Read Online Killing Time by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
Ads: Link
notice.’
‘Were you in bed?’
‘No, I was in here, watching telly. I might of just dropped off, though,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘What exactly did you hear?’
‘I heard this crash, like the door was being kicked in, and then a load of shoutin’ an’ crashin’ about, like someone was havin’ a real barney.’ She waxed enthusiastic. ‘All furnicher bein’ knocked over and glass broken and that. And then someone shouted, “I’m going to kill you, you dirty bastard.” And then there was a kind of thud, like a body falling over. And then it all went quiet.’ She shuddered. ‘’Orrible it was!’
In your dreams, Hart thought, making notes with an inward sigh. ‘What direction did these noises come from?’
‘Are you taking the piss?’ Mrs Hogg asked with a derisive look. ‘Them next door, o’ course. That’s what you was asking about, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, right. But you see, there’s no sign of anyone having a fight in there, no furniture turned over or broken glass. So I thought it might be some other barney you heard.’
Mrs Hogg grew sulky. ‘I know what I heard. You callin’ me a liar?’
‘I just want you to think carefully about what you really heard. It’s not going to help us if you exaggerate.’
‘I did hear the door bein’ kicked in,’ she said defiantly.
‘And
I heard some furnicher crashin’.’ A pause. ‘Maybe that was all,’ she added reluctantly.
‘What about the shouting?’
‘Well, maybe, maybe not. I can’t say for sure.’
‘And can you help me some more about the time?’
‘Like I say, I must of dropped off in front of the telly,’ she said, eyeing Hart as though she saw her chance of stardom dissolving.
‘And it was the noise that woke you up? Do you remember what was on the telly then?’
Further probing brought the admission that Mrs Hogg had been hitting the Cinzano earlier in the evening, which had caused her to drop off, and the noise next door had only partly woken her. She had dozed again, and it was only when Jade’s howling had started off baby Pearse that the combined racket had penetrated her cobwebs. By then all was quiet next door. It was then ten past midnight, so the door-kicking-in could have happened at any time before that.
The neighbours on the other side were harder to coax out, and less forthcoming, but probably more reliable. The elderly couple glared at Hart suspiciously round the chain on the door, and would only open it when she had got PC Baker to come and flash his uniform, and both sets of ID had been carefully scrutinised.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ the oldster grunted begrudgingly as he opened the door a little wider. He wore a very sporty home-knitted cardigan of grey wool with a white reindeer-motif border, whose pockets sagged hopelessly under the burden of handkerchiefs, tobacco tin and matches.
‘Only you see stuff on the telly all the time,’ the oldstress added over his shoulder. She was inclined to be apologetic, and would have asked them in, had her husband not blocked the way as robustly as his trembling frame could manage. Hart was quite happy to interview them on the doorstep. Over their diminutive shoulders she could smell the house aroma of liniment, cold roll-ups and dirty bodies, and had no wish to pitch her Amarige against this new Everest.
The old man said their name was Mr and Mrs Maplesyrup, but the old lady, whose teeth fitted better, corrected this to Maplesthorp as Hart wrote it down. They had heard the door being kicked in all right. It was just before half past eleven, because the film was just finishing, which was
Assassination
with Charles Bronson, very loud and lots of banging, guns and that, and Mr Maplesyrup had thought at first the noise was just part of the film, but Mrs Maplesyrup had said turn the sound down a minute, Charlie, I think it was next door. So he had done, because it was just the whajjercallums, the titles by then, and they’d listened, and they’d heard
‘Were you in bed?’
‘No, I was in here, watching telly. I might of just dropped off, though,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘What exactly did you hear?’
‘I heard this crash, like the door was being kicked in, and then a load of shoutin’ an’ crashin’ about, like someone was havin’ a real barney.’ She waxed enthusiastic. ‘All furnicher bein’ knocked over and glass broken and that. And then someone shouted, “I’m going to kill you, you dirty bastard.” And then there was a kind of thud, like a body falling over. And then it all went quiet.’ She shuddered. ‘’Orrible it was!’
In your dreams, Hart thought, making notes with an inward sigh. ‘What direction did these noises come from?’
‘Are you taking the piss?’ Mrs Hogg asked with a derisive look. ‘Them next door, o’ course. That’s what you was asking about, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, right. But you see, there’s no sign of anyone having a fight in there, no furniture turned over or broken glass. So I thought it might be some other barney you heard.’
Mrs Hogg grew sulky. ‘I know what I heard. You callin’ me a liar?’
‘I just want you to think carefully about what you really heard. It’s not going to help us if you exaggerate.’
‘I did hear the door bein’ kicked in,’ she said defiantly.
‘And
I heard some furnicher crashin’.’ A pause. ‘Maybe that was all,’ she added reluctantly.
‘What about the shouting?’
‘Well, maybe, maybe not. I can’t say for sure.’
‘And can you help me some more about the time?’
‘Like I say, I must of dropped off in front of the telly,’ she said, eyeing Hart as though she saw her chance of stardom dissolving.
‘And it was the noise that woke you up? Do you remember what was on the telly then?’
Further probing brought the admission that Mrs Hogg had been hitting the Cinzano earlier in the evening, which had caused her to drop off, and the noise next door had only partly woken her. She had dozed again, and it was only when Jade’s howling had started off baby Pearse that the combined racket had penetrated her cobwebs. By then all was quiet next door. It was then ten past midnight, so the door-kicking-in could have happened at any time before that.
The neighbours on the other side were harder to coax out, and less forthcoming, but probably more reliable. The elderly couple glared at Hart suspiciously round the chain on the door, and would only open it when she had got PC Baker to come and flash his uniform, and both sets of ID had been carefully scrutinised.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ the oldster grunted begrudgingly as he opened the door a little wider. He wore a very sporty home-knitted cardigan of grey wool with a white reindeer-motif border, whose pockets sagged hopelessly under the burden of handkerchiefs, tobacco tin and matches.
‘Only you see stuff on the telly all the time,’ the oldstress added over his shoulder. She was inclined to be apologetic, and would have asked them in, had her husband not blocked the way as robustly as his trembling frame could manage. Hart was quite happy to interview them on the doorstep. Over their diminutive shoulders she could smell the house aroma of liniment, cold roll-ups and dirty bodies, and had no wish to pitch her Amarige against this new Everest.
The old man said their name was Mr and Mrs Maplesyrup, but the old lady, whose teeth fitted better, corrected this to Maplesthorp as Hart wrote it down. They had heard the door being kicked in all right. It was just before half past eleven, because the film was just finishing, which was
Assassination
with Charles Bronson, very loud and lots of banging, guns and that, and Mr Maplesyrup had thought at first the noise was just part of the film, but Mrs Maplesyrup had said turn the sound down a minute, Charlie, I think it was next door. So he had done, because it was just the whajjercallums, the titles by then, and they’d listened, and they’d heard
Similar Books
