around here,’ finished Ford. ‘Well, at least it’s a clean result.’
‘Clean? Sir, it’s a little early—’
‘What condition was that down-and-out?’ demanded Ford, glancing surreptitiously towards his car.
‘Not good. It’ll be a while before we get any sense out of him.’
‘Mmmm,’ grunted Ford. ‘I might as well be off then.’ He yawned. ‘We can put the seal on this first thing tomorrow.’ Noble didn’t answer and Ford stole a glance at him. ‘Pity you didn’t keep hold of the bastard. We could have tuned him up a little. Got what we needed.’
‘Sir, if he’s our killer, there’s going to be trace all over him.’
Ford looked down his nose at Noble. ‘But it wouldn’t have hurt to take him somewhere and give him a good hiding.’
‘It might have hurt our case,’ replied Noble.
‘That’s a dead child in there, Johnny. That bastard deserves more than to spend the rest of his days being fed and housed by the state. And I’m sure we could have found a few caring fathers to lend you a hand.’
‘No doubt.’ Ford made to leave but was halted by Noble’s voice. ‘Just for future reference, if I had organised a tune-up for the suspect and he’d died as a result, should I have assumed our conversation never took place and shoulder the responsibility myself? Sir.’
Ford turned to sneer at Noble. ‘You know, Johnny, you sound more like that cunt Brook every day.’
Noble smiled frostily. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Six
Friday, 7 December 2012
‘Happy Birthday, Chelsea,’ shouted Adam Kramer, above the hubbub of his classmates, as Chelsea Chaplin blew out the thirteen candles on her cake amidst a round of cheering and whooping. ‘That’s thirteen snogs you owe me, girlfriend,’ he added, to general laughter from the assembled children. Chelsea’s mum suspended her photographic duties to glare at him, her party grin fading for a moment.
When Mrs Chaplin resumed her task, Adam put a hand to his mouth and muttered to his friend standing slightly behind him, ‘Bet Chelsea could pull my train all night long, know what I’m sayin’, blood.’ He giggled suggestively. ‘Choo choo.’
Behind Adam, Scott Wheeler was the only one among the throng of Chelsea’s schoolmates not smiling or laughing. Cherubic of face, he whispered sourly in his friend’s ear, ‘Like she’d look twice at a spongebob like you.’
Oblivious to the insult, Adam ploughed on. He glanced sideways at his friend and winked suggestively. ‘As for Chelsea’s mum,’ he continued, gesturing at Mrs Chaplin’s tight red blouse, ‘she’s one sick MILF.’ He turned to leer at Scott and stuck out his tongue, mock-panting like a dog. ‘I’d tit-fuck her any day.’
‘You mean, you would if you had a dick,’ replied Scott, refusing to look at him.
‘Fuck off!’ mouthed Adam. ‘I don’t get no complaints.’
‘That’s because you’re a virgin,’ sneered Scott. ‘The only pussy you ever seen was down Cats Protection.’
Adam cast around for a sassy comeback but it wouldn’t come and, unable to dispute the facts, he had to take it on the chin. Dread. Scoot was bang on. There’d been plenty of tit squeeze and the occasional fish finger but nothing worth sexting about . Defeated, he glanced at Scott’s impassive features. ‘Why you being dread, man?’
Scott made brief eye contact with his friend for the first time. ‘Like you don’t know.’
‘I know it’s not the best party evs but we can still have a blast,’ muttered Adam, looking round furtively. When certain he was unobserved, he pulled a small Pepsi bottle from his pocket and eagle-eyed Scott to look. ‘Got some vodka into my Coke when Mum wasn’t watching.’ He sniffed self-importantly. ‘Let’s me and you take a trip to the coat room and get wrecked.’
Scott stared at him, coming to a decision. A second later he beckoned Adam to lead the way and followed, looking around to see they weren’t being observed.
‘Don’t hog
‘Clean? Sir, it’s a little early—’
‘What condition was that down-and-out?’ demanded Ford, glancing surreptitiously towards his car.
‘Not good. It’ll be a while before we get any sense out of him.’
‘Mmmm,’ grunted Ford. ‘I might as well be off then.’ He yawned. ‘We can put the seal on this first thing tomorrow.’ Noble didn’t answer and Ford stole a glance at him. ‘Pity you didn’t keep hold of the bastard. We could have tuned him up a little. Got what we needed.’
‘Sir, if he’s our killer, there’s going to be trace all over him.’
Ford looked down his nose at Noble. ‘But it wouldn’t have hurt to take him somewhere and give him a good hiding.’
‘It might have hurt our case,’ replied Noble.
‘That’s a dead child in there, Johnny. That bastard deserves more than to spend the rest of his days being fed and housed by the state. And I’m sure we could have found a few caring fathers to lend you a hand.’
‘No doubt.’ Ford made to leave but was halted by Noble’s voice. ‘Just for future reference, if I had organised a tune-up for the suspect and he’d died as a result, should I have assumed our conversation never took place and shoulder the responsibility myself? Sir.’
Ford turned to sneer at Noble. ‘You know, Johnny, you sound more like that cunt Brook every day.’
Noble smiled frostily. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Six
Friday, 7 December 2012
‘Happy Birthday, Chelsea,’ shouted Adam Kramer, above the hubbub of his classmates, as Chelsea Chaplin blew out the thirteen candles on her cake amidst a round of cheering and whooping. ‘That’s thirteen snogs you owe me, girlfriend,’ he added, to general laughter from the assembled children. Chelsea’s mum suspended her photographic duties to glare at him, her party grin fading for a moment.
When Mrs Chaplin resumed her task, Adam put a hand to his mouth and muttered to his friend standing slightly behind him, ‘Bet Chelsea could pull my train all night long, know what I’m sayin’, blood.’ He giggled suggestively. ‘Choo choo.’
Behind Adam, Scott Wheeler was the only one among the throng of Chelsea’s schoolmates not smiling or laughing. Cherubic of face, he whispered sourly in his friend’s ear, ‘Like she’d look twice at a spongebob like you.’
Oblivious to the insult, Adam ploughed on. He glanced sideways at his friend and winked suggestively. ‘As for Chelsea’s mum,’ he continued, gesturing at Mrs Chaplin’s tight red blouse, ‘she’s one sick MILF.’ He turned to leer at Scott and stuck out his tongue, mock-panting like a dog. ‘I’d tit-fuck her any day.’
‘You mean, you would if you had a dick,’ replied Scott, refusing to look at him.
‘Fuck off!’ mouthed Adam. ‘I don’t get no complaints.’
‘That’s because you’re a virgin,’ sneered Scott. ‘The only pussy you ever seen was down Cats Protection.’
Adam cast around for a sassy comeback but it wouldn’t come and, unable to dispute the facts, he had to take it on the chin. Dread. Scoot was bang on. There’d been plenty of tit squeeze and the occasional fish finger but nothing worth sexting about . Defeated, he glanced at Scott’s impassive features. ‘Why you being dread, man?’
Scott made brief eye contact with his friend for the first time. ‘Like you don’t know.’
‘I know it’s not the best party evs but we can still have a blast,’ muttered Adam, looking round furtively. When certain he was unobserved, he pulled a small Pepsi bottle from his pocket and eagle-eyed Scott to look. ‘Got some vodka into my Coke when Mum wasn’t watching.’ He sniffed self-importantly. ‘Let’s me and you take a trip to the coat room and get wrecked.’
Scott stared at him, coming to a decision. A second later he beckoned Adam to lead the way and followed, looking around to see they weren’t being observed.
‘Don’t hog
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