Read Online Stranglehold by J. M. Gregson - Free Book Online Page B

back to him. And with the words, a picture; a picture of a father, dead now for ten years and more. ‘Never fight the police, Victor,’ he had said to a round-eyed boy in short trousers. ‘The police and the Army are too big to fight, even if you think you’re in the right.’
    He realized with surprise that it was a precept he had always observed. ‘Then what on earth do you want with an innocent citizen?’ he said. He was sitting in the driver’s seat again now; it was difficult to draw himself up to his full height and give the question dignity when the law was towering above him.
    â€˜There was a serious crime committed in this area last night, sir. Not half a mile from here. Your car is one of a number known to have been in the district at the time of the crime. The registration number is recorded at the station.’
    PC Rogers was slow and methodical in his speech, like a patient uncle instructing a child in the complexities of adult life. Yet he could not have been more than twenty-two, and Knowles felt insulted by his ponderous delivery. ‘I had nothing to do with your damned crime.’
    â€˜No one has accused you, sir. If what you say is true, we shall still need to eliminate you from our inquiries.’
    He was reciting a formula, and they both knew it, but that did not lessen Knowles’s irritation as they proceeded with the exchange. ‘Are you arresting me?’
    â€˜Certainly not, sir. You would merely be helping us with our inquiries into a serious crime.’
    Knowles, hearing the last of the necessary clichés, began to wonder how much they really knew about his movements on the previous evening. He said as firmly as he could, ‘And of course I’m only too anxious to give you all the assistance I can.’
    Rogers noticed that this man had not once asked them about the nature of the serious crime they had mentioned. Odd, that.
    By the time he had waited ten minutes in the CID section at Oldford, Vic Knowles had recovered enough of his composure to be rather more aggressive.
    DI Rushton was younger than him by a few years. He had not a grey hair in sight. And he had kept himself in better condition: that was always an irritating thing for an athlete to contemplate. Knowles said, hoping to establish immediately the goalposts for this exchange, ‘Are you in charge of this case, then?’
    Rushton’s brown eyes regarded him coolly for an instant before he said, ‘No. I keep an overview of the material we’re collecting, and organize the documentation. Superintendent Lambert is in overall charge of the investigation.’
    Knowles riffled through his knowledge of television crime to decide how exalted these ranks were. He let a little edge of sarcasm creep into his voice as he said, ‘A Super in charge: this is big stuff, then.’
    â€˜It’s murder, sir.’ If Rushton enjoyed the little frisson of apprehension the revelation brought, he gave no sign of it. ‘The autopsy has now established that officially.’
    Knowles felt himself already fretting in the face of the Inspector’s calmness. How could these men be so matter-of-fact about the ultimate crime? ‘And what connection do you think I have with the crime of murder?’ He tried to be as calm as the man opposite him, but he felt the slight tremble which came into his voice on his mention of the word.
    â€˜I very much hope no connection at all, sir. Perhaps you will be able to demonstrate that to our satisfaction in the next few minutes.’ Rushton’s steady brown eyes had never left Knowles’s mobile face since he had come into the interview room.
    Knowles thought: He’s enjoying this, the bastard; enjoying having me on the spot; enjoying the fact that he knows more than I do about the present state of the case; enjoying watching me trying to pick my way through this marsh without falling off the path.
    Rushton said, ‘The