Free Fatal Quest by Sally Spencer

here.’
    â€˜As a matter of fact, we have,’ Woodend told him, sitting down. ‘You’re what we call a “material witness”.’ He turned to the uniformed constable who was standing by the door. ‘Isn’t that right, Constable?’
    â€˜Definitely, Sarge,’ the constable agreed.
    â€˜â€™Ow can I be
any
kind o’ witness when I don’t know nuffink at all?’ Horrocks grumbled.
    â€˜You’ll excuse me if I say that I think you’re talkin’ complete bollocks, won’t you?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜Fink wot yer want.’
    â€˜Let’s just consider what happened this afternoon,’ Woodend suggested. ‘There was in a fight in your pub. Correct?’
    â€˜I suppose there must ’ave been.’
    â€˜You
suppose
there must have been? Are you sayin’ that you somehow managed to avoid seein’ it?’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s right. When whatever ’appened, ’appened, I was in the cellar, bringing up a crate of bottles.’
    â€˜So, in this fight which you
didn’t
see, a man called Wally Booth was punched in the face, an’ knocked to the ground. Now the beatin’ he’d received wouldn’t normally have killed him. But when he fell, he banged his head on the brass foot-rail running along the front of the bar – and that did for him. Correct?’
    â€˜Can’t say, ’cos I wasn’t there and I ain’t no doctor. All I
do
know is that when I come up from the cellar, he was lying on the floor.’
    â€˜And apart from the dead man, the bar was empty?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜So you called the police?’
    Horrocks smirked. ‘Of course I did. It was my duty as a law-abiding citizen.’
    â€˜And when the local Old Bill arrived, you were unable to give them the names of any of the customers who’d been drinkin’ in the bar just prior to Wally Booth’s death?’
    â€˜That’s right. They were all complete strangers to me. I didn’t know any of ’em from Adam.’
    â€˜In fact, not only didn’t you know them, but you couldn’t even
describe
a single one of them to the officers?’
    Horrocks shrugged – though scarcely apologetically. ‘I’ve never been very good wiv faces.’
    Woodend slammed his fist down – hard – on the table. The action would have made most men jump, but Horrocks didn’t even blink.
    â€˜You’re pissin’ me about!’ Woodend said. ‘If there’s one thing that every pub landlord has to have, it’s a good memory for faces. It’s part of the job, for God’s sake.’
    Horrocks grinned. ‘Maybe they do, and maybe it is,’ he said. ‘All I can tell yer is that I’m the exception wot proves the rule.’
    â€˜An’ anyway, the place can’t have been filled with strangers,’ Woodend continued. ‘Pubs like yours don’t depend on passin’ trade for their business – what they rely on is a hard core of regular boozers. Which is why I’m willin’ to bet that you knew every single feller who was in your place this afternoon.’
    â€˜You’re wrong,’ Horrocks said flatly.
    â€˜I could charge you with bein’ an accessory after the fact, you know, Horrocks,’ Woodend threatened.
    â€˜Then charge me, if that’s what yer want to do,’ the landlord said indifferently. ‘But yer’ll never make it stick.’
    Woodend sighed. ‘Do you think a few more hours in the cells might serve to jog Jed’s memory?’ he asked the constable stationed at the door.
    â€˜Could do, Sarge,’ the constable said.
    â€˜Then you’d better take him back there, hadn’t you?’
    Horrocks stood up. ‘Once my brief gets on the case, he’ll have me out of here in no time at all,’ he said confidently.
    And he was probably dead right about that, Woodend