Golden Mile to Murder Read Free Page A

firm bosom who was sitting next to the window was definitely not a
he
.

Three
    I t was a pleasantly warm morning and the holidaymakers were out in droves. Groups of mill girls, their curlered hair covered with cowboy hats bearing the legend ‘Kiss Me Quick’, made their way along the promenade, laughing and screaming at the tops of their voices. Gangs of young men sprawling on benches watched the girls appreciatively as they passed, then turned their attention to the new tattoos which had seemed such a good idea after five or six pints of bitter, but had now begun to itch. There were mothers pushing baby trolleys, and older children struggling to eat sticky candyfloss. The air was filled with the smell of brine, frying fish and cheap scent. The cream and green trams rattled hurriedly and importantly by. Paper Union Jacks were already being stuck in sand castles on the beach. This was Blackpool in the summer – and as far as the people out on the street were concerned, they were in the entertainment capital of the world.
    The two men in dark suits sitting at a wooden table outside Dutton’s ‘Oh Be Joyful’ Tavern did not seem to be sharing in the holiday spirit. The older of the pair was about forty-five and had a large nose and bushy eyebrows which were already turning grey. He was staring across the promenade and out to sea – as if he were expecting the answer to all his problems to appear suddenly on the horizon. The second man had just celebrated his thirtieth birthday, but had the sort of youthful features which ensured that most people took him for much younger. He did not seem to share his superior’s fascination with the water, and instead occupied himself with studying the half-empty pint glass in front of him – and wondering just exactly what this meeting was to be all about.
    Apparently giving up hope that his ship would ever come in, the older man – Chief Inspector Turner of the Blackpool police – turned to the younger man, Detective Sergeant Hanson, and said, ‘I don’t like it, Frank.’
    â€˜Don’t like what, sir?’ Hanson replied.
    â€˜I don’t like the fact that “Punch” Davies’ murder is being investigated by somebody from outside.’
    Hanson frowned. ‘Why’s that, sir? Murder’s not exactly our speciality, and from what I’ve heard of this Chief Inspector Woodend, he’s a very experienced officer.’
    â€˜I was on the team Woodend put together to investigate that fishmonger’s murder in Clitheroe a few years back,’ Turner told him. ‘You don’t really know the meaning of the term “bloody-minded” until you’ve worked with Cloggin’-it Charlie. He’s stubborn, unreasonable, relentless – and possibly the best policeman it’s ever been my privilege to work with.’
    â€˜Well, then, what’s the problem?’ Hanson asked. ‘Billy was a bloody good governor to me. I miss him already, and what I want most in the world is to catch whoever topped him. That’s what we
all
want, isn’t it? So why should we object when they send us a top-flight bobby to handle the case?’
    Turner sighed. ‘The problem is, Cloggin’-it Charlie may just be a bit
too
good,’ he explained. ‘He could uncover things that a lesser man wouldn’t even notice.’
    â€˜I might be being thick, but I think you’ll have to spell it out for me a bit more clearly, I’m afraid, sir,’ Hanson said.
    â€˜I went round to see Billy’s widow, Edna, this morning,’ Turner told him.
    â€˜How is she, sir?’
    â€˜She’s putting on a brave front, though I imagine she’s absolutely devastated. But she has at least got one consolation. And do you know what that is?’
    â€˜No, sir.’
    â€˜That her husband was a first-class officer, and died as much a hero as any soldier who was killed in the last