Read Online The Yeare's Midnight by Ed O'Connor - Free Book Online
Authors: Ed O'Connor
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and athletic, the only black CID officer in New Bolden. Underwood knew that Harrison had been a victim of racial prejudice within the force in the past. Some people would have lost heart: Harrison just seemed to get tougher, more determined to succeed. He was a year or two junior to Dexter, another refugee from the Met. They would make a formidable partnership one day – assuming they didn’t kill each other first.
‘Jogging?’ Underwood asked. ‘What for?’
‘It’s habit, really,’ Harrison continued. ‘I never sleep well. Do you want a coffee or something?’
‘Milk. Two sugars.’ Harrison rushed off. Underwood recalled the previous evening’s events. An exhausted sadness gnawed at his heart. Did he really care any more? He wondered where Julia had spent the night, what she had done with the man he had seen. Underwood was falling through emptiness, clutching at branches that wouldn’t bear his weight. He had to clear his head. Who was this fucking bloke anyway? Who was this fucking bloke who was fucking his wife? He flipped open his notebook and looked at the car registration number: S245 QXY. More than just a number. The code to his misery. He decided he did care. A lot. It would be a long day for everybody.
Harrison returned, carrying two steaming coffees. He placed one on the desk. Underwood watched him carefully.
‘Did we get anything from the house-to-house? Didn’t anybody see anything?’ the inspector asked.
‘Hardly anything.’ Harrison sat down, ‘A woman who lives off London Road – you know The Crescent?’ Underwood nodded as he sipped his coffee. ‘She says that a white van was parked in her road from seven that night and had gone thefollowing morning. We asked at the other houses but no one else saw a thing.’
Underwood scowled. ‘This coffee is disgusting. Did the woman see the driver? Can she give us a description?’
‘No.’
‘Marvellous. Did she know what type of van? Can she remember the registration?’
‘Only that she thought it looked like an RSPCA van. She was worried they might have come for her cat.’
‘What do the RSPCA inspectors drive? Those small Sherpa things?’
‘Not sure, guv. I’ll check it out.’ Harrison pulled a Post-It off Underwood’s pad and scribbled a note to himself.
‘It’s not much but it’s a start. If he has a van like that he might be a plumber or a joiner.’
‘If it’s our man.’ Harrison seemed doubtful.
‘What about this bloody poem thing? The text on the wall? Any joy there?’
Harrison shook his head. ‘Dexter is going to the library this morning. She’s got an old squeeze who works there, apparently. I left it with her. She seemed a bit tense. I didn’t want to step on her toes.’ He left the statement hanging. Underwood got the message. ‘I better get on, guv.’ The detective sergeant stood and stretched. He was still wearing his jogging gear.
‘Before you go.’ Underwood handed over the piece of paper on which he had written Paul Heyer’s registration number. ‘There was a call last night after you’d gone. Some woman. Wouldn’t give her name. She said she saw a car driving down Hartfield Road late on Monday night. BMW, she thought. She had to swerve to avoid it. It’s probably just a pisshead on a magical mystery tour but it might be worth checking out.’
‘Bit weird. The fact she got the whole number, late at night.’
‘Who’s to say she got the right number, though? As I say, I doubt it’s anything but we should check it out.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll run it through the computer.’ Harrison left the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
Underwood smiled to himself. He was taking a calculated risk. Still, Harrison would come back with a name and thatwould give him an advantage over Julia. Maybe he would pull the bloke in for questioning and rough him up a bit. It would be interesting to hear his alibi for Monday night. There was a cruel symmetry in all this that amused him. He
‘Jogging?’ Underwood asked. ‘What for?’
‘It’s habit, really,’ Harrison continued. ‘I never sleep well. Do you want a coffee or something?’
‘Milk. Two sugars.’ Harrison rushed off. Underwood recalled the previous evening’s events. An exhausted sadness gnawed at his heart. Did he really care any more? He wondered where Julia had spent the night, what she had done with the man he had seen. Underwood was falling through emptiness, clutching at branches that wouldn’t bear his weight. He had to clear his head. Who was this fucking bloke anyway? Who was this fucking bloke who was fucking his wife? He flipped open his notebook and looked at the car registration number: S245 QXY. More than just a number. The code to his misery. He decided he did care. A lot. It would be a long day for everybody.
Harrison returned, carrying two steaming coffees. He placed one on the desk. Underwood watched him carefully.
‘Did we get anything from the house-to-house? Didn’t anybody see anything?’ the inspector asked.
‘Hardly anything.’ Harrison sat down, ‘A woman who lives off London Road – you know The Crescent?’ Underwood nodded as he sipped his coffee. ‘She says that a white van was parked in her road from seven that night and had gone thefollowing morning. We asked at the other houses but no one else saw a thing.’
Underwood scowled. ‘This coffee is disgusting. Did the woman see the driver? Can she give us a description?’
‘No.’
‘Marvellous. Did she know what type of van? Can she remember the registration?’
‘Only that she thought it looked like an RSPCA van. She was worried they might have come for her cat.’
‘What do the RSPCA inspectors drive? Those small Sherpa things?’
‘Not sure, guv. I’ll check it out.’ Harrison pulled a Post-It off Underwood’s pad and scribbled a note to himself.
‘It’s not much but it’s a start. If he has a van like that he might be a plumber or a joiner.’
‘If it’s our man.’ Harrison seemed doubtful.
‘What about this bloody poem thing? The text on the wall? Any joy there?’
Harrison shook his head. ‘Dexter is going to the library this morning. She’s got an old squeeze who works there, apparently. I left it with her. She seemed a bit tense. I didn’t want to step on her toes.’ He left the statement hanging. Underwood got the message. ‘I better get on, guv.’ The detective sergeant stood and stretched. He was still wearing his jogging gear.
‘Before you go.’ Underwood handed over the piece of paper on which he had written Paul Heyer’s registration number. ‘There was a call last night after you’d gone. Some woman. Wouldn’t give her name. She said she saw a car driving down Hartfield Road late on Monday night. BMW, she thought. She had to swerve to avoid it. It’s probably just a pisshead on a magical mystery tour but it might be worth checking out.’
‘Bit weird. The fact she got the whole number, late at night.’
‘Who’s to say she got the right number, though? As I say, I doubt it’s anything but we should check it out.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll run it through the computer.’ Harrison left the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
Underwood smiled to himself. He was taking a calculated risk. Still, Harrison would come back with a name and thatwould give him an advantage over Julia. Maybe he would pull the bloke in for questioning and rough him up a bit. It would be interesting to hear his alibi for Monday night. There was a cruel symmetry in all this that amused him. He
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