Read Online Hell Is Always Today by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Higgins
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recognition.
She looked him over, taking in the sailor’s uniform, the bare feet and laughed, a hand to her mouth. “Where on earth did you spring from?”
“The loft,” the Gunner told her.
“Shall I get the police, love?” Ma Crowther asked.
The Gunner cut in quickly. “Why bother the peelers about a little thing like this? You know what it’s like on a Saturday night. A bloke has a few pints, then follows the first bit of skirt he sees. Sometimes he tries to go a bit too far like the geezer who just skipped, but it’s all come out in the wash. Once it’s reported in the papers, all the old dears will think he screwed you, darlin’, even if he didn’t,” he assured the girl gaily.
“Here, just a minute,” the old woman said. “Bare feet and dressed like a sailor. I know who you are.” She turned to the girl and said excitedly, “They’ve just had a flash on Northern Newscast. This is Gunner Doyle.”
“Gunner Doyle?” the girl said.
“The boxer. Your Dad used to take me to see him. Topped the bill at the Town Hall a couple of times. Doing five years at Manningham Gaol. They took him into the infirmary because they thought he was ill and he gave them the slip earlier this evening.”
The girl stood looking at him, legs slightly apart, a hand on her hip and the Gunner managed a tired, tired grin. “That’s me, the original naughty boy.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “But you’re bleeding like a stuck pig. Better come inside.” She turned and took the shotgun from the old woman’s grasp. “It’s all right, Gran. He won’t bite.”
“You forgot something,” the Gunner said.
She turned in the doorway. “What’s that, then?”
“What you came out for in the first place.” He picked up the coal scuttle. “Lad’s work, that’s what my Aunty Mary always used to say.”
He got down on his knees to fill it. When he straightened and turned wearily, the girl said, “I don’t know why, but I think I like your Aunty Mary.”
The Gunner grinned. “She’d go for you, darlin’. I’ll tell you that for nothing.”
He swayed suddenly and she reached out and caught his arm in a grip of surprising strength. “Come on then, soldier, you’ve had enough for one night,” and she drew him into the warmth.
7
Faulkner frowned, enormous concentration on his face as he leaned over the drawing board and carefully sketched in another line. When the door bell rang he ignored it and continued working. There was another more insistent ring. He cursed softly, covered the sketch with a clean sheet of cartridge paper and went to the door.
He opened it to find Chief Superintendent Mallory standing there, Miller at his shoulder. Mallory smiled politely. “Mr. Faulkner? Chief Superintendent Mallory. I believe you’ve already met Detective Sergeant Miller.”
Faulkner showed no particular surprise, but his eyes widened slightly when he looked at Miller. “What is all this? Tickets for the policeman’s ball?”
Mallory’s manner was dangerously gentle. “I wonder if we could have a few words with you, sir?”
Faulkner stood to one side, ushering them into the studio with a mock bow. “Be my guest, Superintendent.”
He closed the door and as he turned to face them, Mallory said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, “We’re making enquiries concerning a Miss Packard, Mr. Faulkner. I understand you might be able to help us?”
Faulkner lit a cigarette and shrugged. “To the best of my knowledge I’ve never even heard of her.”
“But she was with you earlier this evening at Joanna Hartmann’s party,” Miller put in.
“Oh, you mean Grace?” Faulkner nodded. “I’m with you now. So the viper’s discovered it can sting, has it? Has he made a formal complaint?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir,” Mallory said. “Grace Packard is dead. Her body was found in an alley called Dob Court not far from here less than an hour ago. Her neck was broken.”
There
She looked him over, taking in the sailor’s uniform, the bare feet and laughed, a hand to her mouth. “Where on earth did you spring from?”
“The loft,” the Gunner told her.
“Shall I get the police, love?” Ma Crowther asked.
The Gunner cut in quickly. “Why bother the peelers about a little thing like this? You know what it’s like on a Saturday night. A bloke has a few pints, then follows the first bit of skirt he sees. Sometimes he tries to go a bit too far like the geezer who just skipped, but it’s all come out in the wash. Once it’s reported in the papers, all the old dears will think he screwed you, darlin’, even if he didn’t,” he assured the girl gaily.
“Here, just a minute,” the old woman said. “Bare feet and dressed like a sailor. I know who you are.” She turned to the girl and said excitedly, “They’ve just had a flash on Northern Newscast. This is Gunner Doyle.”
“Gunner Doyle?” the girl said.
“The boxer. Your Dad used to take me to see him. Topped the bill at the Town Hall a couple of times. Doing five years at Manningham Gaol. They took him into the infirmary because they thought he was ill and he gave them the slip earlier this evening.”
The girl stood looking at him, legs slightly apart, a hand on her hip and the Gunner managed a tired, tired grin. “That’s me, the original naughty boy.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “But you’re bleeding like a stuck pig. Better come inside.” She turned and took the shotgun from the old woman’s grasp. “It’s all right, Gran. He won’t bite.”
“You forgot something,” the Gunner said.
She turned in the doorway. “What’s that, then?”
“What you came out for in the first place.” He picked up the coal scuttle. “Lad’s work, that’s what my Aunty Mary always used to say.”
He got down on his knees to fill it. When he straightened and turned wearily, the girl said, “I don’t know why, but I think I like your Aunty Mary.”
The Gunner grinned. “She’d go for you, darlin’. I’ll tell you that for nothing.”
He swayed suddenly and she reached out and caught his arm in a grip of surprising strength. “Come on then, soldier, you’ve had enough for one night,” and she drew him into the warmth.
7
Faulkner frowned, enormous concentration on his face as he leaned over the drawing board and carefully sketched in another line. When the door bell rang he ignored it and continued working. There was another more insistent ring. He cursed softly, covered the sketch with a clean sheet of cartridge paper and went to the door.
He opened it to find Chief Superintendent Mallory standing there, Miller at his shoulder. Mallory smiled politely. “Mr. Faulkner? Chief Superintendent Mallory. I believe you’ve already met Detective Sergeant Miller.”
Faulkner showed no particular surprise, but his eyes widened slightly when he looked at Miller. “What is all this? Tickets for the policeman’s ball?”
Mallory’s manner was dangerously gentle. “I wonder if we could have a few words with you, sir?”
Faulkner stood to one side, ushering them into the studio with a mock bow. “Be my guest, Superintendent.”
He closed the door and as he turned to face them, Mallory said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, “We’re making enquiries concerning a Miss Packard, Mr. Faulkner. I understand you might be able to help us?”
Faulkner lit a cigarette and shrugged. “To the best of my knowledge I’ve never even heard of her.”
“But she was with you earlier this evening at Joanna Hartmann’s party,” Miller put in.
“Oh, you mean Grace?” Faulkner nodded. “I’m with you now. So the viper’s discovered it can sting, has it? Has he made a formal complaint?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir,” Mallory said. “Grace Packard is dead. Her body was found in an alley called Dob Court not far from here less than an hour ago. Her neck was broken.”
There
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