cigarette in the chill evening wind.
McLusky drove the car out of the shrubbery so Austin could enter by the passenger door in a more dignified fashion. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘Let’s see. Do I think anyone wanted to blow up Joel Kerswill as he walked back from his interview? Hardly. Do I think Joel Kerswill set the thing off himself? Perhaps. No, I don’t think that either, though I couldn’t tell you why.’
‘A lot depends on what type of bomb it was. We’ll need to know what kind of expertise would have been needed to make it. And the postmistress?’
‘An even more unlikely suspect.’
‘Also an unlikely target. We don’t know how the bombwas set off yet but it’s possible it was just a prank that went too far. It must be hard to judge just how much home-made explosive to stick into a bomb.’
‘It’ll turn out to be a couple of kids who are at this moment sitting in their bedrooms shitting bricks, waiting for the heavy knock on the door. Another stupid bit of vandalism by kids bored with their computer games.’
‘Might well be. Unless …’
‘You can go left here, less traffic this time of day. Unless what?’
McLusky nosed the car out into the road. This was ‘less traffic’? ‘Unless it was none of these. Unless it was attempted murder but the intended victim was unharmed. And perhaps even unaware he, she, was meant to be blown sky high.’
‘No way. Rubbish way to bump someone off. You’d stick it under their car, surely.’ Austin felt he could talk easily to the new DI, who didn’t seem precious about his own ideas.
‘Quite. Or shove one under his bed. But not his favourite park bench. Always presuming your intended target has a car or a bed, of course. I’m just trying to think of every possibility here since I don’t believe at all in the terrorist angle. We get quite a few tourists, of course, so if you wanted to harm British interests then scaring the tourists away would be a good start. But …’
Austin took up the baton. ‘… but you would blow up a hotel or Temple Meads station, say, not a pavilion. Turn left here, that’s Jamaica Street, that’ll take us back to your neck of the woods.’
‘Right.’ McLusky was committing every turn and street name to his mental map of the city. His new city. It didn’t feel real yet. ‘And it never works anyway. PKK in Turkey, ETA in Spain, a couple of bombs go off and there’s a flurry of holiday cancellations but a few weeks later the bookings go up again.’
‘Which makes no sense since all it does is give them time to get the next bomb ready for just when you arrive.’
‘Also, you would have to keep up the bombings over a long period to do any lasting harm to the tourist business and not many organizations have those resources. Not the kind that sticks explosives in a whisky tin and blows up park benches, anyway.’
‘You’ve given it some thought then. Are you going back to the station?’
McLusky checked his watch. ‘Your car’s down there, isn’t it? I’ll drop you off, but let’s call it a day. After all, Kelper, whatever his rank, is in charge tonight and he didn’t seem to want us around, did he?’
‘It’s all right, you can drop me off outside your place. It’s stopped raining. I’ll walk back.’
He turned into Picton Street. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘Sure I’m sure. Probably quicker, anyway.’
‘Are you being offensive about my new motor, Jane?’ McLusky turned into his street and stopped outside his house. There were no parking spaces.
‘It’s a fine example of German engineering. For the transport museum. No, traffic across town is really bad this time of day, is all I meant.’ Austin got out. ‘See you in the morning.’ He pushed the groaning car door shut.
McLusky cruised and eventually found a space to park near Herbert’s Bakery. The handbrake squawked and the car rolled back a few inches. He left it in gear.
Standing in Northmoor Street he looked up at the
McLusky drove the car out of the shrubbery so Austin could enter by the passenger door in a more dignified fashion. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘Let’s see. Do I think anyone wanted to blow up Joel Kerswill as he walked back from his interview? Hardly. Do I think Joel Kerswill set the thing off himself? Perhaps. No, I don’t think that either, though I couldn’t tell you why.’
‘A lot depends on what type of bomb it was. We’ll need to know what kind of expertise would have been needed to make it. And the postmistress?’
‘An even more unlikely suspect.’
‘Also an unlikely target. We don’t know how the bombwas set off yet but it’s possible it was just a prank that went too far. It must be hard to judge just how much home-made explosive to stick into a bomb.’
‘It’ll turn out to be a couple of kids who are at this moment sitting in their bedrooms shitting bricks, waiting for the heavy knock on the door. Another stupid bit of vandalism by kids bored with their computer games.’
‘Might well be. Unless …’
‘You can go left here, less traffic this time of day. Unless what?’
McLusky nosed the car out into the road. This was ‘less traffic’? ‘Unless it was none of these. Unless it was attempted murder but the intended victim was unharmed. And perhaps even unaware he, she, was meant to be blown sky high.’
‘No way. Rubbish way to bump someone off. You’d stick it under their car, surely.’ Austin felt he could talk easily to the new DI, who didn’t seem precious about his own ideas.
‘Quite. Or shove one under his bed. But not his favourite park bench. Always presuming your intended target has a car or a bed, of course. I’m just trying to think of every possibility here since I don’t believe at all in the terrorist angle. We get quite a few tourists, of course, so if you wanted to harm British interests then scaring the tourists away would be a good start. But …’
Austin took up the baton. ‘… but you would blow up a hotel or Temple Meads station, say, not a pavilion. Turn left here, that’s Jamaica Street, that’ll take us back to your neck of the woods.’
‘Right.’ McLusky was committing every turn and street name to his mental map of the city. His new city. It didn’t feel real yet. ‘And it never works anyway. PKK in Turkey, ETA in Spain, a couple of bombs go off and there’s a flurry of holiday cancellations but a few weeks later the bookings go up again.’
‘Which makes no sense since all it does is give them time to get the next bomb ready for just when you arrive.’
‘Also, you would have to keep up the bombings over a long period to do any lasting harm to the tourist business and not many organizations have those resources. Not the kind that sticks explosives in a whisky tin and blows up park benches, anyway.’
‘You’ve given it some thought then. Are you going back to the station?’
McLusky checked his watch. ‘Your car’s down there, isn’t it? I’ll drop you off, but let’s call it a day. After all, Kelper, whatever his rank, is in charge tonight and he didn’t seem to want us around, did he?’
‘It’s all right, you can drop me off outside your place. It’s stopped raining. I’ll walk back.’
He turned into Picton Street. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘Sure I’m sure. Probably quicker, anyway.’
‘Are you being offensive about my new motor, Jane?’ McLusky turned into his street and stopped outside his house. There were no parking spaces.
‘It’s a fine example of German engineering. For the transport museum. No, traffic across town is really bad this time of day, is all I meant.’ Austin got out. ‘See you in the morning.’ He pushed the groaning car door shut.
McLusky cruised and eventually found a space to park near Herbert’s Bakery. The handbrake squawked and the car rolled back a few inches. He left it in gear.
Standing in Northmoor Street he looked up at the
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