Free Stranglehold by J. M. Gregson Page A

chronicler of his sins, that recording angel that had been planted in his imagination by an earnest Sunday School teacher almost forty years ago.
    â€˜Well, I parked near the Roosters and watched the people going in.’
    â€˜Time?’
    â€˜I don’t know. I didn’t know I was going to be cross-examined about it today, did I?’ Rushton gave him no more than the slightest of smiles. ‘I suppose it was about half past nine. Look, if you could just give me the details of this crime, I’m sure I could –’
    â€˜In due course, perhaps, Mr Knowles. How long were you parked near the Roosters? ’
    â€˜I told you: I can’t be precise. I suppose it was about three-quarters of an hour. Maybe an hour, at the most. I had the radio on. I listened to the ten o’clock sports bulletin, and I was there for some time after that.’ Knowles ran both hands abruptly through his lank hair, as if he could no longer keep control over them.
    â€˜And you watched people going in and out of the Roosters. Not a very exciting evening, for an active man like you.’
    â€˜That’s my business. Are you saying you don’t believe me?’
    Rushton enjoyed ignoring this man’s questions. ‘And what did you do when you had completed your vigil of observation on Oldford Football Club, Mr Knowles?’
    â€˜I went back to my digs.’
    â€˜Where were you staying?’
    â€˜At the White Lion .’
    It was a run-down pub on the edge of the town, which still kept a couple of cheap bed and breakfast rooms, used largely by reps who wanted to make a bit on their expenses.
    It was not the location recorded for the red Sierra by the observant beat copper.
    â€˜So you were back there from about half past ten onwards?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And you went quietly to bed? Not a very exciting evening for you.’
    â€˜I was tired. I had a couple of drinks before I went to bed.’
    â€˜Ah! That’s useful; it means the landlord will be able to confirm your presence at the time you suggest.’
    Knowles looked at him with a hatred that was suddenly manifest. He had never troubled to dissemble his feelings when he talked to the footballers who had called him ‘Boss’ over the years, and he could not conceal his emotions now. ‘No, he won’t. I had a bottle in my room. I didn’t know whether I’d be staying in licensed premises or not, you see, so I brought a bottle of whisky in my case. I nearly always do. I’ve learned over the years to be independent.’
    He was talking too much now. Rushton let him run to a stop before he spoke. ‘So there is no one who can confirm your story about the time when you returned to the White Lion. Unfortunate, that.’
    â€˜Look, I don’t have to take this. I’ve a good mind to make a complaint – I came here of my own free will ...’
    He spoke like a man who expected to be interrupted, and Rushton deflated him by refusing to do so. He did not think this man would lodge any complaint, in view of what was still to come.
    When Knowles ran out of bluster, he said, ‘You have been told that your car was noted as one of the vehicles in the area where a murder was committed last night. It was noted by a constable on his beat at 11.15 p.m. And it was not in the car park of the White Lion hotel. It was quite near the spot where the body of a woman was found later in the night. A woman who had been strangled.’
    For an instant, Knowles’s eyes widened, and showed the bright red veining at the corners. Then he cast them down; a small pulse beat for a moment at the top of his right cheek, and he flicked at it with his fingers as if it had been a fly.
    Rushton said, ‘Are you telling us that someone else took your car while you were in your room at the White Lion and drove it to where it was seen?’
    For a moment, it seemed that the lie would be attractive to Knowles. Then