Free Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 by Unknown

to carry out some investigations of my own. My QC might need a second opinion.’
    ‘You’ve caused me a shitload of aggro you little … shit.’ His finger jabbed at my head. ‘You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?’
    I figured that was as close as the guy might get to ranting.
    ‘No,’ I said. It hurt to talk, so I opted for a minimalist approach.
    ‘Thanks to you, the Mayor’s bringing the rain down on us. Now I’m coming down on you. Understand?’
    ‘Yes.’
    His voice rose again. ‘From now on you stay out of it.’
    ‘Gotcha.’
    It would have been nice if just once I heard someone say, “Go on, Eddie, get stuck in there”.
    ‘You better had,’ he gnashed, pressing his knuckles hard into the table.
    After a long, purposeful stare, he pushed his weight off the desk and trekked around the room, hands in pockets. As he paced a circle of eight, the tension seemed to lapse. Suddenly his voice changed, becoming mellow.
    ‘I knew your father,’ he said. Hobbs didn’t look at me at first, then he leaned heavily on the table and tried to impart a visual ceasefire. ‘He was “old school”. One of the good guys.’
    I stared at the off-grey walls of the interview room, grateful at least that Bugg wasn’t present. Besides the drone from Hobbs, all I could hear was the thud of dodgy plumbing.
    ‘Yes, he was.’
    Hobbs gave a slow nod.
    ‘How come you didn’t mention you knew him before?’ I asked.
    ‘I was trying to figure you out. Didn’t want you thinking you’d get any favours.’
    ‘He wouldn’t have done me any.’
    ‘No, you’re right. Like I said, he was a good policeman. Played everything by the book.’ Hobbs sat down and pulled his chair closer. ‘He was a straight shooter, and so am I.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Despite all the front, Eddie, you’re a lot like him. How about being straight with me?’
    ‘Is this a Cracker rerun?’
    ‘Skip the talky-talk and answer the question.’
    ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ I said, smiling. ‘Keep that lunatic Bugg off my back, and I’ll be straight with you.’
    ‘I’ll keep him in line. Best I can offer.’ Hobbs pointed at my face with his index finger. ‘What happened by the way? I take it you fell over?’
    ‘Yeah, onto some big twat’s elbow.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘He didn’t give me his card.’
    ‘What’d he look like?’
    ‘I told you, a big twat.’
    There was a large sigh from Hobbs. ‘You’re not being very straight.’
    ‘Best I can offer.’
    He looked up at the ceiling and spoke, his voice trailing. ‘You really don’t get it.’
    ‘Enlighten me.’
    Hobbs got up and went on his travels around the room again. He was no doubt in deep deductive thought, but the perpetual motion was making me nauseous. He sat back down and arranged a pile of papers in front of him.
    I ached all over. I wanted to sleep in cotton wool for two days. If co-operation would bring the prospect any closer, then co-operation was looking favourable. I glanced at the clock; I might still make the Punchbowl by six.
    ‘Let me bring you up to date,’ said Hobbs, looking up from the papers. ‘Tony Porson has identified his mother’s body. That’s item one. Item two, the initial forensic report is in. Cause of death: strangulation. Particles from the ligature found on the victim’s neck are unidentified. A cotton mix, some type of cord. Difficult to trace. Her larynx was crushed. Restriction of oxygen caused brain damage to an unusual degree. There was little sign of any struggle on the body, which suggests she knew the killer. Time of death put at approximately three hours before discovery. That’s two and three quarter hours before the alleged phone call to you. Your guess was remarkably accurate, don’t you think?’
    ‘I’d say so. Sign of a kick-ass detective.’
    In my head I wind-whirled through the facts. The key to the case had to be the phone call. Porson was already dead when the call had been made. How was it done, and