Play Dead by Bill James Page B

were each carrying two full carrier bags from Ritson.’
    â€˜Yes, and I expect they could put you off balance slightly,’ Iles said, ‘especially when negotiating around and over obstacles such as flattened lengths of fencing and so on.’
    â€˜The car was in dock,’ Gerald said.
    â€˜Eggs?’ Harpur asked. ‘A need to be careful with the bags when you set them down.’
    â€˜And Jane had it more or less right,’ Iles replied.
    â€˜Yes,’ Jane said. ‘I’d gone a few steps off towards whatever it was to cut the distance and could see him more clearly then.’
    â€˜But not a vagrant, of course,’ Gerald said. ‘A police officer, as we discovered later.’
    â€˜I expect you’ve been to the Elms site as part of your investigation?’ Jane said.
    â€˜Well, yes, we’ve had a quick look around there, just to get the geography in our minds. That’s basic,’ Iles said.
    â€˜You’ll know it’s quite a big development,’ she said. ‘Not always easy to see accurately what’s what far off.’ Harpur could tell she tried to keep herself from staring at the unusual mess on the left side of Iles’s face, but this was difficult. Jane’s eyes would switch to it automatically for a half second, then get deliberately pulled away - then sneak back involuntarily for another short, appalled gaze, and so on. Gerald, the same, more or less. It was that kind of prominent, mysterious pit and widespread blemished vista. They’d be speculating in their heads about the cause, but would probably never think of a mock-up ribcage massage and the pre-emptive old Biro as explanation. These were fairly unusual events, not easy to imagine.
    If Harpur and Iles were back on their own manor, and one of those important civic functions took place, Harpur felt sure the Assistant Chief would refuse an invitation because he looked such a deep-pecked calamity. Already, Iles detested his Adam’s apple, considering it too glaringly prominent and gristle-craggy; and to have another defect in his appearance could make him very jumpy. The city treasurer, and/or director of parks and baths, shouldn’t be allowed to see him like this. He’d realize they and others would be laughing in private about it, even if they didn’t know the lesion was caused by a shagged-out bit of pen during a dramatization snippet on a stricken building site.
    But Harpur and Iles were here now in Larkspur, not back home on Cowslip. They had easy chairs with tea and biscuits in the flat’s large, very spruce living room. There were pictures, prints and photographs of animals and birds on the walls. Iles would be noting these as a guide to Jane and Gerald’s tastes and characters. Iles had told Harpur several times in the past to be careful what art he displayed in his house because art told tales about the owner’s psyche. ‘Stick to watercolours of dinky little sailing boats on a calm, azure sea, Col,’ Iles had said. ‘They’re so wishy-washy and slight they haven’t got the strength to reveal anything but their individual triteness.’
    â€˜That Elms estate - an ugly nuisance now, really, so near the town centre,’ Gerald said. ‘Off-putting for visitors. And it can still be troublesome.’
    â€˜Oh?’ Iles said.
    â€˜In what respect?’ Harpur asked.
    â€˜I heard the police were up there again last night,’ Gerald said.
    â€˜Really?’ Iles replied.
    â€˜An incident?’ Harpur asked.
    â€˜Possible mugging or a fight, a kicking, perhaps? Violence, anyway. Possibly not far from the area where Mallen died - Davant Road, to be, perhaps, perhaps. People can get so savage, given a chance,’ Gerald said.
    â€˜Yes?’ Iles replied.
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ Harpur said.
    â€˜A colleague in the office was passing and watched the police activity. He didn’t think the patrol found