Dying Fall by Sally Spencer Page B

him,’ Scuddie said.
    It was at two minutes past midnight that Tel Lowry, after pacing his living room for several minutes, picked up the phone and dialled Henry Marlowe’s home number. It took some time for Marlowe to answer the phone, and when he did it was in a dopey voice which suggested that he’d been asleep.
    Lazy bastard! Lowry thought. But aloud, he said, ‘Have you been giving any thought to our problem, Henry?’
    At the other end of the line, Marlowe groaned. ‘It’s not that easy, Tel. I’ve got the press to think about.’
    â€˜And I’ve got my
re-election
to think about,’ Lowry snapped.
    â€˜You got in with quite a comfortable majority the last time,’ Marlowe said weakly.
    â€˜
Last time
, I wasn’t standing against Ron Scranton, was I?’ Lowry countered. ‘Look, I’m not concerned for myself …’ He paused for a moment. ‘All right,
I am
concerned for myself,’ he admitted. ‘I like being a councillor.’
    â€˜Well, of course you do. That’s only nat—’
    â€˜But I’m
also
concerned about the people of this town – especially the newer arrivals. There’s a lot of decent, hard-working Asian families that have moved to Whitebridge in the last few years.’
    â€˜Are there?’ asked Marlowe, as if it were news to him.
    â€˜There are,’ Lowry said firmly. ‘They want to build a new life for themselves, and I think they should be given that chance. Besides, the town in general will benefit from the influx of new blood.’
    â€˜If you say so,’ Marlowe replied, unconvinced.
    â€˜I do say so,’ Lowry insisted. ‘But things could go the other way as well, couldn’t they? With me off the council, and Scranton still on it and stronger than ever, we could have a race war on our hands. And if that happens, everybody loses. Not just the Asians. Not just the whites. Everybody!’
    â€˜I … er … rather think you might be overstating the case there, Tel,’ Marlowe said.
    â€˜Well, I don’t! I could lose my seat, Henry, I really could. The riff-raff in my ward have already defected to Scranton, and if I can’t deliver on my promise to cut spending, some of the more respectable voters will, too.’
    â€˜When you put it like that, it certainly does seem to be something of a problem,’ Marlowe said reluctantly.
    â€˜And it’s not just a problem for me,’ Lowry pointed out. ‘The next chairman of the Police Authority might not regard your little failings quite as indulgently as I do, Henry. The next chairman might want you out!’
    â€˜I’ll do what I can,’ Marlowe said.
    â€˜And do it quickly,’ Lowry advised. ‘Do it before there’s a hole in my budget you could lose the
Titanic
in.’
    The narrow alleyway ran between two industrial buildings, a tannery and a small abattoir. They were connected, on their first floors, by a covered bridge which had once been used to transport the skins of the slaughtered cattle from the one to the other. But it had been a long time since that bridge had been used – a long time since either of the businesses had been a going concern.
    Crabtree and Warner walked down the alleyway at a leisurely pace, their torches lighting up the cobbled ground in front of them, their minds searching for something to break up the monotony of this patrol.
    â€˜What’s the time?’ Warner asked.
    Crabtree shone his torch on his watch. ‘It’s just turned five past twelve,’ he announced.
    â€˜It’s goin’ to be a long, cold shift, without even a cup of tea to warm us up,’ Warner said mournfully. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time that somebody opened one of them American all-night diners in Whitebridge?’
    Crabtree chuckled. ‘Oh, absolutely,’ he agreed. ‘And while they’re at it, they might as well go