Death's Cold Hand by J.E. Mayhew (kiss me liar novel english txt) 📗

strange squeaking noises as he tried to formulate the words that would describe his rage. His red face bulged. “Isn’t it enough that you lot have pried into my private life?” he said at last. “Now you want to disrupt the charitable work we’re doing here. Who do I complain to?”

“There is a complaints procedure, sir,” DC Ollerthwaite said, carefully. He liked to spell out things like this in great detail. Some people thought he was being pedantic, but he knew that when a complainant was all fired up, they didn’t always take in the facts. “I can go through that with you before we begin our audit if that would help. I’ve just given you the warrant that allows us access to your accounts. You’re holding it. If you could just pinpoint the particular area of the investigation that has contravened good practice or policy, I’d be happy to make amends for that…”

George Owens just blinked at him. “No… no… it’s just very irregular and awkward.”

“I understand that, sir. That’s why I’ll be as unobtrusive and discreet as possible. Obviously, we’re investigating a murder and want to leave no stone unturned. I’m sure you understand,” Ian said, quite pleased with his measured pace. “Now, would it be acceptable to work here?” He pointed at Paul’s desk.

“Oh, very well,” Owens snapped. “I’ll call Quentin, he’s our IT guy. He can get you everything you need.”

“Thank you, sir, this is my card should you need to get in touch out of hours. You’ll see there’s the main HQ number and my extension but also a mobile number and an email address you can contact me on, too. Otherwise, you’ll be able to find me right here.”

Owens seemed so keen to have the card that he snatched it and Ian congratulated himself on winning over another member of the public. He settled himself at Paul Travis’ desk and watched with a satisfied smile as Owens hurried out of the office.

*****

The interview room felt packed with Bobby and Lex Price, his solicitor, Blake and Vikki Chinn all hunched around a table. As modern and clean as the room was, it wasn’t built to accommodate five people, two of whom were particularly large. Blake had introduced everyone and explained Bobby’s rights to him. The boy had to be peeled off Harley Vickers and Blake cursed himself for not checking if the interview room was free, he’d just assumed it was as he’d booked it in advance. He seemed to have calmed down now but Harley had ended up with a few bruises. He’d probably have a beautiful black eye later. Blake promised himself he’d have words with Kath later, but he suspected that it wasn’t her fault. Harley and his mum had appeared out of the blue and she’d had to interview them in the first available room. He turned his attention to the young man in front of him.

“So, first of all, Bobby, you need to know that Harley Vickers is not the reason we picked you up. You can blame yourself for that after your actions outside Bebington High School. Some of your old teachers recognised you.”

“Whatever,” Bobby muttered.

“Let’s start there, shall we? Yesterday, you were loitering outside Bebington High School when PC Mark Robertson approached you…”

Bobby glanced at his dad, who nodded. “I was just waiting for some friends when that copper came running at me. I was scared…”

“PC Robertson and a number of witnesses in the school office maintain that he approached you at walking pace when you ran straight at him. When he tried to defend himself, you headbutted him.”

“I didn’t know he just wanted to talk…”

“Okay. Why were you waiting outside the school?”

“Just waiting for a friend to come out…”

“It was barely afternoon, Bobby. Hours until school finished,” Vikki Chinn said.

“So? It’s a free country. I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“And who were you waiting for?” Blake said.

“Alfie Lewis and Harley.”

“A bit young for you to be hanging around with, aren’t they?”

Bobby gave a dismissive shrug.

“Were they the boys you hung around Port Sunlight Village with two days ago? The afternoon that Eric Smith was assaulted?”

Bobby glanced at his dad again. “Who’s Eric Smith? I don’t know any Eric Smith.”

“He’s the old man who was put in hospital by a young man with a baseball bat. Would that be you by any chance, Bobby?”

“No,” Bobby said, looking disgusted. “I wouldn’t do nothing like that.”

Blake nodded. “Well a simple DNA test will clear that up, won’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Lex Price said, suddenly.

“Whoever hit Mr Smith left their DNA all over the bat. It’s just a simple case of taking a sample and comparing, really. Obviously, if it turns out that it’s Bobby’s then it’ll look bad in court, won’t it?”

Lex gave his son a murderous look and then nodded to the solicitor who nodded back. “Did you hurt the man, son?” Lex said at last.

Bobby Price lowered his head and nodded. “He was banging on about me dropping a can on the floor, slagging us off. I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to hurt him, honest.”

“So, just to clarify, you’re saying you did assault Mr Smith,” Blake said.

“No, I hit him with the baseball bat,” Bobby said.

“And PC Robertson?”

“I thought he was going to arrest me for hurting the old man,” Bobby said. “I just panicked, that’s all.”

“It’s good that you’ve been honest with us about that, Bobby. We’re going to charge you with those offences and your cooperation will be noted but it’s also important that you continue to be honest with us,” Blake said, leaning forward. “So tell me, where did you get the baseball bat from?”

*****

George Owens found Quentin Ufford hidden behind a stack of packing cases in the warehouse, munching on a large pack of kettle chips. The young man looked flustered as Owens advanced on him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Quentin? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. And those crisps are for the punters, not staff!”

“Forry,”