Peter Helton - Falling More Slowly

‘Could well be kids. It’s the kind of stupid thing they would blow up.’

‘I can’t see the terrorist angle at all. It wasn’t a big enough explosion for that. And there weren’t enough people around. You’d leave it in a crowded place, wouldn’t you?’

‘And you’d spike it with nails to do as much harm as possible.’

‘Then there’s always the crank with a grudge against … gazebos?’

‘Yes, quite. What do we know about the boy who was hurt? Could he have been the one who planted it, only it went off too soon, injuring him in the process? Not forgetting the woman. Stands to reason that the two people who got hurt most were probably closest to the centre of the explosion. We don’t know yet how the bomb was triggered but if it was by remote control for instance then they might of course have been the bomber’s targets. Do we have any news on their recovery or otherwise?’

‘I’ll find out.’ Austin disappeared inside. McLusky took the opportunity to count his cigarettes. Not enough to get him through the rest of the day. He didn’t mind sharing his cigarettes around as long as there were enough of them. Almost without his participation in the process another one appeared between his lips, flaring as he touched the flame from his plastic lighter to it. He walked across the street towards the wet, steaming heap of debris, still being attended by the army of white-suited technicians. The press had given up and returned to their offices, no doubt to fill in the gaps in their knowledge with column inches of speculation. Were he to write the front-page article it would run something like this: At 11.20 a.m. today an explosive device detonated inside a wooden shelter in Brandon Hill Nature Park, destroying it completely. Several passers-by were injured. The identity and motive of the bomber(s) are unknown. End of transmission.

Now it was up to him to provide the rest of the copy. With an incident like this you hoped for a witness and prayed that Forensics came up with something useful, however small. The problem was, forensic laboratories all over the world were stretched beyond endurance. The backlog of items to be examined and analysed was now so great that a simple blood or DNA sample took several weeks to come back. If it was urgent it seemed longer. Even then the most you could usually hope for was another person eliminated from your list of suspects.

Austin reappeared by his side with a scrap of paper filled with his swirly handwriting. ‘Good news and not so good news. Uniform went to Colin Keale’s place. According to the upstairs neighbour he’s on holiday in Marmaris. That’s in Turkey.’

‘Yeah, I know where it is. We need it confirmed and we need to know when he left.’

‘He left yesterday, apparently, so that’s him out.’

‘Is it hell. The bomb could have been sitting there for days. I want to know exactly when and where he left the country and when he’s coming back. Do we know that?’

‘Not yet, someone’s checking it out for me.’

‘What else?’

‘The woman who got hurt, an Elizabeth Howe, remains unconscious though they’re not sure why. No fractured skull as they first thought but she has damage to both eardrums, hence the bleeding, and probably won’t be listening to any questions for a bit even if she does wake up. The boy, a Joel Kerswill, had a metal splinter removed from his right eye. They managed to save his eyesight. They’re keeping him in for observation too but we might get a couple of minutes with him.’

McLusky glanced at his watch. The afternoon had drained away. ‘All right, we’ll have a chat with him then.’

‘There’s sandwiches now, by the way, if you want. You’ll have to hurry, though, they’re like animals in there.’

‘No, that’s fine, I don’t eat triangular food.’ Everyone seemed to define themselves by what they didn’t eat these days, no dairy, no wheat, no carbs, no meat, so why should he feel left out?

‘I see. A geometrical diet.’

‘Indeed. I prefer a square meal.’

Austin groaned. A constable approached them. ‘DI McLusky?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Sign this, please.’ He handed over a limp form, A4, folded in half.

‘Got a pen? What am I signing?’

‘I haven’t, sir. It’s your transport.’ He dangled a set of keys.

‘Oh good. Got a pen, Austin?’

‘I have. It’s in your inside pocket.’

‘Genius.’ McLusky signed and returned the pen to his jacket and the form to the constable. ‘What is it, anyway?’

‘VW. There’s also a message from the superintendent.’

‘Well, what is it?’

The constable looked doubtful. ‘He told me to say “space hopper”, sir.’

‘Right, thank you, constable. Oh, hang on, where’s it parked?’

‘Right at the end there, behind the Forensics unit. It’s a white one.’

‘Things are looking up, Austin.’ He jangled the keys. ‘Sod sandwiches, lead me to the nearest fish and chip shop. No, lead me to the best fish and chip shop in the city. Afterwards we’ll visit Joel Kerswill in hospital.’

The street was crowded. Every parked car had to be examined, every owner found and interviewed. Just as the last of the fire engines departed, leaving behind the senior fire officer and one fire investigator, two new cars arrived. The first to park was the superintendent’s large grey Ford. Not bothering to find a parking space at all was the driver of the dark BMW3 series that had followed him here. He stopped in the middle of the road and left it there. Driver and passenger debarked. Sharp suits and cropped hair. Both put on identical grey overcoats. Special Branch or MI5. No matter who they were, McLusky could practically feel himself become invisible. Denkhaus led them straight over. Before the superintendent could make introductions the younger of the two men stretched out his hand. McLusky shook it.

‘My name is Kelper, I’ll be taking over. You can go now.’ He nodded at both of them, then turned his back.

Denkhaus led the new arrivals away, gesturing expansively at the command unit. ‘This way. Allow me.’

McLusky offered Austin one of his cigarettes and lit one for himself. ‘And there we have it, a bloodless coup. Well, it was lonely at the top anyway. Let’s go, Jane.’

‘That was damn quick.’ Austin consulted his watch. ‘Especially if they drove up from London.’

‘Oh, I have a feeling Kelper doesn’t waste time on motorways. I’m sure he took a plane and had the Beemer waiting for him. Tonight he’ll dine with the super and by this time tomorrow he’ll be eating rectangular food on the plane home, having effectively put the investigation back a whole … Fuck me, our super’s got a sense of humour.’ They had arrived behind the Forensics van where the constable had hidden McLusky’s new transport. It was a little dirty-white car that had been in the police force a lot longer than he had. An appreciative member of the public had scratched PIGS in large angular letters across the bonnet. The scratches were old and had had ample time to rust.

‘Looks like you really hit it off with the super then, doesn’t it? I like the livery, by the way. But what’s it supposed to be?’

McLusky gave the roof a friendly pat and tried to look proud. ‘This baby is a 1981 VW Polo. 40 bhp. It does nought to sixty.’ The car was unlocked. The doors opened stiffly with ominous metallic yawns.

Austin sniffed doubtfully at the musty interior. It smelled like it had been stored in a cave since the mid-eighties. ‘We could drive to the station and pick up my car.’

‘Nonsense, man, it’s not that bad.’ He turned the ignition key and listened to the nasal parp of the exhaust as the engine rattled and shook itself awake.