Free Back-Slash by Bill Kitson

you know everything. Will you help me?’
    Lisa paused, staring straight at Marshall as she gathered her thoughts. She paced the floor, then sighed. ‘At this moment you’re a free man, not suspected of anything. Give me the number and I’ll see what I can do. But, I’m going to tell my boss what we’ve talked about. I won’t do it until tomorrow, I promise. I also want you to keep in touch; by phone or text or whatever.’
    Marshall agreed. He knew he’d no choice. ‘Phoning might not be easy. If I can’t phone, I’ll get someone else to. Probably the people who will be looking after my dog. I’ll not give you their names; it would compromise them and you. I’ll tell them how to identify themselves so you’ll know they’re the genuine article.’
    ‘OK, now tell me something.’
    ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’
    ‘Tell me what you did to Donald?’
    He was surprised at the question. ‘A friend of mine taught me the trick. I’ve never used it before, never had cause. He said if you lift someone with their arm straight, then twist, the shoulder will dislocate. I had my doubts, but it appears to work.’
    ‘It sounds as if you’ve some interesting friends.’
    After copying down Lisa’s phone numbers, Marshall left. When he’d gone, Lisa was plagued with doubt. She’d acted on instinct, on a whim she might regret. She’d made her decision so she’d stick to it, and to hell with the consequences. Marshall seemed a decent man. Decent men don’t slit people’s throats, no matter how strongly they’re provoked. Beside which, he’d sorted that worm Donald Smailes out. She decided to let things ride. Shelving her anxieties might not be so easy. Nor was she looking forward to her meeting with Nash tomorrow. She knew she’d be lucky to escape without being suspended from duty. All she could do was explain and hope Nash understood her reasons.

    Marshall drove back to the Dickinsons’ house with one eye on the rear view mirror, his ears attuned for the sound of a siren. It was with great relief that he pulled the Land Rover into the safety of their back yard. ‘I’ll need to get rid of that in the morning,’ he told Barry. ‘I’ll do it first thing.’
    He settled for the night in the Dickinsons’ spare room. Nell curled up on a blanket on the floor beside him. As he fell asleep he wondered if this would be the last decent night’s sleep he’d get for a while.
    The following morning the household was up early. Marshall took the Land Rover and parked it deep inside the forest at the end of a little-used ride, where he was reasonably sure itwouldn’t be found. After he returned, having given Nell a good walk, Shirley presented him with a plate of bacon and eggs.
    ‘When you’ve finished that I’ll re-do your dressings.’ She watched him start to eat before asking, ‘Why ditch the Land Rover? Won’t you need a car?’
    ‘I’ll have to rely on public transport. The Land Rover’s too well known. Once the police make the connection, both they and the killer will be on the look-out for it. They’ll be convinced I’ve got it. I want them to keep looking. They’ll be looking in the wrong place, which suits me.’
    He finished his breakfast and submitted to the discomfort of having his dressing changed before hurrying out to join Barry. His greatest regret was the look of accusation in the Labrador’s sad eyes at his desertion of her. As Barry drove him to Netherdale, Marshall checked that he’d given Lisa’s number to him. ‘Don’t worry, Alan. Shirley’s got it safe. Have you got our home number and my mobile too?’
    ‘Yes.’ Marshall patted the document case. ‘I’ll call as soon as I’ve found a bolt-hole. It’ll take me a day or two to make sure I’m safe.’

    Shirley had a moment’s panic as a shadow passed across the kitchen window, then realized it was the postman. Seconds later the doorbell rang. ‘Morning, Shirley, parcel for Barry. It’s to sign for I’m