Unless, that is, Jimmy had been trying to frame Clegg? In which case it didn’t look like such a great job. Getting his boys at “Police Academy” assigned to the case and planting fabbed evidence all over the show would have been easy. Clegg would have been in the penthouse custody suite by Thursday lunchtime. Plus, motive wasn’t in it. The Post, meantime, would be in headline heaven, ditching its “Ian Starr Ate My Ham Toastie” by-line for an altogether more lucrative, “Mayor Kills Lover in Blackmail Scandal”. You have to admit there’s a ring to it.
Yet Detective Chief Inspector Hobbs clearly didn’t have a lead on the case – other than yours truly – and the flatfoots weren’t exactly all over Town Hall Central. Even the pigeons were only marking time.
There didn’t seem much point in Jimmy letting Hobbs build a case blind against Clegg, however skilful the sting. Even for someone like Jimmy it was risky. Clegg would get a barbwire brief, and juries didn’t pucker up so easy these days.
But why was Jimmy coming down so hard on me? From the moment Officer “Dibble” had shown an interest in all things Eddie, he’d been all over me like an undersized gimp suit. What did Jimmy have to hide? Besides controlling ninety per cent of crime enterprise within the Weighton County line, of course. It seemed like the case could hurt him, but I couldn’t see how. If he hadn’t killed Porson, he was in the clear. If Clegg had done it, well, that couldn’t touch him either. Maybe the guy was just paranoid. A murder he hadn’t sanctioned taking place in the Kingpin’s Kingdom. His ego affronted by the very notion. Plain as?
One thing was for sure. “Good-Guy Eddie” was on the case, and one day, smart-boy Jimmy might regret he hadn’t totalled me in the forest. For fight fans everywhere, ain’t that the good news.
~
Overall it had been a cluster-shit of a day. And it was far from over. I could have done with roping down the remainder. It would have gone something like: go to Blue Café , order all-day breakfast special with extra toast and brown sauce, no questions asked. Meet Kate at six, hear that voice, see that smile, no questions asked. Go home to Mum, receive soothing balm inside and out, no questions asked. See Debbie, be overwhelmed with affection, no dopey questions asked.
What I hadn’t bargained for was the day getting worse. But it did.
The sales rep dropped me in the middle of town, a short walk from the café. So close, I could almost smell the bacon. It was a powerful incentive as I set off, but as soon as I began to walk my body stiffened up. It hurt even to limp. Then the “whah whah” started.
After suffering two telling blows to my head within the hour, I thought at first I was hearing an internal ringing noise. But as Weighton shoppers stared with curiosity behind me, I began to ken it was not an altogether ethereal sound.
I listened to the wailing sirens for a few hundred yards. They got louder by the second, stopping just before they deafened me. The orangy, greeny, yellowy “Maria” parked right behind me. I turned slowly to watch Hobbs getting out. Eyeing the gathering onlookers, I waited to see who would lead the “Weighton One” campaign. Hmm, no takers.
I folded my arms, hands gripping my sides. Hobbs greeted me with a grim smile. I raised my voice as loud as a crushed chest would allow.
‘Do you have to humiliate me like this?’
He made no reply, only held the car door open. Even a mumbled “evenin’ all” would have helped.
~
Hobbs came charging into the interview room, his sonic boom rocking my chair backwards. His face pulsed with anger.
‘Why’d you see Clegg?’
Jeez, if only I had a pound for every time that had been mentioned. I’d have more than one anyway.
‘The way I see it, I’m down as the prime murder suspect.’ I stuck out my elbows. ‘And as I ain’t all that loaded with confidence in our gallant police force, I decided
Yet Detective Chief Inspector Hobbs clearly didn’t have a lead on the case – other than yours truly – and the flatfoots weren’t exactly all over Town Hall Central. Even the pigeons were only marking time.
There didn’t seem much point in Jimmy letting Hobbs build a case blind against Clegg, however skilful the sting. Even for someone like Jimmy it was risky. Clegg would get a barbwire brief, and juries didn’t pucker up so easy these days.
But why was Jimmy coming down so hard on me? From the moment Officer “Dibble” had shown an interest in all things Eddie, he’d been all over me like an undersized gimp suit. What did Jimmy have to hide? Besides controlling ninety per cent of crime enterprise within the Weighton County line, of course. It seemed like the case could hurt him, but I couldn’t see how. If he hadn’t killed Porson, he was in the clear. If Clegg had done it, well, that couldn’t touch him either. Maybe the guy was just paranoid. A murder he hadn’t sanctioned taking place in the Kingpin’s Kingdom. His ego affronted by the very notion. Plain as?
One thing was for sure. “Good-Guy Eddie” was on the case, and one day, smart-boy Jimmy might regret he hadn’t totalled me in the forest. For fight fans everywhere, ain’t that the good news.
~
Overall it had been a cluster-shit of a day. And it was far from over. I could have done with roping down the remainder. It would have gone something like: go to Blue Café , order all-day breakfast special with extra toast and brown sauce, no questions asked. Meet Kate at six, hear that voice, see that smile, no questions asked. Go home to Mum, receive soothing balm inside and out, no questions asked. See Debbie, be overwhelmed with affection, no dopey questions asked.
What I hadn’t bargained for was the day getting worse. But it did.
The sales rep dropped me in the middle of town, a short walk from the café. So close, I could almost smell the bacon. It was a powerful incentive as I set off, but as soon as I began to walk my body stiffened up. It hurt even to limp. Then the “whah whah” started.
After suffering two telling blows to my head within the hour, I thought at first I was hearing an internal ringing noise. But as Weighton shoppers stared with curiosity behind me, I began to ken it was not an altogether ethereal sound.
I listened to the wailing sirens for a few hundred yards. They got louder by the second, stopping just before they deafened me. The orangy, greeny, yellowy “Maria” parked right behind me. I turned slowly to watch Hobbs getting out. Eyeing the gathering onlookers, I waited to see who would lead the “Weighton One” campaign. Hmm, no takers.
I folded my arms, hands gripping my sides. Hobbs greeted me with a grim smile. I raised my voice as loud as a crushed chest would allow.
‘Do you have to humiliate me like this?’
He made no reply, only held the car door open. Even a mumbled “evenin’ all” would have helped.
~
Hobbs came charging into the interview room, his sonic boom rocking my chair backwards. His face pulsed with anger.
‘Why’d you see Clegg?’
Jeez, if only I had a pound for every time that had been mentioned. I’d have more than one anyway.
‘The way I see it, I’m down as the prime murder suspect.’ I stuck out my elbows. ‘And as I ain’t all that loaded with confidence in our gallant police force, I decided
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