sure...’
‘We’ll have to wait for lab reports, to be sure,’ he continued, ‘but he was known to us and we’re not expecting any surprises.’ His tone was sharp, final.
I shook my head. ‘He wouldn’t...’ I insisted. But I couldn’t say anymore. My mouth began to stretch with tears. No-one said anything.
‘This yours, Miss?’ The uniformed man held out the sketchbook. I nodded.
‘Can someone move this bloody dog?’ the man by the sofa snapped. Digger growled as the policeman stooped to shift him.
‘What’ll happen to him?’ I said.
‘We’ll take him to the morgue from here,’ the florid man answered. ‘The pathologist will prepare a report establishing probable cause of death...’
‘No,’ I interrupted and began to giggle, ‘I mean the dog.’ I didn’t know whether I was laughing or crying. The policewoman put her hand on my arm.
‘We’ll take care of that,’ said the man with the moustache. ‘He’ll go to the pound...’
‘Can I take him?’ I don’t even like dogs much. But he’d be put down unless someone rescued him. I had to rescue something from the situation. Glances were exchanged.
‘Yes, Miss.’
In the car over to Diane’s, my memories of JB, our meeting, that phone call, were intercut with the image of his corpse. I clutched the sketchbook to me. Remembered the smile he’d given me when I praised his work.
We drew up outside Diane’s terraced house. Digger followed me out of the car. The policewoman guided me up to the door and rang the bell. Diane opened the door. ‘Sal!’ She glanced from me to the policewoman, at the dog and back to me. Concern.
‘What’s the matter, what on earth’s happened? Are you alright?’ The gentle tone of her question did it.
I dropped the packages and covered my face with my hands. Tears spilled through my fingers. I was definitely not alright.
CHAPTER TEN
‘I still can’t accept it, Ray. He was adamant that he didn’t use drugs.’
In the four days since JB’s death I’d made countless phone calls to the C.I.D. to find out what was happening. I’d finally established that a post-mortem had confirmed death due to a heroin overdose and that there was no reason for any further enquiries. JB would be cremated by the state. He’d no relatives and had grown up in care. I’d had to ring Social Services to get the details. The funeral would be at one o’clock the following Monday at Blackley, up in North Manchester. I wanted to go and to take Digger. Were dogs allowed?
‘Sal, you’d only just met the guy.’
‘I can usually tell when people are lying.’
‘Good judge of character?’
‘I think I am.’
‘What about Clive?’ he said.
‘You bastard.’ Clive was still missing, presumed alive.
‘Sorry. But the guy took an overdose. The gear was there; the post-mortem confirmed it.’
‘It confirmed the cause of death. That’s all.’
‘What are you getting at?’ Ray was getting irritated.
‘Maybe someone made him take it.’
‘Oh, come on. You think he was murdered? He was a known addict, wasn’t he?’
‘A long time ago...oh, never mind.’ I sighed and began to clear the table.
‘What now?’ Ray asked.
‘Well, I’m still looking for Martin Hobbs. I’ll take over where JB left off. He was going to ask round the clubs. I don’t know if he did that or not.’
‘Sounds like a bit of a wild goose chase,’ he said, as he left for college.
I also wanted to seek out the young girl I’d seen at JB’s. I wanted to know from her whether JB had lied to me. If anything had happened on that Thursday that might have sent him out looking for a fix. And if he’d any enemies.
I wasn’t familiar with the club scene in Manchester, though I knew it was thriving. I bought a copy of City Life and studied the descriptions of the various night spots. A rough guide to music, clientele, dress-sense. I tried to imagine Martin and his ‘partner’. The images I came up with were
‘We’ll have to wait for lab reports, to be sure,’ he continued, ‘but he was known to us and we’re not expecting any surprises.’ His tone was sharp, final.
I shook my head. ‘He wouldn’t...’ I insisted. But I couldn’t say anymore. My mouth began to stretch with tears. No-one said anything.
‘This yours, Miss?’ The uniformed man held out the sketchbook. I nodded.
‘Can someone move this bloody dog?’ the man by the sofa snapped. Digger growled as the policeman stooped to shift him.
‘What’ll happen to him?’ I said.
‘We’ll take him to the morgue from here,’ the florid man answered. ‘The pathologist will prepare a report establishing probable cause of death...’
‘No,’ I interrupted and began to giggle, ‘I mean the dog.’ I didn’t know whether I was laughing or crying. The policewoman put her hand on my arm.
‘We’ll take care of that,’ said the man with the moustache. ‘He’ll go to the pound...’
‘Can I take him?’ I don’t even like dogs much. But he’d be put down unless someone rescued him. I had to rescue something from the situation. Glances were exchanged.
‘Yes, Miss.’
In the car over to Diane’s, my memories of JB, our meeting, that phone call, were intercut with the image of his corpse. I clutched the sketchbook to me. Remembered the smile he’d given me when I praised his work.
We drew up outside Diane’s terraced house. Digger followed me out of the car. The policewoman guided me up to the door and rang the bell. Diane opened the door. ‘Sal!’ She glanced from me to the policewoman, at the dog and back to me. Concern.
‘What’s the matter, what on earth’s happened? Are you alright?’ The gentle tone of her question did it.
I dropped the packages and covered my face with my hands. Tears spilled through my fingers. I was definitely not alright.
CHAPTER TEN
‘I still can’t accept it, Ray. He was adamant that he didn’t use drugs.’
In the four days since JB’s death I’d made countless phone calls to the C.I.D. to find out what was happening. I’d finally established that a post-mortem had confirmed death due to a heroin overdose and that there was no reason for any further enquiries. JB would be cremated by the state. He’d no relatives and had grown up in care. I’d had to ring Social Services to get the details. The funeral would be at one o’clock the following Monday at Blackley, up in North Manchester. I wanted to go and to take Digger. Were dogs allowed?
‘Sal, you’d only just met the guy.’
‘I can usually tell when people are lying.’
‘Good judge of character?’
‘I think I am.’
‘What about Clive?’ he said.
‘You bastard.’ Clive was still missing, presumed alive.
‘Sorry. But the guy took an overdose. The gear was there; the post-mortem confirmed it.’
‘It confirmed the cause of death. That’s all.’
‘What are you getting at?’ Ray was getting irritated.
‘Maybe someone made him take it.’
‘Oh, come on. You think he was murdered? He was a known addict, wasn’t he?’
‘A long time ago...oh, never mind.’ I sighed and began to clear the table.
‘What now?’ Ray asked.
‘Well, I’m still looking for Martin Hobbs. I’ll take over where JB left off. He was going to ask round the clubs. I don’t know if he did that or not.’
‘Sounds like a bit of a wild goose chase,’ he said, as he left for college.
I also wanted to seek out the young girl I’d seen at JB’s. I wanted to know from her whether JB had lied to me. If anything had happened on that Thursday that might have sent him out looking for a fix. And if he’d any enemies.
I wasn’t familiar with the club scene in Manchester, though I knew it was thriving. I bought a copy of City Life and studied the descriptions of the various night spots. A rough guide to music, clientele, dress-sense. I tried to imagine Martin and his ‘partner’. The images I came up with were
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