Read Online Challis - 05 - Blood Moon by Garry Disher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Garry Disher
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way to where two men held a teenage boy to the ground, one
on his legs, the other on his shoulders.
Okay, Cree shouted, what gives?
His right hand was on the holster of
his .38 revolver. His mobile phone was in his left. Jesus, Tank thought, and
nudged him aside.
Thank you, gentlemen, well take it
from here.
The little bastard almost caused an
accident, said one of the men. We made a citizens arrest.
Yeah, said the other man.
The people milling about them
shouted, Doing your job for you, amongst other things.
Then a woman came barrelling
through, screaming, Ill have the lot of you up for assaulting my boy.
Tank closed his eyes. The paperwork
when all of this was sorted would take hours. With any luck, no one would press
charges. With any luck, the boy would get a fright, start attending school
again, become a model citizen.
And so the morning progressed. Next
up was a broken shop window back in Waterloo. Apparently a nineteen-year-old
had been ejected from the Waterloo Arms the previous night and taken it out on
the neighbouring hairdressing salon. Go figure, Tank murmured. The
hairdresser was less sanguine. This is the third time in eighteen months, four
grand each time to replace the glass, whos going to insure me now? Why the
hell cant you patrol High Street regularly? Why cant you install CCTV?
Good point, Tank thought, scribbling
in his notebook while Cree chatted up a young redhead who was cutting an old
womans hair.
After that, a burglary in Penzance
Beach, no signs of forced entry. It has me baffled, the homeowner said. She
was old, trembly, distressed.
It didnt baffle Tank for long. He
took one look at the doga huge, ancient Labrador, and another at the big dog
flap on the back door and informed Cree that the man they wanted was Ricky
DaSilva.
How do you know?
Youll see.
Ricky DaSilva was tiny, no bigger
than a child. They found him in the pub with the old womans purse in his pocket.
But was Cree impressed with Tanks deductive powers? All Cree said was, It has me quite baffled.
Instinct told Tank to bite his
tongue. He knew that envy was making him exaggerate Andy Crees faults. Envy,
jealousy, sexual jealousy...
After lunch they were called to a
domestic in the Seaview housing estate. They found a woman with a black eye and
a bruised torso, revealed when she lifted the edge of her T-shirt. Me
ex-husband done this, she said. Coupla days ago. I want the bastard charged.
There was a code of practice for
these kinds of assaults. First they took the woman back to the station, where a
doctor examined her. The next stage was a photographic record of her injuries,
ideally in the presence of a senior female officer, but Destry and Murph were
out, and no one else was availablesame old story, the general and chronic
shortage of staff at Waterloo. So they roped in a young female constable from
Traffic and took the battered woman into the victim suite, where Cree set up a
camera. We need to photograph your injuries, Tank explained.
The woman gulped, nodded, and
removed her T-shirt, revealing pillowy breasts inside a grimy bra and a pattern
of old and new bruises. Not your usual look? joked Cree, snapping away with
the camera.
The young cop giggled. Cree grinned
at her. The woman blushed and looked away. Oh, fuck, thought Tank, grabbing the
camera. Andy, maybe you could take a coffee break, start the paperwork or
something?
Whatever.
When Cree had left the room, Tank
took the young Traffic constable out into the corridor. Shes a victim, okay?
Shes vulnerable. Its taken her a lot of courage to report this.
Those words had been said to him,
once upon a time. The constable looked at the floor. Sorry, Tank.
Enough said.
They went back in and finished the
job. Afterwards he told Cree: Look, pal, if you and I are going to spend time
together, you might want to rethink your attitude.
What attitude?
Exactly, Tank said.
* * * *
Four
oclock in the afternoon. Pam Murphy had spotted
on his legs, the other on his shoulders.
Okay, Cree shouted, what gives?
His right hand was on the holster of
his .38 revolver. His mobile phone was in his left. Jesus, Tank thought, and
nudged him aside.
Thank you, gentlemen, well take it
from here.
The little bastard almost caused an
accident, said one of the men. We made a citizens arrest.
Yeah, said the other man.
The people milling about them
shouted, Doing your job for you, amongst other things.
Then a woman came barrelling
through, screaming, Ill have the lot of you up for assaulting my boy.
Tank closed his eyes. The paperwork
when all of this was sorted would take hours. With any luck, no one would press
charges. With any luck, the boy would get a fright, start attending school
again, become a model citizen.
And so the morning progressed. Next
up was a broken shop window back in Waterloo. Apparently a nineteen-year-old
had been ejected from the Waterloo Arms the previous night and taken it out on
the neighbouring hairdressing salon. Go figure, Tank murmured. The
hairdresser was less sanguine. This is the third time in eighteen months, four
grand each time to replace the glass, whos going to insure me now? Why the
hell cant you patrol High Street regularly? Why cant you install CCTV?
Good point, Tank thought, scribbling
in his notebook while Cree chatted up a young redhead who was cutting an old
womans hair.
After that, a burglary in Penzance
Beach, no signs of forced entry. It has me baffled, the homeowner said. She
was old, trembly, distressed.
It didnt baffle Tank for long. He
took one look at the doga huge, ancient Labrador, and another at the big dog
flap on the back door and informed Cree that the man they wanted was Ricky
DaSilva.
How do you know?
Youll see.
Ricky DaSilva was tiny, no bigger
than a child. They found him in the pub with the old womans purse in his pocket.
But was Cree impressed with Tanks deductive powers? All Cree said was, It has me quite baffled.
Instinct told Tank to bite his
tongue. He knew that envy was making him exaggerate Andy Crees faults. Envy,
jealousy, sexual jealousy...
After lunch they were called to a
domestic in the Seaview housing estate. They found a woman with a black eye and
a bruised torso, revealed when she lifted the edge of her T-shirt. Me
ex-husband done this, she said. Coupla days ago. I want the bastard charged.
There was a code of practice for
these kinds of assaults. First they took the woman back to the station, where a
doctor examined her. The next stage was a photographic record of her injuries,
ideally in the presence of a senior female officer, but Destry and Murph were
out, and no one else was availablesame old story, the general and chronic
shortage of staff at Waterloo. So they roped in a young female constable from
Traffic and took the battered woman into the victim suite, where Cree set up a
camera. We need to photograph your injuries, Tank explained.
The woman gulped, nodded, and
removed her T-shirt, revealing pillowy breasts inside a grimy bra and a pattern
of old and new bruises. Not your usual look? joked Cree, snapping away with
the camera.
The young cop giggled. Cree grinned
at her. The woman blushed and looked away. Oh, fuck, thought Tank, grabbing the
camera. Andy, maybe you could take a coffee break, start the paperwork or
something?
Whatever.
When Cree had left the room, Tank
took the young Traffic constable out into the corridor. Shes a victim, okay?
Shes vulnerable. Its taken her a lot of courage to report this.
Those words had been said to him,
once upon a time. The constable looked at the floor. Sorry, Tank.
Enough said.
They went back in and finished the
job. Afterwards he told Cree: Look, pal, if you and I are going to spend time
together, you might want to rethink your attitude.
What attitude?
Exactly, Tank said.
* * * *
Four
oclock in the afternoon. Pam Murphy had spotted
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