he seemed to have let
that go.
'Tough,' Tom said. 'Bloody tragic, really.'
'Yes.' I nodded.
Gray took a long pull at his beer, smacked his lips. 'That's
life, though, eh? You just have to get on with it.'
'True,' I answered. Nobody else said anything. They figured
Gray had a right to say something like that and they didn't.
Gray had two sons, Ray and Bobby. They were twins and a
year younger than me. Ray was normal enough but not what
you'd call sharp and sensitive. Bobby was the second one out
when they were born, and something had gone wrong that
left him with brain damage. He was slow and clumsy and
talked like a five-year-old. Gray figured that Bobby and Gith
had the same problem and that, as their guardians, he and I
had something in common. I felt sorry for Bobby but I didn't
see it that way at all.
'How's your old man?' Gray asked me.
'Okay.'
'Heard he broke his ankle.'
'Nah. Sprained it, that's all.'
'Can't take the pace, eh?'
I didn't answer.
'Must piss Bill off a bit,' Gray went on. 'Must feel like
Prince Charles — waiting for the bloody Queen to die.'
I looked at him. He grinned. He was having fun.
'Hey.' Mark was nudging Tom and pointing down the bar.
'That bloke that just came in. He'd be the cop, right?'
'Yeah. That's him. Ryan, his name is.'
'Jesus, he's not staying here, is he? I hope Faye and Simon
changed the sheets.'
Monty laughed and then he turned to Tom.
'Have they talked to you yet?'
'Why would they want to talk to me?'
'You own a white wagon, don't you?'
'Yeah? So?'
'It wasn't a wagon,' I said. 'It was a van. Gith saw it.'
'Yeah?' Mark turned to Gray. 'Then it's your Ray, mate. He's
got a white van.'
'So what? He's not the only one.'
One more for the list, I thought. I hadn't thought of Ray
Tackett. He could easily be somebody Gith didn't really know.
But then I wasn't sure. I had no time at all for Ray, but could
I really see him racing off with Anneke Hesse? And killing
her? It seemed crazy. But then, somebody did it.
'Yeah, except the cops are looking for a wagon,' Monty was
saying.
I turned to him. 'That's not right, though, eh?'
'Well . . .' He shrugged.
'You were there,' I said. 'What did you see?'
'Not sure. I think, on reflection, it might have been a
wagon.' He looked at me. 'Sorry, Ken.'
Jesus, I thought.
I didn't take much part in the talk after that. I felt kind of
out of it, like the world wasn't working right. Monty knew
he'd upset me but I guess he believed what he believed and
there was nothing he could do about it. And if Monty and
Mavis Blake were both saying it was a wagon, then it was
odds on what the cops would think.
After a while the talk drifted round to the Annual Show
and the fact that Tommy Loumis from the gun club was
running another clay pigeon shoot. Mark started bragging
about how he was going to win it. Gray laughed and told him
he didn't have a chance.
'I'm working the trap,' he said. 'And I've already taken my
bribes.'
'So who's it going to be, then?' Tom asked.
'Well,' Gray said. 'Seriously. If you want to bet on the
beginners, you can't go past our Colly.' Colly was Gray's
nephew, a kid of about twelve.
'That right?' Tom said.
'He's a cracker.'
I figured I'd had enough so I bought another jug, filled my
glass from it and left it on the table. Then I made my way
down the other end of the bar and chalked my name up for
a game of pool.
I stood and watched and drank, without thinking that
much, until my turn came. By a stroke of luck I finished up
partnering Pat Harrigan, who was one of the best players
around. We won six games straight. It was dark when I left.
I walked down the road to the Big Asia Takeaway. There
were no other customers and Dong was wiping up behind
the counter.
'Has Gith been in?' I asked him.
'Sure. Bout one hour.'
'What did she get? Fish and chips?'
'That right.'
'Me too. Two fish, one chips.'
He ladled a scoop of chips into a basket and lowered it
into the fat. Then he dipped a piece of fish in the
that go.
