thing had – until now – never been raised.
‘Just go,’ she said. ‘You’ve been an arsehole all night.’
‘You’re getting funnier by the day, too, you know.’
She crossed her arms and fixed her look on a far-off horizon, the tell-tale sign of a lecture about to begin. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and unemotional.
‘Your mum told me what happened today. All night I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Not a thing. The dead woman’s even been mentioned on the local news, and what have you got to say? Sorry, Debs, the police almost charged me with murder today, but I didn’t think it worth bothering your pretty head.’
She stood up and smoothed down her top. But the break in sound was only the intermission. Once comfortably adjusted, she seated herself on the arm of the sofa and raised the curtain on Act II.
‘What am I to you? Just a body to fiddle with? Is that it? I’m telling you, Ed, I’ve just about had enough. I preferred it when you didn’t have a job. At least then we talked.’ She pushed a finger into my shoulder blade. ‘Your mum’s right. You need to stop wasting your time on this private investigation nonsense.’ She stared at me for a whole minute, and then looked away. ‘What’s it to be?’
As tirades went it was pretty tiring. But she did have a point.
~
I couldn’t sleep. My mind was full, bulging with big, unhappy thoughts; like logs barging into each other on a congested river.
For some reason I felt sad. If Dad were alive he’d know what to do. He’d put me right. We’d solve the case together. I missed him badly. And Mum missed him a far sight more. She hadn’t been the same since it happened. Deep down, I wanted her to be proud of me, like she was of him. A distance had grown between us, and I wasn’t sure how to put things right.
Debbie felt far away, too. She was already standing on the platform, waiting for that midnight train to Single town. It’s what I deserved.
Trouble is, I don’t do the emotion thing too well. It’s not like I don’t try. If there was a course, I would put my name down for it.
I was on a journey, and I couldn’t go back. In truth it had started in the weeks and months after Dad died. Back then it had been more of a holding pattern. Now a path was stretching out, illuminated by flares. Where it was bound there was no telling. And there was no guarantee I’d come back the same. Was that what I was afraid of?
And then there was Kate.
Relationships, eh? Who needed them?
I did. Ain’t that the truth.
It was time for sleep. Tomorrow, like most days, would be announcing itself soon. The Friday type in this case. The weekend was in sight. But first I’d have to wait for the darkness to rescue me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Friday – 10:00
I was in the groove and back on the case, an appointment with the Right Worshipful Mayor Clegg beckoned. Not that he knew I was coming, of course.
It was early Friday morning and once again I’d switched buses more often than a fare dodger to throw those Cartwright hounds off my trail. Or any persons unknown, for that matter. It was a list that kept on listing. But for the time being at least, my Cherokee sensors were stood down to DEF-CON 3.
After a soothing text to Bob Jones, a few web clicks on the iPhone, and a quick call to the delightful receptionist at Moss & Clarke, Kate’s work number was mine, safely listed under “x” for exalted. It was going to be a good, good day.
Mayor Michael Clegg was the first order of business. Most people in Weighton knew all about him. He was an average looking guy in his mid-fifties, his grey-white hair making him craggy rather than handsome. He was tall, and some said intimidating. He’d been Mayor for two years. In contrast to previous chain wallahs, it had been a high profile stay in office. Since becoming a directly-elected post, the role still hadn’t progressed far beyond the ceremonial, the chief requirement still being
‘Just go,’ she said. ‘You’ve been an arsehole all night.’
‘You’re getting funnier by the day, too, you know.’
She crossed her arms and fixed her look on a far-off horizon, the tell-tale sign of a lecture about to begin. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and unemotional.
‘Your mum told me what happened today. All night I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Not a thing. The dead woman’s even been mentioned on the local news, and what have you got to say? Sorry, Debs, the police almost charged me with murder today, but I didn’t think it worth bothering your pretty head.’
She stood up and smoothed down her top. But the break in sound was only the intermission. Once comfortably adjusted, she seated herself on the arm of the sofa and raised the curtain on Act II.
‘What am I to you? Just a body to fiddle with? Is that it? I’m telling you, Ed, I’ve just about had enough. I preferred it when you didn’t have a job. At least then we talked.’ She pushed a finger into my shoulder blade. ‘Your mum’s right. You need to stop wasting your time on this private investigation nonsense.’ She stared at me for a whole minute, and then looked away. ‘What’s it to be?’
As tirades went it was pretty tiring. But she did have a point.
~
I couldn’t sleep. My mind was full, bulging with big, unhappy thoughts; like logs barging into each other on a congested river.
For some reason I felt sad. If Dad were alive he’d know what to do. He’d put me right. We’d solve the case together. I missed him badly. And Mum missed him a far sight more. She hadn’t been the same since it happened. Deep down, I wanted her to be proud of me, like she was of him. A distance had grown between us, and I wasn’t sure how to put things right.
Debbie felt far away, too. She was already standing on the platform, waiting for that midnight train to Single town. It’s what I deserved.
Trouble is, I don’t do the emotion thing too well. It’s not like I don’t try. If there was a course, I would put my name down for it.
I was on a journey, and I couldn’t go back. In truth it had started in the weeks and months after Dad died. Back then it had been more of a holding pattern. Now a path was stretching out, illuminated by flares. Where it was bound there was no telling. And there was no guarantee I’d come back the same. Was that what I was afraid of?
And then there was Kate.
Relationships, eh? Who needed them?
I did. Ain’t that the truth.
It was time for sleep. Tomorrow, like most days, would be announcing itself soon. The Friday type in this case. The weekend was in sight. But first I’d have to wait for the darkness to rescue me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Friday – 10:00
I was in the groove and back on the case, an appointment with the Right Worshipful Mayor Clegg beckoned. Not that he knew I was coming, of course.
It was early Friday morning and once again I’d switched buses more often than a fare dodger to throw those Cartwright hounds off my trail. Or any persons unknown, for that matter. It was a list that kept on listing. But for the time being at least, my Cherokee sensors were stood down to DEF-CON 3.
After a soothing text to Bob Jones, a few web clicks on the iPhone, and a quick call to the delightful receptionist at Moss & Clarke, Kate’s work number was mine, safely listed under “x” for exalted. It was going to be a good, good day.
Mayor Michael Clegg was the first order of business. Most people in Weighton knew all about him. He was an average looking guy in his mid-fifties, his grey-white hair making him craggy rather than handsome. He was tall, and some said intimidating. He’d been Mayor for two years. In contrast to previous chain wallahs, it had been a high profile stay in office. Since becoming a directly-elected post, the role still hadn’t progressed far beyond the ceremonial, the chief requirement still being
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