An Explosive Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) Read Free

other debris scattered carelessly.
    ‘Happy now?’ He asked.
    Allowing the handcuffs to dangle from one hand, Crombie fished out his notebook and pen.
    ‘Tell me everything you know about Charlie Bozen.’ He said.
    Everything he knew about Charlie Bozen took Tarquin ten minutes to tell. Apparently Bozen was a thick set arrogant looking bloke who acted hard and thought he was god's gift to women, and went commando under his grease stained jeans. Crombie didn't want to think about how Tarquin came by that information. Although Tarquin looked bemused when pressed for a more detailed physical description, when prompted he recalled Bozen's jeep registration number with the ease of a savant. Tucking away his notebook to indicate he'd finished with the formal questioning, Crombie smiled inwardly at the look of relief on the youngster's face; The kid would have to get up a lot earlier to fool Crombie, the father of four daughters.
    ‘What about the dog fights?’ He asked, with an air of casual innocence.
    ‘No idea what you’re talking about officer. I hope you’re not imply that because we’re carnie folk we’ve got anything to do with missing pets.’
    Crombie swooped on this. ‘I never mentioned any missing pets.’
    Tarquin pointed wordlessly towards the avenue of trees lining the Scrub’s edge. Rectangles of white were pasted to nearly every other trunk, the word ‘Reward’ large enough to read above various colour photographs, Crombie thought he recognised the massive form of Beckham, Stevie Walsh’s dog.
    He rattled the handcuffs again. ‘Maybe you’d better accompany me. I’ll get Traffic to drop you back. They can check out those vehicles while they’re here.’
    ‘Alright, alright, keep your hair on.’ Tarquin’s eyes flickered from the “missing” posters to the Big Top, one hand digging awkwardly at his jean’s pocket as he searched for a light.   ‘Look, I didn’t tell you this OK? Bozen had another little racket going. A nice little earner, every place we stopped in. Dad don’t know nothin’ about it.’ Cupping the lighter’s flame with both hands Tarquin focussed on lighting his fag with the intensity of someone performing brain surgery, took a deep drag and went into a coughing frenzy.
    ‘And Bozen paid you to look the other way.’ Crombie finished for him.
    Tarquin spluttered and nodded at the same time.
    ‘What was it? Illegal dog fighting?’
    This prompted a nasal snigger. ‘Good, very good detective. Keep it up, I bet Nipper of the Yard’s spinning in his grave.’
    Crombie gave the smug git one last chance.
    ‘You’ve told me everything?’
    ‘Everything officer.’ Tarquin sniggered again, not caring that Crombie suspected he was lying. Not knowing that Crombie would be back for him, like a dog worrying a meatless bone.
     
    Turning on his heel, Crombie hurried away, hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets; the fresh spring breeze seemed to grow stronger as it swirled wildly round the wide open expanse of scrubland.
    From the slurping and squelching it’d be some time before Tarquin escaped from the slurry created by poor Lu-Lu as she’d trampled aimlessly at the length of her chain. Crombie increased his pace, ignoring the man’s indignant call to ‘wait up.’ He’d spent quite enough time in Tarquin Stephenson’s company, and cursed him for adding complications to the elephant’s disappearance. Flicking to a fresh page in his notebook, Crombie resigned himself to another round of snatched interviews with the circus folk.
     
    ******
     
    Bozen didn’t appear too popular with his fellow artistes. Long legged girls wearing feathers in their hair and not much else, lowered long false eyelashes and pouted sparkly lips when asked about the man, although they all professed to “Love Lulu” pleading with Crombie to track her down and “bring her home”. The clowns merely tooted oversized horns at him, their own mouths thin and scowling beneath painted on