Heffernan as they left the
pub. 'I'd like to see what they find so fascinating about a place like Bereton.'
They drove the half-mile to the hotel
at the edge of the beach. Wesley had wanted to leave the car in the village and
walk bat the inspector had said he was feeling lazy: he needed to conserve his energy
for Mrs Slater.
Wesley put the car (a nondescript
blue Ford, standard police issue) in the carpark near the memorial and walked
towards the hotel. Heffernan nudged his sergeant and nodded towards the Sherman
tank that had been dragged up from the seabed, restored
and placed on a concrete platform in a far comer of the carpark as an
additional reminder of the events that had taken place there during the war.
Leaning against the newly painted body of the massive vehicle was the young man
who'd just been ejected from the Bereton Arms. Sitting precariously astride the
gun turret was another figure with a shaved head; he was pale and unhealthy-looking
and dressed in scruffy grey garments that made him look like the victim of some
disaster, war or famine. A third boy, aged about sixteen, with dark greasy hair
and spots, crouched on the ground stroking a mangy-looking dog of dubious pedigree.
The dog lay contentedly on the ground held by a lead made of dirty string.
As the policemen drew nearer, the
beggars watched them, assessing how much the newcomers might be worth. Then the
one with the ponytail bent down and whispered something to the custodian of the
dog. They turned away. Police were bad news.
'Can we have a word, son?' shouted Heffernan.
It was the shaven-headed man on the
gun turret who spoke. He looked older than the others - mid-twenties — and
possessed an air of leadership. 'You pigs?'
'Pigs are supposed to be very
intelligent. Did you know that?"
Heffernan looked up at the gun
turret enquiringly.
Shaven-head stared at him. 'You what?'
'Do you want me to shout my questions
to you up there or will you come down?'
Shaven head shrugged and stayed put.
'Fancy a chat down at the station?
They make a lovely cup of tea there, don't they. Sergeant?'
'Excellent, Inspector.' Wesley was
watching the reaction of Shaven-head's two companions, who were looking
decidedly nervous.
'I'm not fucking thirsty.' He looked
at Wesley with contempt.
I didn't know they had black pigs in the filth round here.' He leaned forward,
leering unpleasantly. Wesley stood his ground, his face impassive.
'What are you doing here?' Heffernan
interrupted. 'Not much happening in a place like this?'
'What do you think, Scouse?' He
turned his hostile gaze on the inspector, a sly grin on his face.
'Just answer the question,' Heffernan
snapped
'Fancied a bit of peace and quiet,
didn't we.'
Heffernan seized his chance. 'We're
investigating a murder... American tourist staying at that hotel there. Heard
about it?'
'We've seen a lot of filth about,'
said the spotty dog lover.
'We've heard one of you's got a
knife. That true?'
'Piss off, Scouse. Who told you
that?'
'You threatened a woman at the
hotel.'
'Her eyes are going ... can't tell a
fucking stick from a blade.'
The other two looked at Shaven-head nervously. 'That right. Snot? It was a
fucking twig, wasn't it?'
Snot, the pale wearer of the
ponytail. nodded eagerly. Shaven- head had quite a hold over his followers.
Divide and conquer. Heffernan and
Wesley returned to the car and radioed for assistance. The unsuspecting trio
were still loitering round the tank when the police car arrived. As Shaven- head's
two companions were being led away, he jumped from the
tank, made an obscene gesture and ran with the speed of an Olympic athlete
inland towards a copse of trees.
'We can pick him up later,' said Heffernan
with a confidence he didn't feel. 'We'll let our two friends enjoy the custody
sergeant's hospitality for a while, then we'll have a little chat.'
'What about the other one?'
'We'll
pub. 'I'd like to see what they find so fascinating about a place like Bereton.'
They drove the half-mile to the hotel
at the edge of the beach. Wesley had wanted to leave the car in the village and
walk bat the inspector had said he was feeling lazy: he needed to conserve his energy
for Mrs Slater.
Wesley put the car (a nondescript
blue Ford, standard police issue) in the carpark near the memorial and walked
towards the hotel. Heffernan nudged his sergeant and nodded towards the Sherman
tank that had been dragged up from the seabed, restored
and placed on a concrete platform in a far comer of the carpark as an
additional reminder of the events that had taken place there during the war.
Leaning against the newly painted body of the massive vehicle was the young man
who'd just been ejected from the Bereton Arms. Sitting precariously astride the
gun turret was another figure with a shaved head; he was pale and unhealthy-looking
and dressed in scruffy grey garments that made him look like the victim of some
disaster, war or famine. A third boy, aged about sixteen, with dark greasy hair
and spots, crouched on the ground stroking a mangy-looking dog of dubious pedigree.
The dog lay contentedly on the ground held by a lead made of dirty string.
As the policemen drew nearer, the
beggars watched them, assessing how much the newcomers might be worth. Then the
one with the ponytail bent down and whispered something to the custodian of the
dog. They turned away. Police were bad news.
'Can we have a word, son?' shouted Heffernan.
It was the shaven-headed man on the
gun turret who spoke. He looked older than the others - mid-twenties — and
possessed an air of leadership. 'You pigs?'
'Pigs are supposed to be very
intelligent. Did you know that?"
Heffernan looked up at the gun
turret enquiringly.
Shaven-head stared at him. 'You what?'
'Do you want me to shout my questions
to you up there or will you come down?'
Shaven head shrugged and stayed put.
'Fancy a chat down at the station?
They make a lovely cup of tea there, don't they. Sergeant?'
'Excellent, Inspector.' Wesley was
watching the reaction of Shaven-head's two companions, who were looking
decidedly nervous.
'I'm not fucking thirsty.' He looked
at Wesley with contempt.
I didn't know they had black pigs in the filth round here.' He leaned forward,
leering unpleasantly. Wesley stood his ground, his face impassive.
'What are you doing here?' Heffernan
interrupted. 'Not much happening in a place like this?'
'What do you think, Scouse?' He
turned his hostile gaze on the inspector, a sly grin on his face.
'Just answer the question,' Heffernan
snapped
'Fancied a bit of peace and quiet,
didn't we.'
Heffernan seized his chance. 'We're
investigating a murder... American tourist staying at that hotel there. Heard
about it?'
'We've seen a lot of filth about,'
said the spotty dog lover.
'We've heard one of you's got a
knife. That true?'
'Piss off, Scouse. Who told you
that?'
'You threatened a woman at the
hotel.'
'Her eyes are going ... can't tell a
fucking stick from a blade.'
The other two looked at Shaven-head nervously. 'That right. Snot? It was a
fucking twig, wasn't it?'
Snot, the pale wearer of the
ponytail. nodded eagerly. Shaven- head had quite a hold over his followers.
Divide and conquer. Heffernan and
Wesley returned to the car and radioed for assistance. The unsuspecting trio
were still loitering round the tank when the police car arrived. As Shaven- head's
two companions were being led away, he jumped from the
tank, made an obscene gesture and ran with the speed of an Olympic athlete
inland towards a copse of trees.
'We can pick him up later,' said Heffernan
with a confidence he didn't feel. 'We'll let our two friends enjoy the custody
sergeant's hospitality for a while, then we'll have a little chat.'
'What about the other one?'
'We'll
Similar Books
