Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 Read Free Page B

every line from those old TV cop shows. I loved all of them – well, except Magnum .
    In the evenings I went to every course going, from Teppanyaki to Tae Kwon Do to Tapestry; and that was just the Ts. The classes kept me occupied and gave me top billing on the local quiz team, but accomplished little else.
    Eventually I got lost in the nothingness of the days; even the movies lost their magic. I didn’t want to watch, I wanted to appear . And all the while I was thinking about what I could do. What was I good at? Then, on cue, whilst in the queue, epiphany materialised at Lin Chiang’s. If only the queue had been shorter.
    ~
     
    I tried to maintain a sense of tranquillity as Detective Sergeant Bugg switched the tape machine back on. The more senior officer, Detective Chief Inspector Hobbs, spoke softly into the microphone.
    ‘Detective Chief Inspector Hobbs and Detective Sergeant Bugg present, interviewing Mr Edward Ian Greene in connection with the death of Mrs Helen Porson of 4 Priory Road, Weighton. The date is 2nd June 2011 and the time is 14:20.’
    Hobbs, a tall, willowy figure, had an irritating habit of tapping his feet in time with some unheard, free-flow jazz piece. Each tap seemed to draw bad karma from the floor until the room crackled with it.
    His face held a cheerless expression. ‘Right, let’s start again, Mr Greene, shall we?’
    ‘For the third time, it’s–’
    Hobbs interrupted. ‘Eddie G, Weighton’s first and foremost private detective.’ With a sarcastic frown clamped to his forehead, he pulled a small card from his inside pocket and flicked it across the table. ‘We know what’s on the business card, son, but your real name is Edward Ian Greene, correct?’ He didn’t wait for a response, just resumed the random jazz beat, this time with his fingers. ‘What time did you arrive at Mrs Porson’s?’
    My thoughts were languishing elsewhere. I only vaguely heard his question. ‘You lost me. Can we … err …?’ I whirled a finger at the rewind button.
    ‘You realise how serious this is?’
    Before I could reply, the less-than-shapely DS Bugg intervened. ‘The woman’s been murdered,’ he snapped, ‘and we find you housesitting. How does it look?’
    From where I sat,his look was all fright and terror. I blinked in slow-motion and waited for everything else to speed up.
    ‘It looks circumstantial,’ I told him. ‘You’ve got nothing. Forensics can sniff all over that place, they won’t find eau de Eddie anywhere.’
    Hobbs interceded, awash with calm. ‘We’re just looking for cooperation. Assistance with our enquiries.’
    ‘Fine. I’ll tell you what I know.’ I touched the table with both hands. ‘But I do have a question.’
    ‘Well,’ asked Hobbs.
    ‘Who called you?’
    ‘I know who didn’t call us?’ chirped Bugg, scratching at an egg stain on his shirt.
    ‘Sorry, I thought it was my–’
    ‘Fuck you,’ he said, still not looking up from his breakfast spillage.
    ‘If there’s no charge then …?’
    ‘Patience, Eddie.’ Hobbs edged forward, his eyes unblinking. ‘We want to hear your story.’
    ‘I’ve told you, I’ll tell you what I know. But I don’t like being set up.’
    ‘No one set you up,’ he assured me. ‘Mrs Davies the next door neighbour saw you go in. She called and gave us your name.’
    ‘How did she know that?’ I mouthed more than spoke. It wasn’t meant for general release.
    ‘You’re Weighton’s first and foremost,’ said a sneering Bugg. ‘You figure it.’
    As the rapt audience of one, I was beginning to pick up on the roles being played out by Plod and Plodder. To give them more rehearsal time, I decided to ignore the goading, at least for the next three questions.
    ‘Mrs Porson told Mrs Davies who you were.’ Hobbs picked up a statement in front of him and read from it. ‘“Helen told me about that young man, said he was going to do some work for her. She didn’t want me to worry about strange visitors. But I