Free To Die Alone by John Dean Page B

to the pounding of their hearts in the silence of the night.
     
    ‘Come on,’ said Harris wearily, glancing at his watch and walking out of Meredith’s living room into the narrow hallway. ‘Not sure we can do much more tonight and I’ve got a nice bottle of Scotch waiting for me back home.’
    ‘And I might just make that late curry,’ said Gallagher, reaching over the back of the sofa for his overcoat and glancing at Butterfield. ‘Fancy it, Alison?
    ‘Don’t you want to get back to Roxham?’
    ‘No point. Julie’s on nights again. She’s still on A&E. Besides, I really could murder a curry.’
    ‘Yeah, so could I,’ said Butterfield. ‘Hey, if you want to have a couple of jars, you can kip on my floor again.’
    ‘See how I go.’ Gallagher looked at the inspector. ‘You coming, guv?’
    He expected the usual bland refusal but, this time, Jack Harris hesitated.
    ‘I am sure Scoot would appreciate a bit of chicken,’ said the sergeant, seizing his chance. ‘I could ask Mother Teresa to sort it for you.’
    Butterfield looked at him with a perplexed expression on her face and mouthed the words, ‘Mother Teresa?’
    ‘Tell you later,’ said a grinning Gallagher. ‘What about it then, guv?’
    The inspector nodded.
    ‘Aye, go on then,’ he said, heading for the front door. ‘Why not?’ Bout time we did something like this. Curtis is always banging on about team spirit.’
    Gallagher beamed.
    ‘Oh, while I remember,’ said the inspector, reaching for the front-door handle. ‘Did anyone get hold of the Farmwatch lads?’
    ‘Damn,’ exclaimed Gallagher, clapping a hand to his mouth. ‘Completely forgot to tell them that, what with the goings-on at the King’s Head and things here, uniform could not spare anyone for tonight.’
    Harris stared at him.
    ‘What you looking at me like that for?’ said Gallagher. ‘Surely, they wouldn’t be daft enough to go out on their own, not when we’ve had a murder up on the h….’ His voice tailed off as he saw the inspector’s expression. ‘Jesus, don’t tell me they would.’
    ‘You haven’t met Harry Galbraith,’ said Harris, allowing himself a slight smile despite his concerns, ‘It’s like Last of the Summer Wine meets The Sweeney .’
    Gallagher roared with laughter but the sound died in his throat when the inspector’s mobile phone rang.
    ‘Somehow,’ said the sergeant gloomily, ‘that does not sound good.’
    The inspector listened for a few moments before muttering a ‘thank you’ and ending the conversation. Placing the phone in his coat pocket, he looked at them.
    ‘I am afraid the curry will have to wait,’ he said grimly. ‘That was control. Someone’s just tried to kill Harry Galbraith and his mate.’
    ‘Jesus,’ said the sergeant quietly. ‘They’ll have my nuts for this.’
    ‘And mine,’ said Jack Harris darkly. ‘And mine, Matty lad.’

CHAPTER NINE
    ‘Pleased with you!’ exclaimed Harris, glaring at the two farmers sitting in front of him. ‘Why the hell would I be pleased with you? I mean, don’t you listen to a sodding word I say?’
    Startled by the vehemence of the inspector’s onslaught, Harry Galbraith and Dennis Soames stared at the floor and said nothing as he paced the room. It was just after midnight and the farmers were at one of the tables in the dimly lit and deserted first floor canteen at Levton Bridge Police Station, cradling mugs of steaming tea in their hands.
    ‘I mean,’ continued the furious inspector, ‘I have come across some acts of crass stupidity in my time – mostly from my superintendent – but this takes the biscuit, it really does. You’re morons. Effing morons.’
    ‘Now hang on, Jack—’ began Galbraith.
    ‘Hang on nothing, Harry. You could have got yourselves killed tonight. This isn’t a game. Surely, you heard that we have already had one man found dead up on the hills?’
    The farmers said nothing.
    ‘Well?’ said the inspector, glaring at them as if he