Blood on the Tongue (Ben Cooper & Diane Fry) by Stephen Booth Page A
Authors: Stephen Booth
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stranded with a prisoner on Hollowgate for half an hour waiting for a pick-up that never came? I had to walk up Spital Hill and meet a PC who couldn't even stay on his feet for thirty seconds. He looked like a reject from the Northern Ballet Company. Since I got here, I've been processing the prisoner through custody.'
There was a pause as the operator consulted somebody in the control room. 'We're a bit stretched at the moment,' she said.
'Tell me about it.'
'There are several messages from DS Fry,' said the operator accusingly. 'Three of them are marked urgent.'
Cooper sighed. 'So where am I supposed to be, apart from three places at once?'
'The body of an unidentified white male was found on the A57 Snake Pass, two hundred yards west of the Snake Inn,' said the operator.
'Is the road clear?'
'According to our latest information, it's passable with care.'
'OK, I'm on my way.'
'Er, we do have some later messages,' said the operator.
'Yeah?'
'I could probably just skip to the last one. It says: "Don't bother."'
'What does that mean?'
'I suppose it means they've managed without you, dear.'
Cooper blinked. Suddenly, the control-room operator sounded like his mother. Or at least, like his mother used to before she became ill.
'Thanks a lot,' he said, and put the phone down. He looked again at the files on his desk. It seemed he was muggins again, the sucker landed with the work that nobody else wanted, not when there was something more interesting to do. And it was all because he'd set off for work early and found Eddie Kemp in that café. Next time, he would know better. Next time, he'd pretend he hadn't recognized the suspect, as ninety per cent of his colleagues would have done when they weren't officially on duty. That's exactly what he would do next time. Maybe.
Cooper slouched across the room to see if he could dredge any warmth out of the radiator. As he moved, his left foot squelched.
* * * *
Frank Baine banged the bell for a third time. There was no response.
'Well, if you're sure you'll be all right,' he said.
'I'll be fine,' said Alison Morrissey.
She stood in front of the deserted reception desk with her bags. The lobby was like no other hotel she'd ever seen. It was dark, and it seemed to be full of ancient potted plants and stuffed fish in glass cases. It was also deserted. Baine had already put his head round all the visible doors to try to find a member of staff.
'Someone will appear in a second,' said Morrissey.
'We've got the meeting with the police at nine o'clock tomorrow morning,' said Baine. 'I'll pick you up here about eight-thirty, shall I? It isn't far.'
'That will be great. And thank you, Frank.'
Finally, he left. Morrissey gazed at a trout the size of a small dog. It stared back at her glassily, its mouth hanging open as if it might say something to her in a minute.
'Can I help you?'
A receptionist.
'A room,' said Alison. 'I have a room reserved. And I'm about ready to die unless I get to it soon.'
After she'd showered and rested, she got out the files again. There were files on every member of the crew of Sugar Uncle Victor. Some, of course, were slimmer than others. The thickest was that on her grandfather, Pilot Officer Danny McTeague. But at the top of the pile, the one Alison Morrissey would look at first and read again tonight, was the file marked 'Zygmunt Lukasz'.
* * * *
Later in the morning, Cooper discovered who was going to have to interview Eddie Kemp in connection with the double assault.
'There isn't anybody else,' he was told. 'They're all out.'
Kemp looked almost pleased to see him. He seemed to feel they'd struck up a close friendship waiting at the side of Hollowgate, as if a bond had been forged between them by performing a bit of early-morning street theatre for the customers of the Starlight Café. Cooper wasn't sure how long the theatre would have lasted, without turning into a tragedy, if it hadn't been
There was a pause as the operator consulted somebody in the control room. 'We're a bit stretched at the moment,' she said.
'Tell me about it.'
'There are several messages from DS Fry,' said the operator accusingly. 'Three of them are marked urgent.'
Cooper sighed. 'So where am I supposed to be, apart from three places at once?'
'The body of an unidentified white male was found on the A57 Snake Pass, two hundred yards west of the Snake Inn,' said the operator.
'Is the road clear?'
'According to our latest information, it's passable with care.'
'OK, I'm on my way.'
'Er, we do have some later messages,' said the operator.
'Yeah?'
'I could probably just skip to the last one. It says: "Don't bother."'
'What does that mean?'
'I suppose it means they've managed without you, dear.'
Cooper blinked. Suddenly, the control-room operator sounded like his mother. Or at least, like his mother used to before she became ill.
'Thanks a lot,' he said, and put the phone down. He looked again at the files on his desk. It seemed he was muggins again, the sucker landed with the work that nobody else wanted, not when there was something more interesting to do. And it was all because he'd set off for work early and found Eddie Kemp in that café. Next time, he would know better. Next time, he'd pretend he hadn't recognized the suspect, as ninety per cent of his colleagues would have done when they weren't officially on duty. That's exactly what he would do next time. Maybe.
Cooper slouched across the room to see if he could dredge any warmth out of the radiator. As he moved, his left foot squelched.
* * * *
Frank Baine banged the bell for a third time. There was no response.
'Well, if you're sure you'll be all right,' he said.
'I'll be fine,' said Alison Morrissey.
She stood in front of the deserted reception desk with her bags. The lobby was like no other hotel she'd ever seen. It was dark, and it seemed to be full of ancient potted plants and stuffed fish in glass cases. It was also deserted. Baine had already put his head round all the visible doors to try to find a member of staff.
'Someone will appear in a second,' said Morrissey.
'We've got the meeting with the police at nine o'clock tomorrow morning,' said Baine. 'I'll pick you up here about eight-thirty, shall I? It isn't far.'
'That will be great. And thank you, Frank.'
Finally, he left. Morrissey gazed at a trout the size of a small dog. It stared back at her glassily, its mouth hanging open as if it might say something to her in a minute.
'Can I help you?'
A receptionist.
'A room,' said Alison. 'I have a room reserved. And I'm about ready to die unless I get to it soon.'
After she'd showered and rested, she got out the files again. There were files on every member of the crew of Sugar Uncle Victor. Some, of course, were slimmer than others. The thickest was that on her grandfather, Pilot Officer Danny McTeague. But at the top of the pile, the one Alison Morrissey would look at first and read again tonight, was the file marked 'Zygmunt Lukasz'.
* * * *
Later in the morning, Cooper discovered who was going to have to interview Eddie Kemp in connection with the double assault.
'There isn't anybody else,' he was told. 'They're all out.'
Kemp looked almost pleased to see him. He seemed to feel they'd struck up a close friendship waiting at the side of Hollowgate, as if a bond had been forged between them by performing a bit of early-morning street theatre for the customers of the Starlight Café. Cooper wasn't sure how long the theatre would have lasted, without turning into a tragedy, if it hadn't been
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