Free Death Watch by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

her lips softly. ‘I could go a cuppa tea, though. You got your car with yer, Mr Slider?’
    He was wary. He had nothing but goodwill towards the old girl, but she wasn’t what any man would choose for a travelling – companion. Even upwind he could smell her. ‘What’s this about, Else?’
    ‘It’s a dry sort a day,’ she said dreamily. ‘F’you could give me a ride up the Acropolis, they don’t mind me there. Some places they won’t serve the likes of me.’ She handed the photograph back. ‘Nice sort a face, ain’t it? ‘Ansome.’
    ‘You didn’t see him at the motel, you said?’
    ‘Seen him somewhere else,’ she said blandly. ‘Can’t think where, though.’
    ‘If I give you a ride in my car, do you think you might remember?’
    ‘Wasn’t long ago, neether. Mighta been Satdy or Sundy,’ she said with a sweet smile. ‘Real thirsty sort a day, ain’t it?’
    ‘Come on then,’ said Slider resignedly. If he was going to get rolled, at least it would only be for the price of a cup of tea.
    She sat very upright in the bucket seat with her bagclutched in her lap, and looked about her with evident delight on the short journey down Bloemfontein Road and along Uxbridge Road to the Acropolis Cafe. She loved riding in cars, and Slider found her pleasure rather touching. In the course of her long life she had been in so few of them that the experience still had all the childhood sharpness of novelty.
    Outside the Acropolis he pulled up and went round to the passenger side to let her out. He delved into his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change, saw there were a couple of pound coins amongst the silver, and held out the whole fistful to her. He knew from experience it would give her more satisfaction than a note.
    She accepted the bounty gravely in her cupped hands, and then bestowed it into various pockets. Slider waited patiently until she looked up again.
    ‘Satdy it was,’ she said, suddenly business – like. ‘Dinnertime. I see him go in the George and Two Dragons. He—’
    ‘Where’s that?’
    ‘You know.’ She seemed impatient of the interruption. ‘Up the Seven Stars. I was sittin’ on the wall oppsit. He was in there a long time. Havin’ his dinner, most like. I could see the back of ‘is ‘ed through the winder. Noddin’, like he was talkin’ to someone. Then he comes out and I see him go up Gorgeous George’s. He meets a girl there.’
    ‘How d’you know? Did you see the girl? Could you describe her?’
    But she only chuckled and turned away. ‘You ask Gorgeous George,’ she said, stumping towards the cafe door. ‘He knows all about it.’
    There was a complex road junction where Askew Road, Goldhawk Road and Paddenswick Road all met, which of late years had been turned into a free public bumper-car ride by the simple addition of two mini-roundabouts. A large pub called The Seven Stars and Half Moon dominated the scene, and had given its name to the whole area.
    Gorgeous George was the local Arthur Daley, a blond and handsome South African who had a second – hand car lot in Paddenswick Road and conducted various slightly dubious business deals on the side. Slider had thus decoded two thirds of Else’s cryptic message, but The George and Two Dragons eluded him. That had to wait until he got back to the factory and asked Bob Paxman. He was custody sergeant on the late relief, and Slider found him in kitchen making himself a cup of Bovril.
    ‘Oh, that’s the pub, The Wellington, on the corner of Wellesley Road,’ he answered Slider at once.
    ‘Why on earth—?’
    ‘It’s only been called The Wellington since they tarted it up. That was in 1965 – 150th anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo. Some clever sod at the brewery noticed that Lord Wellington’s name was Wellesley before he got made a duke, so they changed the pub name while they were refurbishing.’
    ‘The things you know,’ Slider said admiringly.
    Paxman looked wary, wondering if he was being