with the chickens.’
‘Oh, don’t drag up the to-do with the chickens, DCI Hunt,
per-lease
!’
Sargood replied, rolling his bloodshot eyes. ‘No, no, no, I’m distinctly
off
chickens.’
‘And I can’t imagine they’re too happy about you neither, not after what ’appened.’
‘And what
did
happen?’ put in Sam, nonplussed.
‘Nothing worth repeating here,’ Sargood declared, lifting his chin in a dignified manner. ‘No no no. A misunderstanding, long since forgiven and forgotten. It ruffled a few feathers at the time – ha ha – but it’s all in the past now. What interests me is what
you
chaps have been getting up to today, mm?’ He smiled, swaying slightly but regaining his balance. ‘Ex-Detective Chief Inspectors dropping out of church spires! And then certain police officers blazing away at the body like it’s a spot of target practice!
That
sort of lark doesn’t happen every day. All very odd. Feel like telling your Auntie Jacky about it, mmm? Make you feel better. A trouble halved, and all that. I mean, I’m sure you’ve got nothing to hide.’
Sargood flipped open his reporter’s notebook and waited to take a quote.
Gene turned slowly towards Sam, his expression thunderous.
‘
That,
Tyler, is what I was talking about,’ he growled, jabbing a thumb in Sargood’s direction. ‘We got the press on our backs already over this monkey-business with Carroll. And this is just the start, you know what I’m saying?’
Gene was referring to word getting out to the papers of the whole corruption scandal from the sixties, how a police officer’s death had been covered up, how a villain had bought CID’s silence, and how the whole thing had been brushed under the carpet. Sam reflected that perhaps he was right, that it would create an avalanche of bad publicity that could quite conceivably bury Gene’s career.
‘I’ll give you a statement, Mr Sargood,’ said Sam. ‘My name’s DI Sam Tyler, I was the officer attempting to prevent ex-DCI Carroll from jumping. I failed. I take responsibility. It was an extremely difficult situation involving a disturbed man, a firearm, and hostages. I was attempting to resolve the whole drama without bloodshed or loss of life, and regretfully that proved impossible. But I did my best, and I acted at all times in accordance with my principles as a police officer. As for shooting Carroll’s body, well, there’s an explanation for that.’
‘Hold up,’ Sargood interrupted him, frowning at his notepad. ‘I’ve gotten as far
my name is …
And what
was
your name again? And why’s my pencil not working?’
‘You write with the pointy end,’ Gene advised him.
Sargood laughed delightedly: ‘Ah ha! So you do! After all these years ...! Have you ever thought of taking up writing for a living, Mr Hunt, you seem to understand the equipment.’
‘It’s
DCI
Hunt to you, Sargood you saturated twerp, and you’d do well to remember that, ‘specially if you want to keep your head from being thwacked clean off your shoulders.’
‘No no no, don’t knock my head off, please. Where would I put my cigarette? Now – which one of you was telling me things? Are the pubs open? Perhaps we could continue this little interview over a cocktail. It’s surely time for a highball or two.’
‘I know a cocktail you’ll like,’ said Gene, planting himself squarely in front of Sargood. ‘I invented it meself. I call it a Breathless Slammer.’
His smile faltering, Sargood said: ‘I have a feeling it’s going to be …’
Gene rammed his fist into Sargood’s stomach, doubling him up.
‘… a little too strong for me …’ Sargood wheezed.
Gene batted the trilby from Sargood’s head, grabbed a fistful of hair, and hauled him upright. Sargood’s face, already red when he arrived, was now redder still.
‘You and me, we’ve had our fun in the past, ain’t we, Jacky-boy.’ Gene snarled right into his face. ‘All them things you’ve put in the papers over
‘Oh, don’t drag up the to-do with the chickens, DCI Hunt,
per-lease
!’
Sargood replied, rolling his bloodshot eyes. ‘No, no, no, I’m distinctly
off
chickens.’
‘And I can’t imagine they’re too happy about you neither, not after what ’appened.’
‘And what
did
happen?’ put in Sam, nonplussed.
‘Nothing worth repeating here,’ Sargood declared, lifting his chin in a dignified manner. ‘No no no. A misunderstanding, long since forgiven and forgotten. It ruffled a few feathers at the time – ha ha – but it’s all in the past now. What interests me is what
you
chaps have been getting up to today, mm?’ He smiled, swaying slightly but regaining his balance. ‘Ex-Detective Chief Inspectors dropping out of church spires! And then certain police officers blazing away at the body like it’s a spot of target practice!
That
sort of lark doesn’t happen every day. All very odd. Feel like telling your Auntie Jacky about it, mmm? Make you feel better. A trouble halved, and all that. I mean, I’m sure you’ve got nothing to hide.’
Sargood flipped open his reporter’s notebook and waited to take a quote.
Gene turned slowly towards Sam, his expression thunderous.
‘
That,
Tyler, is what I was talking about,’ he growled, jabbing a thumb in Sargood’s direction. ‘We got the press on our backs already over this monkey-business with Carroll. And this is just the start, you know what I’m saying?’
Gene was referring to word getting out to the papers of the whole corruption scandal from the sixties, how a police officer’s death had been covered up, how a villain had bought CID’s silence, and how the whole thing had been brushed under the carpet. Sam reflected that perhaps he was right, that it would create an avalanche of bad publicity that could quite conceivably bury Gene’s career.
‘I’ll give you a statement, Mr Sargood,’ said Sam. ‘My name’s DI Sam Tyler, I was the officer attempting to prevent ex-DCI Carroll from jumping. I failed. I take responsibility. It was an extremely difficult situation involving a disturbed man, a firearm, and hostages. I was attempting to resolve the whole drama without bloodshed or loss of life, and regretfully that proved impossible. But I did my best, and I acted at all times in accordance with my principles as a police officer. As for shooting Carroll’s body, well, there’s an explanation for that.’
‘Hold up,’ Sargood interrupted him, frowning at his notepad. ‘I’ve gotten as far
my name is …
And what
was
your name again? And why’s my pencil not working?’
‘You write with the pointy end,’ Gene advised him.
Sargood laughed delightedly: ‘Ah ha! So you do! After all these years ...! Have you ever thought of taking up writing for a living, Mr Hunt, you seem to understand the equipment.’
‘It’s
DCI
Hunt to you, Sargood you saturated twerp, and you’d do well to remember that, ‘specially if you want to keep your head from being thwacked clean off your shoulders.’
‘No no no, don’t knock my head off, please. Where would I put my cigarette? Now – which one of you was telling me things? Are the pubs open? Perhaps we could continue this little interview over a cocktail. It’s surely time for a highball or two.’
‘I know a cocktail you’ll like,’ said Gene, planting himself squarely in front of Sargood. ‘I invented it meself. I call it a Breathless Slammer.’
His smile faltering, Sargood said: ‘I have a feeling it’s going to be …’
Gene rammed his fist into Sargood’s stomach, doubling him up.
‘… a little too strong for me …’ Sargood wheezed.
Gene batted the trilby from Sargood’s head, grabbed a fistful of hair, and hauled him upright. Sargood’s face, already red when he arrived, was now redder still.
‘You and me, we’ve had our fun in the past, ain’t we, Jacky-boy.’ Gene snarled right into his face. ‘All them things you’ve put in the papers over
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