Stuart Pawson - Deadly Friends

Then I called in a couple o' times on a Monday night. It's dead in 'ere, so I 'ave a night off, if you know what I mean."

Sparky leaned forward again. "Did you," he asked, very slowly, 'ever have sex with her?"

The landlord shook his head. "No."

"But you would have liked to?"

"Yeah, well…" He cast another glance towards the bar. No other words were necessary.

Dave heaved a big sigh and sat up, looking at me. It was my turn. I said: "But you tried? You offered your services?"

"Yeah, well, I fought, you know, she was on 'er own, like, an' I'm as good as, an' everyfing."

"What did she say?"

"She weren't interested. She was good about it, though. Said she preferred to keep fings on a business footing, if you know what I mean."

Good for you, Janet, I thought. "And did you tell Darryl that?" I asked.

The landlord shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable.

"Or," I continued, 'did you just tell him that you'd been round to her house a couple of times and that she'd made you welcome, If you know what I mean? Is that what you did, eh? Make him think that Janet was available for any fucking deadbeat who fancies a screw! Was that it?"

I wanted to take him by the throat and shake him until his eyeballs turned to cheese. I wanted to tell him that thanks to him and his pathetic inadequacies Darryl went round and raped Janet with a Kitchen Devil carver held to her throat, while she was wrapping her daughter's Christmas presents. But I didn't, because I wasn't allowed to.

I felt Sparky's hand on my arm. "Let's go," he said. "We've got all we can here."

Our cars were side by side in the car park. I leaned on the side of mine while Sparky unlocked his door. "Thanks for your help, Dave," I said. "You did well."

"I thought you were going to plant him."

"I meant before that. I think we know a bit more about our friend Darryl, now."

"Except the important stuff, like his surname and his address."

"Yeah, well, maybe Maggie will come up with something."

Dave swung into the driving seat and pulled the belt over his stomach.

"It's odd we don't know him," he said. "I wonder where he comes from?"

"Who? Darryl?"

"Mmm."

"Oh, I know where he comes from."

"You know? How?"

I tapped the side of my head with a forefinger and asked: "Remember the office motto: knowledge is power?"

"I thought it was knowledge catches crooks."

"Sorry, you're right. Knowledge catches crooks."

"So where does he come from?"

"Burnley."

"Burnley!"

"Burnley. As sure as God made Wallace Arnold buses."

Annabelle rang me that evening. "Before you ask," I told her, "I've had piece of cod from the market, grilled to perfection mmm! with some melted cheese over it, and a few vegetables." Actually it was boil-in-the-bag, but what you don't know can't give you indigestion.

"Well done," she replied. "I'm glad you are eating sensibly, if you are telling the truth."

"Scout's honour. Followed by a big cream bun from the bakery. What about you? How did your evening with Farouk go?"

"Farouk? Who's Farouk?"

"This Egyptian carpet dealer who took you to his restaurant."

"He's Persian, and he's called Xav. I imagine it is short for Xavier.

Actually he's very nice. Older than I expected, but ever so charming."

"I'm jealous already. How was the meal?"

"The meal itself was fine, but I think I may have upset George and Rachel."

"Go on," I laughed.

"Blame it on your Yorkshire forthrightness rubbing off on me…"

"Bluntness," I interrupted. "We call it bluntness."

"Bluntness, then. Poor old Xav asked me what I thought of his lovely new restaurant, so I told him. George looked ever so embarrassed and if looks could kill you'd have an APW out for Rachel. Did I get that right?"

"Ha ha! That's my girl. What did you say?"

"Well, the restaurant is called Omar Khayyam's, rather predictably, and Xav has the contract for a chain of them, attached to something called Luxotel Hotel and Conference Centres. It is supposed to be an alternative dining experience, more up market than the hotel restaurants, to give top businessmen somewhere to impress their more affluent clients."

"I'm impressed already," I said, 'and I haven't even been."

"You would have seen it for what it was," Annabelle assured me. "For a start, I told him that the name was naff. I said it sounded like a take away She giggled at the memory. "Then I criticised the decor. It was all done in pale green and lilacs, what you would describe as a puff's boudoir. I told him that I would have chosen something bolder; perhaps largely white, with black and red panels and gold borders; something with a more Eastern feel."

"Sounds good to me. What did he say?"

"That was the surprising thing. He had a good look around and said he agreed. He wished that he had consulted me earlier. I wondered if he was just being polite, or patronising me."

"Don't be silly," I said. "I've told you before, you have a flair for that kind of thing."

"Then he asked me to suggest another name, before it was too late and he'd had all the signs made. After some thought I said I'd call it Jamshyd's."

"Jamshyds?"

"That's right. He was a Persian king, fabulously wealthy, mentioned in the Rubaiyat."

I said: "As in: "The wild ass stamps o'er his head, and he lies fast asleep"?"

"Mmm, not quite, that was another king. "The lion and the lizard keep the courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep," but I'm still impressed."

"Don't be it's the only poem I know. Your version sounds much more appropriate. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Annabelle, and it sounds as if you gave them something to think about. So when are you coming home? You know I'll be extremely happy to come and fetch you."

"Ah. That's why I rang." her voice had dropped several tones. "Would you be very disappointed if I stayed down here for the New Year, Charles? Xav rang me earlier today and said he would like to show me the designs for the next restaurant. Apparently it is nearly at the decoration stage and he needs to move fast if he's changing things. He says he will even pay me consultancy fees, would you believe? Do you mind, love? I'll come back if you insist."

What do you say? Do you insist? The words no win situation are not usually anywhere near the tip of my tongue, but right then I couldn't think of a better expression.

"Oh," I said.

"It's only a couple of days. I'll come back on the train, the day after New Year's day."

That was three days. "Er, right," I mumbled. "You'veer caught me off balance. I was looking forward to coming to collect you."

"Oh, I'm sorry if I've upset your plans, Charles, but I really would like to have a go at this. It's a wonderful opportunity."

Bugger my plans, I thought, it's me that's upset. "Yes, I can see that," I told her. "Don't worry about me. You show those experts a thing or two that they couldn't learn at college, and tell me all about it when you come home, eh?"

"I knew you would understand, and you know what they say?"

"What's that?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, of course."

"Of course." And so does lying in each other's arms under a duvet, with the rain blowing soundlessly against the double glazing and Rimsky's Sheherazade playing very low on the CD. And I know which I prefer.

You don't see a suspect for weeks, then two come along at the same time. I was listening to Today on Radio 4, mug of tea in hand, feet on the gas fire, when the phone rang. The Prime Minister was on the radio, delivering his New Year message. Law and Order was high on the priority list again. He was determined to make Britain a safer place for young and old alike. Measures would be announced to curb the increasing tendency towards violence and he promised five thousand more policemen on the beat by the end of next year. I yawned and reached for the phone.