A Spoonful of Luger (14 page)

“I’m
not.
When
was
he
questioned?”

“A
couple
of
years
ago.
Now
look,
Dennis
didn’t
have
anything
to
do
with
Annabelle
Lester.
It
was
proved.
He
was
somewhere
else.”

“Who’s
Annabelle
Lester?”

He
looked
resentful.
“A
girl.
About
fifteen
she’d
be
then.
She
...
went
missing.”
Now
he
was
scared.
It
was
too
close.
“When
they
found
her
...
well
...
she’d
been
raped
—
and
she
was
dead.
You
know ... ”
I
nodded
while
he
swallowed.
“Dennis
was
only
one
of
the
people
they
questioned.
One
out
of
dozens.
And
he
was
miles
away
at
the
time.
He’d
got
an
alibi.”

“Had
he?”

“Oh
yes.
Certainly
he
had.
Now
you
can’t
come
here
saying ... ”
He
tailed
off,
his
eyes
hunting.

“That
he
might
have
been
a
pervert?”

“Yes.
Saying
that.”

“But
they
questioned
him,
Mr
Randall.
You
said
he
had
a
good
alibi.
Think
about
it.
They’d
have
had
him
in
for
questioning
because
they
knew
what
he
was
like.
He
must
have
needed
an
alibi.”

“No,”
he
said,
and
started
walking
away.
I
kept
pace.
He
was
moving
his
hands
wildly.
“I
won’t
have
it.”

“What
will
you
not
have?”

“That
he
had
anything
to
do
with
Annabelle
Lester.”

“I
didn’t
suggest
that.”

“Because
he’d
got
this
alibi.
You
don’t
seem
to
understand.
It
was
somebody
he
met
in
Wolverhampton
or
somewhere
...
Some
absolute
stranger.
I
mean
—
no
connection
at
all.
You
get
my
point?”

Oh,
I
got
his
point
all
right.
It
didn’t
sound
like
one
of
those
shaky
things
fixed
with
a
mate
in
a
pub.

He
looked
sourly
at
me,
perhaps
realizing
he’d
defended
Cleave
too forcefully.
“No.”
He
sat
down
behind
the
console
he
used
for
saving
himself
legwork.
“Do
you
want
a
car
or
don’t
you?”

“The
Victor.”
I
watched
him
reach
behind
to
a
rack
and
get
me
the
keys.
“You
couldn’t
believe
it
was
true,
because
he
was
a
friend?”

He
was
annoyed
at
my
persistence.
“Friend?
What’re
you
talking
about?
I
knew
him.
Yes,
I
saw
him
a
couple
of
times
a
month.
That’s
about
all.
No
friend
of
mine.”

“Certainly
not
close
enough
for
you
to
have
got
the
idea
he
might
be
dangerous?”
I
tossed
the
keys.
“Is
there
any
petrol
in?”
It
was
an
important
consideration,
with
my
wallet
so
thin.

“Fill
it
up,”
he
said
angrily,
“for
free.
Here ...
now
wait
a
minute.
Don’t
you
walk
away
from
me.
What’re
you
getting
at?”

I
paused.
“I’m
not
getting
at
anything.
I’m
saying
that
Dennis
Cleave
had
some
interesting
views
on
sexual
behaviour,
and
if
you
hadn’t
been so
bloody
high-minded
about
it
and
told
yourself
it
couldn’t
be
true
about
Dennis
—
not
Dennis
Cleave — you’d
perhaps
have
had
the
sense
to
steer
your
own
child
clear
of
him.
But
no,
you
weren’t
going
to
let
yourself
believe
it,
so
I
don’t
suppose
you
took
any
precautions
at
all.
You
might
even
have
had
Dulcie
with
you
once
or
twice
when
you
went
down
to
his
yard
—
perhaps
she
was
here
when
he
called.”
I
didn’t
take
my
eyes
off
his
distress.
“Even
had
him
home
for
tea.”

“No!”
he
said
violently.

“So
perhaps
she
was
waiting
at
the
bus
stop.
Uncle
Dennis
driving
past
... ”
I
smiled.
It
isn’t
always
easy.

“You’re
not
suggesting
— ”

“I’m
playing
around
with
ideas,
Mr
Randall.
I’m
hoping
this
one’s
lousy.”

Then
I
went
for
the
Victor.
As
I
said,
I
wasn’t
in
the
mood.
But
somebody
was
going
to
put
the
idea
forward,
maybe
Bycroft.
I
scraped
the
frost
from
the
windscreen,
filled
up, and
didn’t
bother
with
the
stamps.
As
I
drove
away
I
waved
towards
the
window
from
which
he
was
staring.
He
did
not
wave
back.

Then,
seeing
I
was
already
on
the
ring
road,
I
kept
going.
What
else
was
there
to
do?
Ten
minutes
later
I
was
assisting
the
police
by
standing
on
the
grass
verge
and
listening
to
the
shouts
as
they
pressed
through
the
undergrowth.
This
was
Green
Belt
area,
and,
I
suppose,
the
most
likely
place
they’d
find
her.
Assuming
she’d
waited
for
a
bus
on
the
inside
of
the
circle,
which
she
had
obviously
intended
to
do,
she
would
most
likely
have
been
picked
up
—
if
she
had
been — by
somebody
driving
in
the
same
direction.
This
would
bring
them
here,
where
the
town
fell
away
to
spreading
expanses
of
pines
and
deep
hidden
valleys
of
quiet
farms.
If,
and
maybe,
and
possibly.