Albert was curious to hear one piece of information. ‘Was he a tall, muscular man wearing combat fatigues?’
Eric eyes flared wide. ‘Yeah!’
‘Short light brown hair, yes?’ Albert sought to confirm.
‘Yes!’ Eric had turned himself to face the older man.
Albert swung his face and eyes to look at the duty officer. ‘You may wish to get DS Craig to speak with this gentleman, I believe he met with the man responsible for the attempted kidnapping of Victor Harris last night.’ Frowning as the next question presented itself, Albert looked at Eric again. ‘How did you escape?’
Stood just behind Eric, and tall enough to look over his head, his wife sighed in an exasperated way. ‘He didn’t escape! He’s making the whole thing up.’
The tic on Eric’s face twitched again, and to Albert, it was the warning sign of a volcano about to erupt. Before the man could reach that point, Albert prompted a reply. ‘You got away. Did he not close the boot correctly?’
Eric shrugged. ‘I think he forgot about me. I was in the car for a while. He started driving and I think we left town because all the background noise went away. Then I could hear him talking on the phone but couldn’t make out what he was saying. There were two voices: his and someone very posh-sounding. When the phone call ended, he must have turned the car around. I thought that was what he did, but when the engine went off again, he got out, and after a minute or so, I found the release button to fold the back seat down. He was nowhere in sight and the keys were still in the ignition.’
Eric looked relieved to have finally told the story to someone who believed him. The duty officer had made the call to get DS Craig, but as Albert heard footsteps coming their way from behind the reception desk, the woman grabbed Eric’s arm and tried to pull him away.
‘That’s it! I’m not listening to anymore of this rubbish! You are coming home right this minute, Eric Simpson.’ She had hold of the sleeve of his coat and was already starting to drag him toward the door as if he were a naughty child being taken home by an enraged mother.
The volcano blew it’s top. Albert had to wonder how long the pressure inside had been building because the torrent of expletives erupting from the small man’s mouth was quite impressive. Giving Albert the impression it was the first time Eric had ever stood up to her, he listened as the downtrodden husband raged and spat and cursed at his wife for a full minute.
DS Craig arrived behind the front desk, ready to ask a question but forced into silence by the one-sided verbal onslaught. Albert glanced his way in time to see his eyes as wide as the duty officer’s.
With a final threat of divorce if she so much as ever questioned him again, Eric told her to, ‘Go and wait in the car.’
It was then that Albert intervened. ‘No! Not the car.’ Swinging his attention to DS Craig’s curious face, Albert said, ‘I think the man who escaped last night has left his prints all over this gentleman’s car.’
Detective Sergeant Craig scratched his head. It had been an odd couple of days. The last recorded murder in Biggleswade was twenty-seven years ago. He was more used to dealing with kids stealing things from the local supermarket. Occasionally he had a domestic violence case to deal with and once, he even had a fraud case that ended in a stabbing. He was feeling quite out of his depth, not that he would admit it to anyone, but he couldn’t ignore that the old man might be right and needed to show everyone that he was not only in charge, but on top of what was happening.
‘Impound the car,’ he instructed the officer standing two feet from him. ‘Get the crime scene team back here.’ Then to Eric, he said, ‘I think, sir, that I had better take a statement from you.’
Rex watched the man who smelled of the human he chased be taken through a door, his bewildered-looking, and suddenly silent, wife trailing along in his wake. He got another sniff as he passed in front of Rex’s nose, just to double confirm what he already knew, but what now? Where was the human he chased?
Fatal Error
Arriving back in Biggleswade, Francis had promptly ditched the car in a side street and ambled away trying to look innocent. He couldn’t return to the café or its vicinity because the risk he would be recognised was too great. In fact, he considered the entire town and its surrounding area to be a hot spot he ought to be avoiding. The old man had seen him, as had Victor Harris. Eugene was dead and though Francis didn’t think they could easily trace his body, he was confident they would work out who Eugene was soon enough, and that might lead them to him.
He needed to get out of Biggleswade, but he couldn’t do that until the job was finished. It was a paradox. To limit the risk of being identified, he needed a change of clothes to help him alter his appearance. He had more clothes with him, but they were all derivations of his current outfit. Then, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, he remembered Eugene’s clothes. They were about the same size. If the police were looking for a man in combat fatigues, they wouldn’t look twice at him in a smart jacket and tie. Maybe Eugene wasn’t as dumb as Francis always assumed.
It was only an hour after ditching the car that he remembered he’d left the owner
