So instead I rattled back down the walkway and into the engine house. When I emerged into the light I’d hardly turned round when there were more guns aimed on me.
“Stop! Armed police!”
I put my hands up, innocent as the day, and waited nervously while a couple of cops came over in their body armour and frisked me, none too gently. Then they cuffed me, and I had the pleasure of seeing my best mate walk over to stare at me. DI Frank Moxon. Well, I was almost pleased to see him.
“That’s the bloke you want, Frank. The one doing the pancake impression over there.”
A small group of officers had gathered round Cavendish. An ambulance with its lights flashing was already bouncing across the rubbish-strewn plateau.
“What are you doing here, McClure?” demanded Moxon. “What’s your connection?”
“Hey, guv, I was just passing. I thought you blokes might need some help.”
“Ah, an honest citizen. A have a go hero, in fact. Is that the idea? Expect your picture to be in the paper, do you? Want a certificate from the Chief Constable?”
“Oh no, you know me. Modest.”
“I know you all right, McClure. I’ve got your job now, remember? You’re nothing any more, just shit like all the rest. So keep your nose out of my business.”
I held up my wrists with the cuffs on. “Am I under arrest then? I hope you’ve got some evidence, because you’re letting your personal prejudices show, inspector.”
“Get in the car.”
We got in, leaving the heavy mob and the ambulance to look after Cavendish. Back in the village the crowd in Birch Road had grown much bigger. Uniformed police were trying to keep them back from the damaged cars, but there was a sort of carnival atmosphere. People hadn’t seen this much fun in Medensworth since the war.
Blokes in overalls were pulling the blue German car apart, and had even taken the seats out of the Morris Traveller. Metal Jacket was going to be pissed off with me about that. There was no sign of Slow Kid, but there was a large figure sitting on a garden wall eating a bag of chips. I hoped Rawlings and Lee had been taken away in one of those nice black vans.
And here was Lisa too, practically pushing Moxon aside to get at me.
“What happened, Stones? Where’s Michael Cavendish?”
I explained as best I could, playing down my heroic role, of course.
“That’s terrible,” she said. “And do you know those youngsters have stolen almost everything out of the car that had the accident.”
“You mean the blue car? The one with a wheel missing?”
“Yes, they’d even taken the wheel as well before the police got here.”
“It’s a disgrace.”
“The awful thing is, I heard a policeman say they were expecting to find some stolen jewellery in the car. But that’s gone too.”
“Shit. That’s terrible.”
And this time I meant it. That was supposed to be evidence. For heaven’s sake, some people will nick anything.
“Why do the police think you’ve got something to do with the stolen jewellery, Stones?”
“It’s a mistake,” I said. “I was just helping out.”
“This is why you got me to tell Michael Cavendish you’d given me some jewellery, isn’t it? You knew about this?”
“I’ve got contacts, you know.”
“There’s more going on than you’re saying. I’m sure there is.”
“Just things I hear. Through business, you know.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about stealing things, would you? Because I really hate stealing.”
“It can’t be me who nicked anything, love, can it? Not with these on.” I held up the handcuffs, hoping for sympathy.
“Quite honestly, they suit you.”
“Oh, come on, love.”
“And then there’s all that money you’ve got stashed at my cottage. Is that the right word — stashed? Yes, I’ve seen it. I was going to do your dirty washing for you, and I found it. There seems to be an awful lot of it, Stones. What is it all for? Where is that going? To finance some other shady venture?”
“Bleedin’ hell, Lisa.”
“Let him go! He’s innocent!”
Even while I was struggling to defend myself, the distant shout caught my notice. I looked round to see a familiar redhead with big tits coming across the road. The police fell back in front of her, the way a lot of blokes do.
“Anyway, about that money, Lisa,” I said hastily, desperate to distract her attention. “No need to worry about that — it’s going to my Uncle Willis’s Trust Fund.”
“Really?” Lisa looked surprised, as if she’d actually thought I was a crook. Women can be very hurtful.
“Yeah, I promised him. It’ll go to a new youth centre.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. I’m very proud of you.” She paused. “If it’s true.”
“Well, of course it’s true. I—”
“Stones! Are you all right?” Nuala was right in front of me now, her breasts practically poking my eyes out as she threw her arms round my shoulders. She looked really concerned for me. It made a refreshing change.
“Fine, love. Fine.”
Oh yeah, just fine. What, with the real shit about to hit the fan? Unable to push Nuala away because of the handcuffs, I looked about me for inspiration. But all I saw was Frank Moxon’s satisfied smirk.
“Stones,” said Lisa.
Her voice was flat and hard, like the sound of a judge just before he sentences you to be removed from this place and hanged by the neck until dead.
“Stones,” she said again, “who exactly is this woman?”
It seemed things were about to turn runny again. So I smiled, scraped some dust off my boots, and reminded myself of the Top Hard Rule. You can’t trust anyone these days. Not even me.
Author’s note:
All the titles in my Cooper & Fry series are set in Derbyshire, and I’m often asked by readers why I’ve never written a novel set in my home county of Nottinghamshire. The answer is — I have! About a year before I created my two young Derbyshire police detectives, Ben Cooper and Diane Fry, I wrote TOP HARD. This book reflects the situation existing in Nottinghamshire coalfield villages in the 1990s, and the characters give voice to some of the views being expressed at the time. In 1998, TOP HARD was shortlisted for the first ever New Writing Award, presented by the UK Crime Writers’ Association (now known as the Debut Dagger). A short story adapted from the first chapter appeared in the ‘Criminal Tendencies’ anthology, a fund raiser for breast cancer research, and was later chosen for publication in ‘The Mammoth Book of British British Crime 8’, released in 2011. TOP HARD has never been published in its full-length novel form, until now. I hope you enjoy it!