a radio. ‘Mr Priest is here. Ready when you are.’
‘OK,’ came the reply. ‘Let’s go go go!’
We didn’t make a fuss. Just drove to the front and back of the house and marched into the yard. I hammered on the door.
Sparky nodded at my jacket. ‘Expecting bad weather?’
I nodded and sniffed. ‘Smell that breeze,’ I said. ‘That’s ice, straight from the Arctic.’
He looked up at the sky and sniffed audibly. ‘And polar bear shit,’ he confirmed.
A bleary-eyed woman in a pink candlewick housecoat came to the door. It was only seven a.m. but she’d no doubt still be wearing it at noon. She had a ring through her nose and on her throat was the biggest ripe blackhead I’ve ever seen. I could hardly take my eyes off it. The nearest she got to soap was on TV five evenings per week.
‘Police,’ I said. ‘We believe Ged Skinner is here. Could you find him, please.’
‘I’ll, er, go look,’ she mumbled, and tried to close the door. I put my arm out to hold it open and went in. Sparky and a City DC followed me.
‘Ged!’ the woman shouted. ‘It’s the police, for you!’
We were standing in a dismal passage with brown walls and lino on the floor. A pram and a bike took up most of the room and several kid’s toys lay around. Doors opened and inquisitive faces, mainly children’s, poked round them. A little girl appeared, wearing a short vest and no knickers. She stared up at us, fingers in her mouth. Sparky spoke to her. He’s good with kids and I’m grateful.
Skinner came bouncing down the stairs wearing a T-shirt with the Nike logo on the front and shell suit bottoms with don’t-I-look-stupid stripes under one knee. He was about five foot nine, with longish hair and a little wisp of a beard. His complexion looked as if it came with extra mozzarella. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Ged Skinner?’
‘Yeah. What of it?’
‘We’d like a word with you, somewhere more private. How about coming out to the car?’
‘What’s it about?’
‘We’ll tell you there.’
‘I’m having my breakfast,’ he protested. ‘I’ve just come in.’
‘We won’t keep you long,’ I said. Fifteen years was the time I had in mind. The passage was filling with people of assorted ages and states of dress.
‘’E’s only just come in,’ a spotty youth in what looked like a Dodgers nightshirt confirmed. I didn’t know they did nightshirts.
‘Look,’ I told Skinner. ‘We need to talk to you. It can either be here or down at the station, the choice is yours.’
‘I’m not going anywhere ’less you tell me what it’s about.’
The woman with the blackhead had adopted a protective stance alongside him. ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’ she ranted. ‘We ’aven’t done nothing.’
I was waiting for the next line: ‘Why aren’t you out catching murderers,’ but she said: ‘’Aven’t you anything better to do?’
‘Are you coming out to the car?’ I demanded.
‘I’m not going nowhere unless you tell me what it’s about.’
‘OK, have it your way. Ged Skinner, I am arrestingyou on suspicion of being involved in the death of Dr Clive Jordan. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand? Good, let’s go.’
The spectators were stunned into silence, except for the little girl who started to cry. ‘The doctor?’ Skinner said, shaken. ‘You think it was me what did the doctor?’
‘Take him in,’ I told Sparky, ‘and let’s have this place searched.’
‘Let’s see your warrant,’ Skinner insisted.
‘I’m all the warrant we need,’ I told him. ‘Let’s go.’ ‘Hang on,’ Skinner protested. ‘I haven’t got any shoes on.’
I looked down and saw his bare feet for the first time. ‘For God’s sake, someone fetch his shoes,’ I yelled.
‘Where do you want him taking, guv,’ the City DC
‘OK,’ came the reply. ‘Let’s go go go!’
We didn’t make a fuss. Just drove to the front and back of the house and marched into the yard. I hammered on the door.
Sparky nodded at my jacket. ‘Expecting bad weather?’
I nodded and sniffed. ‘Smell that breeze,’ I said. ‘That’s ice, straight from the Arctic.’
He looked up at the sky and sniffed audibly. ‘And polar bear shit,’ he confirmed.
A bleary-eyed woman in a pink candlewick housecoat came to the door. It was only seven a.m. but she’d no doubt still be wearing it at noon. She had a ring through her nose and on her throat was the biggest ripe blackhead I’ve ever seen. I could hardly take my eyes off it. The nearest she got to soap was on TV five evenings per week.
‘Police,’ I said. ‘We believe Ged Skinner is here. Could you find him, please.’
‘I’ll, er, go look,’ she mumbled, and tried to close the door. I put my arm out to hold it open and went in. Sparky and a City DC followed me.
‘Ged!’ the woman shouted. ‘It’s the police, for you!’
We were standing in a dismal passage with brown walls and lino on the floor. A pram and a bike took up most of the room and several kid’s toys lay around. Doors opened and inquisitive faces, mainly children’s, poked round them. A little girl appeared, wearing a short vest and no knickers. She stared up at us, fingers in her mouth. Sparky spoke to her. He’s good with kids and I’m grateful.
Skinner came bouncing down the stairs wearing a T-shirt with the Nike logo on the front and shell suit bottoms with don’t-I-look-stupid stripes under one knee. He was about five foot nine, with longish hair and a little wisp of a beard. His complexion looked as if it came with extra mozzarella. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Ged Skinner?’
‘Yeah. What of it?’
‘We’d like a word with you, somewhere more private. How about coming out to the car?’
‘What’s it about?’
‘We’ll tell you there.’
‘I’m having my breakfast,’ he protested. ‘I’ve just come in.’
‘We won’t keep you long,’ I said. Fifteen years was the time I had in mind. The passage was filling with people of assorted ages and states of dress.
‘’E’s only just come in,’ a spotty youth in what looked like a Dodgers nightshirt confirmed. I didn’t know they did nightshirts.
‘Look,’ I told Skinner. ‘We need to talk to you. It can either be here or down at the station, the choice is yours.’
‘I’m not going anywhere ’less you tell me what it’s about.’
The woman with the blackhead had adopted a protective stance alongside him. ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’ she ranted. ‘We ’aven’t done nothing.’
I was waiting for the next line: ‘Why aren’t you out catching murderers,’ but she said: ‘’Aven’t you anything better to do?’
‘Are you coming out to the car?’ I demanded.
‘I’m not going nowhere unless you tell me what it’s about.’
‘OK, have it your way. Ged Skinner, I am arrestingyou on suspicion of being involved in the death of Dr Clive Jordan. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand? Good, let’s go.’
The spectators were stunned into silence, except for the little girl who started to cry. ‘The doctor?’ Skinner said, shaken. ‘You think it was me what did the doctor?’
‘Take him in,’ I told Sparky, ‘and let’s have this place searched.’
‘Let’s see your warrant,’ Skinner insisted.
‘I’m all the warrant we need,’ I told him. ‘Let’s go.’ ‘Hang on,’ Skinner protested. ‘I haven’t got any shoes on.’
I looked down and saw his bare feet for the first time. ‘For God’s sake, someone fetch his shoes,’ I yelled.
‘Where do you want him taking, guv,’ the City DC
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