front of the old man. He listened, cupping arthritic fingers round the pint.
'Ah them next door,' he said, nodding his head. 'I been wondering when you lot would come round.'
'You know about Angela Waters?'
The old man tapped the side of his nose with one gnarled finger. 'Enough. I hear them, see. Always raising his voice, he is. And his fists. Oh yes, I hear him knocking her about. He might be small but he's vicious. Give her a black eye once. She said she fell over but I never believed it.' He shook his head knowingly and took a pull at his pint. 'Before that it was a broken arm. Accident prone, they said. Hmph.' He turned to face Carter. 'It's high time you lot did something about it. Noise pollution, that's what it is, all that yelling and screaming. No thought for the neighbours, and the walls as thin as paper. Gone and complained about him, has she? About time too. I would've been down to say something myself, only he's a right nasty one, that Johnny Drew. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him. She should leave him. Young girl like that.' He shook his head. 'You ought to lock him up. Do us all a favour. Give us a bit of peace and quiet.'
The food arrived and Carter waited until the barman had gone. Black cut hungrily into his pie as the DI resumed. 'Mr …?'
'Burrows. Brian Burrows.' He watched the sergeant eating. 'You going to eat that or what?' he asked suddenly, indicating the DI's untouched plate. Carter sighed. He slid the plate across the table to the old man who tucked in eagerly. 'Do a nice pie here,' he said, his mouth full.
'Mr Burrows. I'm afraid Angela Waters is dead.'
'Dead? How did that happen then?' The DI gave a brief explanation and the old man nodded his head, still eating. 'Was him, mark my words. He'll tell you was an accident but he done it. It's as plain as anything.' Carter thanked Mr Burrows for his help and asked him if he would make a statement. The old man hesitated. A forkful of pie hovered in the air. 'All depends,' he said, casting a shrewd glance at Carter.
'On what, Mr Burrows?'
'On who would be moving in next door if he went down. I could be out the frying pan into the fire, couldn't I? Can't blame me for wanting to feel safe in my own home. I'm entitled, after all I done.' He nodded solemnly and shovelled another forkful of pie into his mouth.
PART 2
'Computers are useless. They can only give you answers.'
Pablo Picasso
13
Home
Carter caught up with Geraldine as she was about to leave and she agreed to join him for a drink before setting off home. Several of the team were already in the pub across the road from the police station. Merton was at the bar with Kathryn Gordon, who was buying a round. Peterson and Sarah Mellor were with them. Geraldine recalled hearing that the DCI had a reputation for 'drinking with the lads.' Here in the pub she looked comfortable and ebullient, a different person to the dour officer running the investigation. Her eyes smiled above cheeks that seemed less drawn. Even her hair, slightly unkempt, framed her face more softly. Everyone appeared relaxed apart from Merton, who always looked gloomy. He stood beside the DCI, tall and skinny, with an absurd potbelly. Geraldine joined the group. They were discussing the case in subdued tones.
'We'll certainly keep the pressure on the boyfriend,' the DCI was saying.
'Geraldine, let's catch up,' Carter suggested. He steered her over to a corner of the bar and smiled easily at her, his tone avuncular. 'We haven't had a chance for a proper talk. How've you been?' Meeting his sympathetic gaze, she was tempted to answer honestly and tell him how isolated she felt in her tidy flat. Carter was a good listener who had offered her consistent support as her mentor.
'I'm fine,' she replied.
'And how's that lawyer of yours? Mark, is it?'
'Not mine any more.'
'Ah them next door,' he said, nodding his head. 'I been wondering when you lot would come round.'
'You know about Angela Waters?'
The old man tapped the side of his nose with one gnarled finger. 'Enough. I hear them, see. Always raising his voice, he is. And his fists. Oh yes, I hear him knocking her about. He might be small but he's vicious. Give her a black eye once. She said she fell over but I never believed it.' He shook his head knowingly and took a pull at his pint. 'Before that it was a broken arm. Accident prone, they said. Hmph.' He turned to face Carter. 'It's high time you lot did something about it. Noise pollution, that's what it is, all that yelling and screaming. No thought for the neighbours, and the walls as thin as paper. Gone and complained about him, has she? About time too. I would've been down to say something myself, only he's a right nasty one, that Johnny Drew. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him. She should leave him. Young girl like that.' He shook his head. 'You ought to lock him up. Do us all a favour. Give us a bit of peace and quiet.'
The food arrived and Carter waited until the barman had gone. Black cut hungrily into his pie as the DI resumed. 'Mr …?'
'Burrows. Brian Burrows.' He watched the sergeant eating. 'You going to eat that or what?' he asked suddenly, indicating the DI's untouched plate. Carter sighed. He slid the plate across the table to the old man who tucked in eagerly. 'Do a nice pie here,' he said, his mouth full.
'Mr Burrows. I'm afraid Angela Waters is dead.'
'Dead? How did that happen then?' The DI gave a brief explanation and the old man nodded his head, still eating. 'Was him, mark my words. He'll tell you was an accident but he done it. It's as plain as anything.' Carter thanked Mr Burrows for his help and asked him if he would make a statement. The old man hesitated. A forkful of pie hovered in the air. 'All depends,' he said, casting a shrewd glance at Carter.
'On what, Mr Burrows?'
'On who would be moving in next door if he went down. I could be out the frying pan into the fire, couldn't I? Can't blame me for wanting to feel safe in my own home. I'm entitled, after all I done.' He nodded solemnly and shovelled another forkful of pie into his mouth.
PART 2
'Computers are useless. They can only give you answers.'
Pablo Picasso
13
Home
Carter caught up with Geraldine as she was about to leave and she agreed to join him for a drink before setting off home. Several of the team were already in the pub across the road from the police station. Merton was at the bar with Kathryn Gordon, who was buying a round. Peterson and Sarah Mellor were with them. Geraldine recalled hearing that the DCI had a reputation for 'drinking with the lads.' Here in the pub she looked comfortable and ebullient, a different person to the dour officer running the investigation. Her eyes smiled above cheeks that seemed less drawn. Even her hair, slightly unkempt, framed her face more softly. Everyone appeared relaxed apart from Merton, who always looked gloomy. He stood beside the DCI, tall and skinny, with an absurd potbelly. Geraldine joined the group. They were discussing the case in subdued tones.
'We'll certainly keep the pressure on the boyfriend,' the DCI was saying.
'Geraldine, let's catch up,' Carter suggested. He steered her over to a corner of the bar and smiled easily at her, his tone avuncular. 'We haven't had a chance for a proper talk. How've you been?' Meeting his sympathetic gaze, she was tempted to answer honestly and tell him how isolated she felt in her tidy flat. Carter was a good listener who had offered her consistent support as her mentor.
'I'm fine,' she replied.
'And how's that lawyer of yours? Mark, is it?'
'Not mine any more.'
Similar Books
