damaged property and have nosubstantial evidence whatsoever.’ The evidence he did have was on hisfather’s digital camera, which had gone the same way as his laptop and all theevidence pinned to the Coldrick Case Incident Wall.
She sighedheavily and he knew that that was a sign she agreed with him but hated thefact. ‘What about the others, can you describe them?’
‘The woman wastall, dark hair, in a bob with blonde highlights. Quite slim,mid-forties. Pin-stripe suit. Bright red lipstick. And I meanbright red.’
‘Quite pretty?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘Sounds like ane-fit for Miss Olivia Walker to me.’
‘She was kissingPhilip Windsor-Sackville.’
‘Oh, well itcan’t be her then, he’s married.’
‘Yeah, becauseit would be so unlike a politician to be having an affair.’
‘Morton, you’reso cynical all the time,’ she said, which he was forced to agree with.
He reached downfor his phone, remembering that it was receiving a text message that had gothim struck over the head in the first place. It had better have beenimportant. He opened his messages and read the text. SHOPPING!!!! Hope you’re having a good day, Juliette xx. As tempting as it was tosay something, he decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.
‘Stop!’ Morton suddenly warned Juliette,as she approached the front door of his father’s house. She froze in hertracks, like a Covent Garden mime artist, looking vaguely comical with hercarrier-bag-filled hands raised in front of her. She looked back at himfor guidance. ‘Come back here, quick,’ Morton called.
Something waswrong.
‘Look at thecurtains upstairs,’ he said, once she had reached his side. ‘They weredefinitely closed when we left this morning, now look at them.’
‘Oh God, notanother house. What shall we do?’ she asked, backing towards theMini. It was very unlike Juliette to defer to him like this and thatworried him all the more. Was it okay to phone the bomb squad becauseyou thought that your house might be riddled with Semtex, since youdistinctly recall leaving the curtains shut? ‘I think we should ringthe police and ask for their guidance.’
‘Good idea,’Juliette said, pulling out her mobile.
The question ofwhat to do next was answered for them when the front door opened. Andthere, with a large smile on his face, stood Jeremy. The Miracle hadarrived. ‘Afternoon. Are you coming inside, or just happy to lookat the house from a distance?’
‘For Christ’ssake,’ Morton mumbled.
Juliettemanaged a laugh as they headed up the path to be greeted
