Stuart Pawson - The Mushroom Man

"This is your daughter?" I said, nodding towards Marie mark two, already doomed to a life of poverty and hardship.

"Yes."

"Hello."

She glowered at me. Ah, well, you can woo 'em all.

"Do you think she could go up to her room?" I suggested.

Grant patted her backside, pushing her towards the door. "Go play outside, Shelley," he told her.

When she had gone I said: "You must have brought her up yourself, Marie."

"Yes, I did, until she was four."

"That can't have been easy."

She shrugged, as if to say: You didn't think of that when you banged her daddy up for ten years.

Eddie Grant had robbed a series of banks and building societies at gunpoint. It was only an air gun but he'd fired it once or twice, and a young girl cashier had lost an eye. He'd also pistol-whipped a customer who'd had a go at him. He was a vicious piece of work. When the judge sent him down he left the dock swearing to kill me and my wife and kids. He said he knew where I lived, and he'd hunt me down for as long as it took. As I was in the middle of expensive divorce proceedings at the time, it didn't perturb me. But he'd served his five, after time off, and was back on the streets again. And somebody was trying to kill me.

"Right, Eddie," I said. "Where were you at nine o'clock on Friday night?"

"Friday night?"

"Uh-uh."

"Dunno."

"You'll have to try harder than that."

"Er, Mr. Priest?"

"Yes?"

"I read about the shooting in the paper. You don't fink it was me, do yer?"

"You said you would kill me, so convince me you weren't having a go.

Where were you on Friday?"

"I s'pose we was 'ere. Together."

"That's right," Marie announced. "We can't afford to go out, and can't get no baby-sitters since we moved 'ere."

"Can anybody else confirm this?"

They shook their heads.

"Why did you move here?" I asked.

"To get away from "Eckley," he replied. "We was in wiv a bad crowd.

Drugs an' stuff. That's why I did the banks. All that I said in court them freats — I was off my 'ead at the time. I'd 'ad some stuff the night before. Pills. Don't ask me what they was. An' Marie was pregnant. And when 'e said ten years it just blew my 'cad. I didn't mean anyfing."

"Have you a job?"

"Now and again."

"What doing?"

"RoofinV

It's always roofing.

Marie said: "Would you like a cup of tea?"

I shook my head. "No thanks, Marie." I turned to him. "There's plenty of drugs around Towncroft, Eddie. Are you managing to stay away from them?"

He nodded. Marie said she made sure he did. We made small talk, mainly about how they were settling in a strange town. After a while Eddie said: "Mr. Priest?"

"That's me."

"When I was inside, this last time, they put me wiv this old lag; 'e was about forty. I was braggin' about what I'd do to you, playing the big man. He told me to shut up. "E said that if you deserve it, you should serve it. Then 'e said that 'e knew you. "E said you was all right; not bent like all the rest. It wasn't me, Mr. Priest, I promise it wasn't."

I stood up to leave, saying: "I'm touched, Eddie." At the door I added: "But I'm not impressed. If you think of anything, anything at all, let me know. Maybe we can do business." I pointed a finger at Marie's belly and smiled. "Good luck," I said. She didn't smile back, and why should she? I'd only accused her husband of attempted murder and given him a veiled invite to become a grass, to add to their other problems.

Shelley was drawing pictures in the dirt on my car. I winked at her and drove off, back to my world, on the other side of the universe.

My intention was to call at the General and see Annabelle again, but I reluctantly decided not to. She wasn't expecting me, and I only encouraged her to talk, aggravating her sore throat. Rest would do her more good.

Two reporters were waiting on my doorstep. They were local, and were hoping for an update for the Heckley and District Weekly, due out on Thursday, although I knew that anything juicy that they gathered would immediately be syndicated. I invited them in for a coffee and repeated what they already knew. They had nothing to tell me.

My appetite had returned. A new take away was open on this side of town, so I gave it a try. I had chicken bhuna, with pilau rice and a couple of chap atis washed down by a brace of lagers. The list was on the table. I drew a line through Eddie Grant, then modified it with a question mark. I put another next to the one already against the ABC entry and scanned the also-rans, but nothing obvious jumped out at me.

When I looked out of the bedroom window the car was parked down the road again. I slipped my trainers on and went outside, through the back door. I climbed over the fence and sneaked down my neighbour's garden, narrowly avoiding falling into his new goldfish pond. Back on the street, I turned right, and right again at the end. I was now approaching the car from behind. When I reached it I opened the passenger's door and got in.

"Evenin', Dave," I said.

"Evenin', Charlie," Sparky replied.

"Does Gilbert know you're mucking up his overtime allowance?"

"This is extracurricular."

"Good. Seen anything?"

"Yeah. The woman next to you doesn't draw the curtains when she goes to bed."

"Well, thank God there isn't a window at my side. She frightens me to death when she's fully dressed." We sat in silence for a while. I said: "You're getting on better with Nigel these days. I'm glad about that."

"He's OK," Sparky concurred. From him it was the equivalent of an Academy Award.

"I forgot to ask. Did Sophie get the results she wanted?"

He chuckled. "Let me down. She got five As and three Bs. I'd told her straight Ds, or else. Looks like she's going to cost me a fortune."

"Hey, that's brilliant. I'll have to find a decent CD for her." Sophie was my goddaughter and at Christmas and birthdays I tried to manipulate her musical tastes. Maybe a Janis Joplin this time.

After another silence I said: "So, you don't think he was trying to shoot Annabelle?"

He looked across at me. "Do you?"

I shook my head. "No. He was having a go at me. And I never told Peterson."

"Peterson's a twat. He wouldn't have believed you."

"What about this Destroying Angel? Do you think it was him?"

"Not sure. Probably not. Apparently the first two killings weren't him, he just claimed them. Who's to say he isn't doing the same again?"

"Good point, Dave. I hadn't thought about that." I told him about my list, and the visit to see Eddie Grant.

"How tall is he?" Sparky asked.

"Grant? He's only a squirt. About five foot five, no more. Why?"

He shuffled in his seat, lifting himself more upright. "I've been sitting in on Peterson's meetings," he told me. "Liaison officer.

There's been a slight development. Everybody who attended the concert is in the process of being interviewed, plus all the staff at the town hall. Usual stuff asked to describe everybody they saw. One of the women who looks at tickets probably saw him."

"Go on," I urged.

"It was after the concert started. A few people were hanging around in the foyer; latecomers who'd been hoping for a ticket, that sort of thing. She says she particularly noticed one character because he was carrying a sports bag. A black and red Adidas. She was quite the little detective, this lady. She said he must have been a tennis or squash player."

"Why?" I queried.

"Because there was a hole cut in the end of his bag, for his racket handle to poke through."

"Or a shotgun," I murmured.

"Or a shotgun. She described him as being small five two to five six wearing a baggy suit and a hat. That's about it."

"So you reckon Eddie Grant's back in the frame?"

"I'd say so."