Free Vigilante by Kerry Wilkinson Page A

think someone would be interested? No reporter or anyone has even come to speak to me…’
    She tailed off and Jessica felt awful. ‘I’m sorry…’
    ‘Oh, I know it’s nothing to do with you. It’s not your decision, is it? The girl you sent around has been nice enough. I felt a bit bad as there’s no food in the house. I told her I was fine and that she should nick off.’
    She was referring to the liaison officer who was assigned to the parents or close relatives of victims in serious cases.
    ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Jessica asked.
    She could hear Craig Millar’s mother taking a deep breath. ‘Just find who did it.’

SEVEN

    Ben Webb hunched over the snooker table to line up his shot. He could feel a slight fuzziness around his eyes as the day’s beer intake was slowly beginning to take hold. He had been waiting for the feeling all evening as he knew he played a lot better when there were a few drinks inside him.
    The lights above the table flickered slightly and Ben pulled back from his shot, scowling at the hanging set of lamps above him. He crouched back over to line it up again when the lights went out fully. Ben stood and turned to his friend at the other end of the table. He could only see a silhouette in the gloom. ‘Hughesy, you wanna go have a word?’
    The snooker club was empty apart from four men around one playing table. Two were sitting chatting to each other, the only light a small desk lamp on a round table between their chairs. Four drinks were on the table and one of the men picked his up to finish what was left. Ben and his friend Des Hughes were standing next to the snooker table itself. Five large playing tables were in darkness near to them and now their lights had gone out too. Apart from the lamp next to the chairs, the only illumination came from the bar next to the exit.
    Des walked around the table and stomped up the two steps that took him away from the playing area onto an area where people could sit and eat. There were no lights there either and Des cursed as he clipped a few of the chairs on his way over to the bar. His heavy boots clanged off the chair legs, his cries of anger echoing quietly around the empty space. As he approached the bar, he called out. ‘Oi, Mario. What happened to the lights?’
    An olive-skinned man with dark hair walked through a door from behind the bar and approached the front. The man wasn’t very tall but he stood a couple of inches higher than Des. It would have been clear to any outsider who was more intimidating though. The person behind the bar was slight and, while Des wasn’t particularly muscular, he had naturally bulging forearms and hunched forwards as he walked. He may have been short in stature but he made sure his posture showed he meant business – it had served him well over the years. The lights from above the bar glinted off Des’ shaven head, the tattoos running down his arms prominent against the rest of his skin.
    ‘My name’s not…’ the man behind the bar started to say.
    ‘I don’t give a fuck if your name’s Mario, Luigi or any other dirty foreign muck. Turn those lights back on before I come back there and turn them on myself.’ Des thumped his fist on the bar to show he wasn’t joking and the other man took a step back.
    ‘It was closing time twenty five minutes ago…’
    Des stared at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m not going to ask again.’
    The person behind the bar gulped and gave a half-look behind him before nodding. His voice wavered slightly but he said: ‘Okay, okay.’ The man went back through the door behind the bar and Des heard a low cheer behind him. He turned around to see the lights flickering back on over their table and then turned back to the bar. The server was in front of him again.
    ‘Give me a pint of this stuff too,’ Des said, pointing to one of the pumps on the bar.
    The man stammered as he replied. ‘I…I can’t. It’s too late…My licence.’
    Des slammed his