Free Stone Cold Red Hot by Cath Staincliffe Page B

here and all he ever wanted to do was race round in fast cars - now he does it for a living - like the Sweeney. If he wasn’t a copper he’d be a villain.”
    “It’s possible to be both at the same time.”
    “Aye and he probably is. But Carl’s a good lad.”
    I left Mr Poole to his filing and went back upstairs.
    I was tired now, just a couple of hours to go until Mr Ibrahim was due back. Precious little happening. A couple more dog walkers. I yawned a lot and did some more stretching.
    At twenty past two a private hire cab arrived and stopped outside the house opposite. A man got out; dark coat and hat, moustache. Mr Ibrahim, I presumed. He knocked on the door. I realised they probably used bolts as well as locks so she’d have to let him in. The door opened and he slipped through. I caught no glimpse of her. The taxi drove away.
    Time for home.
    I packed up the camcorder and cleared the bits into my bag. Downstairs I looked in on Mr Poole. He was still at his table but sitting back in the large, upholstered chair. Eyes closed, mouth open, snoring softly. With each snore the loose skin around his chin shivered. I went across and touched his shoulder.
    “Mr Poole? I’m going now.”
    He blinked a few times and shut his mouth; rubbed his face with his hand.
    “I’ll see myself out. Don’t forget to ring me whenever there’s any bother. Goodnight.”
    The roads were quiet driving home. Once I’d gone a little way I took the wig and glasses off. I wondered whether the footage I’d got would be enough for Mandy Bellows to take the troublemakers to court. Surely it would.
    Verbal abuse - overtly racist, threatening behaviour, attacking property. I noted that the men had watched and spurred on the youths but neither Brennan nor Whittaker had actually gone up to the Ibrahims house. Intentionally - so they couldn’t be accused? But my recollection was that injunctions could apply to tenants and to their families, so even though the teenagers were minors they could still be the subject of a court order. And if they carried on with the anti-social behaviour the property could be re-possessed.
    I reckoned there was plenty to go on but it would be up to the solicitors at the Town Hall.
    Home was still, quiet. Laura was there, I could always tell from the smell of her perfume. Overpowering, she must chuck bucketfuls of it on. Acted on me like nerve gas. Must have stripped the linings of her nostrils so she couldn’t even smell how strong it was. Left the rest of us reeling. I was being uncharitable, I was tired.
    Bed felt blissful. I closed my eyes. Images from the evening flickered through my mind; the faces of the group, drunk and giddy with cruelty, Whittaker shivering in his denims, Darren beaming as they all applauded. Mr Poole’s voice, raw with emotion. “What, on god’s earth, makes them do this?”

Chapter eight

    The weekend was a blur of domesticity. Saturday afternoon I took the kids to Castlefield. The Museum of Science and Industry were hosting a dinosaur exhibition. Tom was beside himself with excitement. Maddie kept trying to act cool about it, “dinosaurs are for babies, Mum,” but when we entered the Jurrasic environment her face said it all. The place was done out like a swamp complete with soundtrack of blood-curdling roars. The animatronic dinosaurs had both Tom and Maddie enthralled. And when one particularly nasty one actually spit at Tom I thought he’d wet himself with glee. After a trip to the shop we visited our old favourites; the steam hall with its massive engines complete with life-size T. Rex this time and the interactive section upstairs where the kids played with magnets and mirrors and shadows and sounds. By then I was too tired to take them to the Air and Space building, Appollo and the Daleks would have to wait for another day.
    I had done a little bit of work that morning. I watched the video - it was blurry at times and the light wasn’t brilliant but it was adequate in