Read Online Cambridge Blue by Alison Bruce - Free Book Online

rasping like bone against bone. ‘’Course I did.’
    Yeah, of course , thought Goodhew. ‘OK,’ he said, then paused, waiting for Ratty to turn his head and look at him. He didn’t. ‘We have a witness who saw you.’
    Ratty blew out a thin plume of smoke. ‘Oh yeah, doing what?’
    ‘Nothing, really, but you were out near the airfield. My guess is that you were heading for that lake off Coldhams Lane when she walked past. A few minutes later she was assaulted. Did you hear about it?’
    This time Ratty looked directly at Goodhew. ‘We’ve all heard about the Airport Rapist.’
    ‘Did you see a man following her?’
    Ratty shook his head.
    ‘That’s not an answer, Rat.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because you have your code. When you mean no, you say no – shaking your head is merely avoiding the question.’
    Ratty shook his head again. ‘You think you’re smart, don’t you? Well, you are, too. Lucky-fucking-you, that’s all I say. I’ll tell you about it, Gary.’ He had emphasized the ‘Gary’ and then stopped speaking which, word-wise, was more economical than saying I know stuff you don’t know. Goodhew waited, almost hypnotized by this macabre spectre trying to stare him out.
    Despite Ratty’s stillness, his eyes were dark and hollow, and he seemed even less substantial than he’d been the last time they’d met: he’d always been a shell of a man, but now the walls were thinner. Sooner or later, the drugs inevitably took their toll, and Goodhew could see that Ratty now viewed the real world from the other end of an ever-extending tunnel.
    Ratty ground the half-inch butt of his cigarette between his fingertips until it flaked to the ground. ‘I’m not talking to you. Right now, I’m nothing, and when things go bad that’s the best thing to be.’ He fanned out his nicotined fingers. ‘Trouble is like poison. You go near it and you get infected.’
    ‘That’s deep.’
    ‘What, coming from someone like me who’s never been out of it?’
    ‘That’s not what I meant.’
    ‘Well, there’s trouble and there’s trouble. I always have some, but only my own. And I know all about other people’s, but there’s a line.’ He turned his face away and scraped his thumbnail down the wall by his shoulder. ‘Can’t see it, can you? But it’s there, trust me. On one side is me, and what’s mine, and over there is other people’s shit. What I don’t do is anything that takes me over there. I can see what’s going on, but I don’t visit, if you get my drift.’
    ‘You don’t get involved?’
    ‘People get possessive about trouble, so they only want help on their own terms. And if they don’t want it fixed, getting in the middle of it is dangerous, even if it looks safe. That’s another problem: it can seem like nothing, but then—’ He walked his fingers from his side of the line to the other, then rubbed his hand across the wall in a small circle. ‘The line’s gone and you’re fucked.’
    Ratty pushed himself away from the wall, swinging his skinny body round until he faced Goodhew squarely. ‘So I look, but I don’t touch. I don’t let it seep over me.’
    He didn’t seem high, he emanated nothing but stale tobacco and paranoia. ‘Touch it and it stains you, Gary. Remember that.’
    Getting Ratty to make a statement was clearly not something to look forward to. Goodhew wondered if he could persuade Marks to drop the whole idea; this was unlikely to be the witness to swing a court case in any direction it wasn’t already headed. He sighed, but Ratty didn’t seem to notice.
    What path had the younger version of Ratty stumbled down to end up in such a bleak cul-de-sac? Goodhew looked away from him, and the first person he saw was a distant cyclist, standing up out of the saddle, pedalling furiously towards him. He saw a flash of orange swing from behind his back and realized it was the paper boy from the bus station. The kid was short; he’d noticed him on other mornings,