In another second I would have fallen on the line under the incoming train, but a man beside me on the platform caught hold of me in the nick of time and pulled me back.
“Fuck me, are you alright?” The man demanded. He was a big burly man, covered in tattoos and wearing an Ipswich Town football shirt. “You’re not trying to top yourself are you?”
“No, I lost my balance,” I said quickly. “Thanks very much for catching me.”
“I thought you were a goner, mate.”
Already the crowd was milling around us, boarding the train, others leaving it. Oblivious to what had just happened.
“You, okay?” The man asked me again, as I stepped onto the train.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
It would have pointless for me to say I had been pushed. Up until that point I have gone about consciously on my guard, alert for any danger. But after talking with DI Silver, after the Detective Inspector’s bantering inquiry as to whether any attempt on my life had been made, I had wrongly regarded the danger as over or unlikely to materialise.
But how wrong had I been! Amongst those I had interviewed in Oxmarket Aspal one discussion had achieved a result. Somebody had been afraid. Somebody had sought to put an end to my dangerous reopening of a closed case.
On my mobile phone walking from the station at Oxmarket Aspal, I rang Detective Inspector Paul Silver.
“I have some news,” I said. “Someone has tried to kill me!”
I listened with satisfaction to the flow of remarks from the other end.
“No, I’m not hurt. But it was close. Yes, under a train. No, I did not see who did it, but rest assured, I shall find out ! I know now that I am on the right track.”
13
With a glass of Baileys over Ice in one hand, Julie Lawes approached me towards the end of the Brooks-Nunn’s party. I was grateful because I was wondering how the hell I had got roped into attending. I had returned to the guest house to find an invitation left with Karen Bellagamba and telephoned the Detective Inspector to see if he had the same doubts that I had about going.
I was surprised about his response.
“I think it’s a great idea,” he told me. “But be a bit more on your guard this time. Somebody has already tried to kill you and they will try again.”
Julie Lawes clinked my glass of Aberlour . A ten year old single malt whisky.
“How are you?” She asked.
“Good thanks.” I said. “You?”
Up till that moment we had each of us been the centre of an admiring circle. Now that a great deal of wine had been consumed, and the party was going well, there was a tendency for old friends to get together and retell local scandal and as we were the two outsiders we were able to talk to each other.
“Come out on the terrace,” she said to me, in a conspiratorial whisper.
At the same time she pressed into my hand a small piece of paper.
Together they stepped out through the French windows and walked along the terrace. I unfolded the piece of paper.
“Dr Hogg?” I asked, looking questioningly at the author. Julie Lawes nodded vigorously, a large plume of grey hair fell across her face as she did so.
“He’s the murderer,” she said.
“Really? What makes you think that?”
“Fuck me, are you alright?” The man demanded. He was a big burly man, covered in tattoos and wearing an Ipswich Town football shirt. “You’re not trying to top yourself are you?”
“No, I lost my balance,” I said quickly. “Thanks very much for catching me.”
“I thought you were a goner, mate.”
Already the crowd was milling around us, boarding the train, others leaving it. Oblivious to what had just happened.
“You, okay?” The man asked me again, as I stepped onto the train.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
It would have pointless for me to say I had been pushed. Up until that point I have gone about consciously on my guard, alert for any danger. But after talking with DI Silver, after the Detective Inspector’s bantering inquiry as to whether any attempt on my life had been made, I had wrongly regarded the danger as over or unlikely to materialise.
But how wrong had I been! Amongst those I had interviewed in Oxmarket Aspal one discussion had achieved a result. Somebody had been afraid. Somebody had sought to put an end to my dangerous reopening of a closed case.
On my mobile phone walking from the station at Oxmarket Aspal, I rang Detective Inspector Paul Silver.
“I have some news,” I said. “Someone has tried to kill me!”
I listened with satisfaction to the flow of remarks from the other end.
“No, I’m not hurt. But it was close. Yes, under a train. No, I did not see who did it, but rest assured, I shall find out ! I know now that I am on the right track.”
13
With a glass of Baileys over Ice in one hand, Julie Lawes approached me towards the end of the Brooks-Nunn’s party. I was grateful because I was wondering how the hell I had got roped into attending. I had returned to the guest house to find an invitation left with Karen Bellagamba and telephoned the Detective Inspector to see if he had the same doubts that I had about going.
I was surprised about his response.
“I think it’s a great idea,” he told me. “But be a bit more on your guard this time. Somebody has already tried to kill you and they will try again.”
Julie Lawes clinked my glass of Aberlour . A ten year old single malt whisky.
“How are you?” She asked.
“Good thanks.” I said. “You?”
Up till that moment we had each of us been the centre of an admiring circle. Now that a great deal of wine had been consumed, and the party was going well, there was a tendency for old friends to get together and retell local scandal and as we were the two outsiders we were able to talk to each other.
“Come out on the terrace,” she said to me, in a conspiratorial whisper.
At the same time she pressed into my hand a small piece of paper.
Together they stepped out through the French windows and walked along the terrace. I unfolded the piece of paper.
“Dr Hogg?” I asked, looking questioningly at the author. Julie Lawes nodded vigorously, a large plume of grey hair fell across her face as she did so.
“He’s the murderer,” she said.
“Really? What makes you think that?”
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