“go easy” on him, but it was difficult to hear above the god-awful din. Truth was, I needed a result.
I took out a notepad and pen from my bag – brought as props for the purpose – and retrieved my phone from my jacket. Making great play of switching it to silent, I tapped the voice recorder app instead. It’s all about preparation in this game.
Clegg turned my borrowed business card up to his line of sight and churned out a bogus smile.
‘Mr Wells, good to see you. My friends at the Post know I’m always available for comment on matters such as these.’
‘Yes, Mayor, and we’re always grateful for that.’
‘Have you interviewed me before?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
“Newsround” Mike was a doozer. They weren’t likely to let him cover a Weighton Weightwatchers meeting, let alone interview the Worshipful One.
‘You’re obviously upset about the murder in Weighton yesterday,’ I opened, ‘but after a day’s reflection, could you comment on the record for us?’
Visibly moved, he couldn’t seem to get his words out at first. He had to take a deep breath to compose himself.
‘I am deeply upset and saddened,’ he intoned, ‘at the senseless taking of a life in our city. Mrs Porson was a fine, upstanding member of the community, someone who I had the pleasure to meet at a charity function last year.’
I shuffled in my seat and applied the pensive look. ‘I understand the police are baffled as to motive?’
‘That is correct. They can establish no reason for the killing. As I said earlier, it seems quite senseless.’
‘I understand from my sources that Mrs Porson had hired the services of a private detective. I’m told it was he, in fact, who found the body, and that he’s been interviewed by police. Can you comment on this development?’
Clegg’s eyebrows wriggled like caterpillars on acid, making it clear that Fuzz Inc. hadn’t mentioned this minor detail.
‘It’s a police matter,’ he said quickly. ‘But I am being kept up to date on all developments which pertain to the case. What is clear is that there are no concrete leads as yet.’
I nodded and then allowed a dramatic pause before putting the next question to him. ‘Are the police investigating the possibility that the matter on which the P.I. was working could also be the cause of her death?’
Impatience leapt to his face, but he didn’t take the bait. ‘You’re getting into the realms of speculation,’ he replied calmly, ‘something I won’t do. The police are obviously looking at all possibilities and we must leave it to them.’
The time had come to toss in a wrong ‘un.
I cleared my throat. ‘Mayor, this is a rather delicate question, but nevertheless one I must ask. You said you knew Mrs Porson, but is there any truth in the rumour that you had a more personal relationship with her and that–’
Clegg sprang at me from across the desk and grabbed my throat. Not such a politically correct thing to do you’d think? ‘Who told you that?’
I whistled a pitchy noise through my constricted throat, enough to make him let go.
Standing tall behind his desk, shaking with rage, he pushed his hands through neatly trimmed hair. ‘That is a preposterous suggestion,’ he seethed, ‘and I will sue the Post for every penny if they print a word. I play golf with your owner, you know. He’ll have your balls in his golf bag before you type a word. You understand me?’
‘I understand you,’ I said slowly, rubbing my throat. My turn. ‘Now you understand me .’ I leaned over his desk and looked straight at him. ‘The police know you’re involved, but they’ve said diddly. Am I right? They’re snowing you, and what’s more, Jimmy Cartwright’s got his knob-print doin’ tic-tac-toe all over this thing.’ I paused to recover air. ‘Right now, Eddie G is your only playmate.’
Clegg started to spit and spot, then came to an abrupt halt and sat down. A simple realisation
I took out a notepad and pen from my bag – brought as props for the purpose – and retrieved my phone from my jacket. Making great play of switching it to silent, I tapped the voice recorder app instead. It’s all about preparation in this game.
Clegg turned my borrowed business card up to his line of sight and churned out a bogus smile.
‘Mr Wells, good to see you. My friends at the Post know I’m always available for comment on matters such as these.’
‘Yes, Mayor, and we’re always grateful for that.’
‘Have you interviewed me before?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
“Newsround” Mike was a doozer. They weren’t likely to let him cover a Weighton Weightwatchers meeting, let alone interview the Worshipful One.
‘You’re obviously upset about the murder in Weighton yesterday,’ I opened, ‘but after a day’s reflection, could you comment on the record for us?’
Visibly moved, he couldn’t seem to get his words out at first. He had to take a deep breath to compose himself.
‘I am deeply upset and saddened,’ he intoned, ‘at the senseless taking of a life in our city. Mrs Porson was a fine, upstanding member of the community, someone who I had the pleasure to meet at a charity function last year.’
I shuffled in my seat and applied the pensive look. ‘I understand the police are baffled as to motive?’
‘That is correct. They can establish no reason for the killing. As I said earlier, it seems quite senseless.’
‘I understand from my sources that Mrs Porson had hired the services of a private detective. I’m told it was he, in fact, who found the body, and that he’s been interviewed by police. Can you comment on this development?’
Clegg’s eyebrows wriggled like caterpillars on acid, making it clear that Fuzz Inc. hadn’t mentioned this minor detail.
‘It’s a police matter,’ he said quickly. ‘But I am being kept up to date on all developments which pertain to the case. What is clear is that there are no concrete leads as yet.’
I nodded and then allowed a dramatic pause before putting the next question to him. ‘Are the police investigating the possibility that the matter on which the P.I. was working could also be the cause of her death?’
Impatience leapt to his face, but he didn’t take the bait. ‘You’re getting into the realms of speculation,’ he replied calmly, ‘something I won’t do. The police are obviously looking at all possibilities and we must leave it to them.’
The time had come to toss in a wrong ‘un.
I cleared my throat. ‘Mayor, this is a rather delicate question, but nevertheless one I must ask. You said you knew Mrs Porson, but is there any truth in the rumour that you had a more personal relationship with her and that–’
Clegg sprang at me from across the desk and grabbed my throat. Not such a politically correct thing to do you’d think? ‘Who told you that?’
I whistled a pitchy noise through my constricted throat, enough to make him let go.
Standing tall behind his desk, shaking with rage, he pushed his hands through neatly trimmed hair. ‘That is a preposterous suggestion,’ he seethed, ‘and I will sue the Post for every penny if they print a word. I play golf with your owner, you know. He’ll have your balls in his golf bag before you type a word. You understand me?’
‘I understand you,’ I said slowly, rubbing my throat. My turn. ‘Now you understand me .’ I leaned over his desk and looked straight at him. ‘The police know you’re involved, but they’ve said diddly. Am I right? They’re snowing you, and what’s more, Jimmy Cartwright’s got his knob-print doin’ tic-tac-toe all over this thing.’ I paused to recover air. ‘Right now, Eddie G is your only playmate.’
Clegg started to spit and spot, then came to an abrupt halt and sat down. A simple realisation
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