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Authors: David Bridger
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passing by on the harbour wall and shouted, “Hi, Joe!”
“Day off, boss?” Jimmy didn’t falter or miss a catch. I’d bet he could juggle those balls with his eyes closed.
“Lunch break. I’m making a start on the backdrop frame today.”
“It’s gonna get bloody hot out here this afternoon. I might come and give you a hand later.”
People were glancing back to see who Jimmy was shouting to as I waved and walked on, and again I got that warm thrill of belonging. Friendship. Family.
And, again, the stupid grin fell off my face when I turned the corner alongside the theatre and bumped into Will. Great.
“Ah, Joseph.” He gripped my arm just above the elbow. “A word.”
I glared at his hand until he removed it, then met his stare and waited for him to speak.
He flicked sawdust from my shoulder with his fingertips. “About Min.”
“What about her?”
“Back off.”
“Fuck off.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to fuck with me. Be warned.”
“What are you gonna do, dickhead? Pull faces at me again?”
“She’s mine, right? Accept it. Back off, or you’ll be sorry.” He looked me up and down with a sneer of contempt.
The horribly familiar buzz started like a whisper in my brain and grew rapidly. No! I shook it from my head and slammed him against the wall.
He exhaled with a whoosh. There was whisky on his breath.
With my left forearm across his throat, I pinned him there and drew back my right fist. “I told you, that mind-control shit doesn’t work on me.”
He started laughing. I’d just smeared him all over a rough stone wall, and yet he was laughing like a schoolboy.
“Are you growling at me?” He could barely get the words past my choke hold but still giggled. “Seriously growling? What the hell do you think you are now?”
I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He was a weird one. I shoved him aside and pointed a finger at his face. “Min can make her own decisions. You stay out of my way.”
He burst out laughing again as I stalked towards the theatre door.
I shut out his stupid laughter and relished the cool peace and quiet inside the building, but before I reached the arena, someone hammered on the door I’d just closed. If the idiot had come back for more, I was ready to deck him. I stamped back down the corridor, flung the door open and glared out.
Two men in suits regarded me curiously.
“Joseph Walker?” asked the taller one.
“Yes?”
“Are you Joseph Walker?” he insisted.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“I’m Detective Constable Turner,” said the shorter one. “This is Detective Constable Peterson. Can we come inside for a minute?”
I let them in and followed them to the main arena, glad that no insiders were working there. Peterson looked around with interest, while Turner never took his eyes off me. Was this about the gang fight the other night?
“What’s going on?”
“Is anyone else here?” Turner’s tone was brusque.
“No. What do you want?”
Peterson finished his examination of the arena and turned his attention to me. “Are you married to Carole Walker of 39 Hunters Close, Islington, London?”
I was getting a very bad feeling about this. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Joseph Walker, I am arresting you for the murders of Carole Walker and Tony Evans. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
Turner produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on me. “Where do you keep your clothes?”
“Carole’s dead?” The world was crashing down around me. “And Tony? How did they die? Why would anyone think I killed them?”
I was in a cold sweat. I glanced back and forth between them and realised I must be wild-eyed. Right there and then the thought at the front of my mind was that I didn’t want to appear guilty. But instantly I remembered
“Day off, boss?” Jimmy didn’t falter or miss a catch. I’d bet he could juggle those balls with his eyes closed.
“Lunch break. I’m making a start on the backdrop frame today.”
“It’s gonna get bloody hot out here this afternoon. I might come and give you a hand later.”
People were glancing back to see who Jimmy was shouting to as I waved and walked on, and again I got that warm thrill of belonging. Friendship. Family.
And, again, the stupid grin fell off my face when I turned the corner alongside the theatre and bumped into Will. Great.
“Ah, Joseph.” He gripped my arm just above the elbow. “A word.”
I glared at his hand until he removed it, then met his stare and waited for him to speak.
He flicked sawdust from my shoulder with his fingertips. “About Min.”
“What about her?”
“Back off.”
“Fuck off.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to fuck with me. Be warned.”
“What are you gonna do, dickhead? Pull faces at me again?”
“She’s mine, right? Accept it. Back off, or you’ll be sorry.” He looked me up and down with a sneer of contempt.
The horribly familiar buzz started like a whisper in my brain and grew rapidly. No! I shook it from my head and slammed him against the wall.
He exhaled with a whoosh. There was whisky on his breath.
With my left forearm across his throat, I pinned him there and drew back my right fist. “I told you, that mind-control shit doesn’t work on me.”
He started laughing. I’d just smeared him all over a rough stone wall, and yet he was laughing like a schoolboy.
“Are you growling at me?” He could barely get the words past my choke hold but still giggled. “Seriously growling? What the hell do you think you are now?”
I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He was a weird one. I shoved him aside and pointed a finger at his face. “Min can make her own decisions. You stay out of my way.”
He burst out laughing again as I stalked towards the theatre door.
I shut out his stupid laughter and relished the cool peace and quiet inside the building, but before I reached the arena, someone hammered on the door I’d just closed. If the idiot had come back for more, I was ready to deck him. I stamped back down the corridor, flung the door open and glared out.
Two men in suits regarded me curiously.
“Joseph Walker?” asked the taller one.
“Yes?”
“Are you Joseph Walker?” he insisted.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“I’m Detective Constable Turner,” said the shorter one. “This is Detective Constable Peterson. Can we come inside for a minute?”
I let them in and followed them to the main arena, glad that no insiders were working there. Peterson looked around with interest, while Turner never took his eyes off me. Was this about the gang fight the other night?
“What’s going on?”
“Is anyone else here?” Turner’s tone was brusque.
“No. What do you want?”
Peterson finished his examination of the arena and turned his attention to me. “Are you married to Carole Walker of 39 Hunters Close, Islington, London?”
I was getting a very bad feeling about this. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Joseph Walker, I am arresting you for the murders of Carole Walker and Tony Evans. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
Turner produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on me. “Where do you keep your clothes?”
“Carole’s dead?” The world was crashing down around me. “And Tony? How did they die? Why would anyone think I killed them?”
I was in a cold sweat. I glanced back and forth between them and realised I must be wild-eyed. Right there and then the thought at the front of my mind was that I didn’t want to appear guilty. But instantly I remembered
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