'Tough,' Tom said. 'Bloody tragic, really.'
'Yes.' I nodded.
Gray took a long pull at his beer, smacked his lips. 'That's
life, though, eh? You just have to get on with it.'
'True,' I answered. Nobody else said anything. They figured
Gray had a right to say something like that and they didn't.
Gray had two sons, Ray and Bobby. They were twins and a
year younger than me. Ray was normal enough but not what
you'd call sharp and sensitive. Bobby was the second one out
when they were born, and something had gone wrong that
left him with brain damage. He was slow and clumsy and
talked like a five-year-old. Gray figured that Bobby and Gith
had the same problem and that, as their guardians, he and I
had something in common. I felt sorry for Bobby but I didn't
see it that way at all.
'How's your old man?' Gray asked me.
'Okay.'
'Heard he broke his ankle.'
'Nah. Sprained it, that's all.'
'Can't take the pace, eh?'
I didn't answer.
'Must piss Bill off a bit,' Gray went on. 'Must feel like
Prince Charles — waiting for the bloody Queen to die.'
I looked at him. He grinned. He was having fun.
'Hey.' Mark was nudging Tom and pointing down the bar.
'That bloke that just came in. He'd be the cop, right?'
'Yeah. That's him. Ryan, his name is.'
'Jesus, he's not staying here, is he? I hope Faye and Simon
changed the sheets.'
Monty laughed and then he turned to Tom.
'Have they talked to you yet?'
'Why would they want to talk to me?'
'You own a white wagon, don't you?'
'Yeah? So?'
'It wasn't a wagon,' I said. 'It was a van. Gith saw it.'
'Yeah?' Mark turned to Gray. 'Then it's your Ray, mate. He's
got a white van.'
'So what? He's not the only one.'
One more for the list, I thought. I hadn't thought of Ray
Tackett. He could easily be somebody Gith didn't really know.
But then I wasn't sure. I had no time at all for Ray, but could
I really see him racing off with Anneke Hesse? And killing
her? It seemed crazy. But then, somebody did it.
'Yeah, except the cops are looking for a wagon,' Monty was
saying.
I turned to him. 'That's not right, though, eh?'
'Well . . .' He shrugged.
'You were there,' I said. 'What did you see?'
'Not sure. I think, on reflection, it might have been a
wagon.' He looked at me. 'Sorry, Ken.'
Jesus, I thought.
I didn't take much part in the talk after that. I felt kind of
out of it, like the world wasn't working right. Monty knew
he'd upset me but I guess he believed what he believed and
there was nothing he could do about it. And if Monty and
Mavis Blake were both saying it was a wagon, then it was
odds on what the cops would think.
After a while the talk drifted round to the Annual Show
and the fact that Tommy Loumis from the gun club was
running another clay pigeon shoot. Mark started bragging
about how he was going to win it. Gray laughed and told him
he didn't have a chance.
'I'm working the trap,' he said. 'And I've already taken my
bribes.'
'So who's it going to be, then?' Tom asked.
'Well,' Gray said. 'Seriously. If you want to bet on the
beginners, you can't go past our Colly.' Colly was Gray's
nephew, a kid of about twelve.
'That right?' Tom said.
'He's a cracker.'
I figured I'd had enough so I bought another jug, filled my
glass from it and left it on the table. Then I made my way
down the other end of the bar and chalked my name up for
a game of pool.
I stood and watched and drank, without thinking that
much, until my turn came. By a stroke of luck I finished up
partnering Pat Harrigan, who was one of the best players
around. We won six games straight. It was dark when I left.
I walked down the road to the Big Asia Takeaway. There
were no other customers and Dong was wiping up behind
the counter.
'Has Gith been in?' I asked him.
'Sure. Bout one hour.'
'What did she get? Fish and chips?'
'That right.'
'Me too. Two fish, one chips.'
He ladled a scoop of chips into a basket and lowered it
into the fat. Then he dipped a piece of fish in the
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