Free The Fruit Gum Murders by Roger Silverwood

and PC Elders towards interview room number 1, which was along the corridor two doors away.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ Angel said.
    â€˜This is Thomas Johnson, sir,’ Donohue said.
    â€˜I know you,’ Johnson said. ‘You’re that frigging Angel. It was you who sent me down last time. I’m not going down again.’
    Angel stared at him and said, ‘All I want to do is ask you some questions, lad. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, which do you want?’
    It took a few seconds for him to decide to answer. ‘I want to go home. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
    Angel stared hard at him. ‘Which way do you want?’
    There was another delay, then Johnson muttered something incomprehensible.
    â€˜What was that, Thomas?’ Angel said.
    â€˜The easy way,’ he bawled.
    â€˜Right,’ Angel said, then he turned to the two patrolmen and said, ‘Thank you, lads. Let him go.’
    They looked at Angel a second or two then slowly relaxed their grip on Johnson, who shook himself like a dog coming in out of the rain.
    â€˜Come with me,’ Angel said, closing his office door and leading the way down the corridor to the interview room.
    Minutes later, Angel was seated at the table with Johnson opposite him. Patrolmen Donohue and Elders waited outside.
    â€˜Now then,’ Angel began, ‘this is simply a preliminary interview. I am not even recording it. Just tell me the truth. That’s all I want.’
    Johnson shuffled on the chair, looked downwards and rubbed his fingers, first with one hand and then the other.
    â€˜Where were you on Sunday evening between half-past eight and nine-fifteen?’ Angel said.
    â€˜I dunno, do I?’ Johnson said, making a quick upward glance in Angel’s direction.
    Angel pursed his lips. ‘Think about it, lad. It’s only the day before yesterday. Sunday evening .’
    â€˜I must have been at home. I hadn’t any money to go out. Oh yes, I had. I had a win on the dogs. I remember. I did go out. But I was on my own.’
    â€˜Where did you go?’
    â€˜I’m not sure. Sunday teatime, Kevin brought a bottle round. We celebrated my win. Had a frigging laugh. I remember.’
    â€˜Who is Kevin?’
    â€˜Friend of mine, lives next door. He had to go home … something to do with his mother … no, it was his girl. He’d promised to take her somewhere. … ’
    Several seconds passed.
    Angel said, ‘Where were you on Sunday evening?’
    â€˜I’m trying to think, man. I’m trying to think. Don’t crowd me.’ He ran his hand through his hair.
    Angel rubbed his chin slowly. ‘Did you go on a pub crawl?’
    He looked up at Angel and said, ‘Yeah. That’s what I did. But I was on my own. I like to go out when there’s a few of us. Nobody wanted to come. Yeah, that’s what I did, I think. I went out.’
    â€˜What time did you leave home?’
    â€˜Frigging hell, I don’t know. I had a bacon buttie then I … it must have been seven or eight o’clock.’
    â€˜Where did you start? Do you usually have a sort of regular plan, or a route?’
    â€˜We start at the Feathers usually, but I was on my own. I might have done. What’s all this about, anyway?’
    â€˜Maybe you did start at the Feathers? Who did you see there that you remember?’
    â€˜The Feathers? There’s that toffee-nosed bitch behind the bar.’
    â€˜Tell me about her, Thomas.’
    Johnson shrugged. ‘She was just … stuck-up. You know.’
    â€˜Did you speak to her?’
    â€˜Only to get a pint, you know. She did it as if I was rubbish, you know.’
    â€˜How much did you have to drink there?’
    â€˜I dunno, do I?’
    â€˜Did you go upstairs?’
    â€˜Might have done.’
    â€˜What did you go upstairs for?’
    â€˜I didn’t say I’d been upstairs. I said I