Vengeance

by Donald Phillips

Chapter 16

  By Monday morning MacAllister thought that Jean looked sufficiently stable for him to risk going into the office. She was talking to him again, but only about those every day things that required conversation. Any attempt to discuss Kirsty was just met with a wall of silence, but it was an improvement over her behaviour immediately prior to Kirsty’s death. His own head ached from grief and he felt like a rag doll, but he was aware in the back of his mind that if he stayed at home he would eventually turn to the whiskey bottle just to get through the day. Before he left he made Jean promise that she would ring the hospital and arrange to return to her job the following Monday. Then he climbed into the car to leave for work.

  The pale blue Vectra was nearly eight years old and in dire need of a new battery and for some long moments he thought it was going to refuse to start. When it finally caught he gunned the motor and made a mental note to put the battery on charge when he got home that evening. He opened the glove box and pulling out an aerosol can of car deodorant, sprayed it all over the upholstery. He had stopped smoking over a year ago, but the smell of old fags was ingrained into the fabric of the vehicle and could not be removed, only periodically drowned by the stronger, but less enduring, smell of the aerosol. The engine beat had settled down to a steady rhythm by now and he released the hand brake and pulled out into the road. He found himself thinking about buying a new car and then felt guilty that he had forgotten about Kirsty's death for even a few moments. He thrust the feeling away and drove on.

  As he walked into the Bricewell station twenty minutes later he mentally braced himself for the two reactions he would face. Those who would come directly to him to express their sympathy and those who would avoid him, embarrassed by his loss and his grief and unable to cope with it. The Desk Sergeant greeted him gravely and one or two others stopped him to express their condolences, but in the main the rest just nodded and walked past. He couldn't really blame them. What do you say to someone that you only know professionally who has just suffered a tragedy, without sounding like a trite pillock? He knew how they felt and was glad they were avoiding the subject. He didn’t even mind if they avoided him for a few weeks. He needed the breathing space just to get through it all.

  He made his way to Chief Superintendent Bill Reid's office and knocked on the open door. Gill Bradman, Reid's secretary, was seated at her desk using the word processor. She looked up at him and her professional smile of welcome turned to a look of concern as she saw who it was. She got up and came around the desk to him taking both his hands in her own, her face grave and anxious.

  “John! What are you doing here? We didn't expect you for at least another few days. How is Jean?”

  The concern poured out as she put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, her eyes damp from sorrow and sympathy. He felt he was drowning in her concern and released his arm from her grip.

  “I had to come in, Gill. I would go mad just sitting at home thinking about it.” Guilt chewed at him. “How is Graham Simpson? Have you heard?”

  He had not been able to bring himself to contact the shattered young man and it nagged at him that he had left him sleeping by Kirsty's bed to wake up and find that they had made their decision without informing him. Gill Bradman turned back to her desk and sat down.

  “He came in yesterday to see Mr Reid and asked if he could have two weeks leave and an immediate transfer back to Ealing. He came from there originally you know and he still has family there. Mr Reid said he would see what could be done. He contacted the Ealing Station Commander yesterday afternoon and the last I heard was that they would be delighted to have him back. I hear he has already cleared out his locker. Didn't he let you know?”

  MacAllister understood the surprise in her voice, but at the same time realised that the only thing that he and Graham had ever had in common was their love for Kirsty. He made an excuse.

  “He may have rung Jean when I was down at the hospital Friday and she forgot to tell me. Neither of us is thinking that well at the moment.” He thought it time to stop her inquest into their lives. “Is Bill Reid in his office?”

  She became all business and picked up the inter office phone.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Mr Reid, but Detective Inspector MacAllister is here and would like to see you.”

  She nodded her head in answer to the reply she received as if her boss could see the action over the phone.

  “Of course, Mr Reid.” She looked up at MacAllister. “Go right in.”

  Bill Reid's office was on the corner of the building on the seventh and top floor so it had a good view over the city centre and across to the far hills. Reid was fond of standing at his window staring out at the view while he was thinking over a problem. He was also fond of repeating the information that Bristol, like Rome, was built on seven hills. In MacAllister's opinion that is where any similarity to the Eternal City ended. Others who lived in some of its meaner and more violent parts may have disagreed with him. Reid was staring out of the window when MacAllister entered, but he turned as he heard the door close and walked across the room extending his hand, his features were carefully composed into lines of concern.

  “Hello, John. I know you are having a rough time so I won't insult you with platitudes. How is Jean taking it?”

  MacAllister had never taken Reid for anything other than a career policeman whose only concerns in life were for his own problems and ambitions. Even so, he thought it best to accept it all at face value.

  “I don't really know, Sir. We had to make the decision to switch off the life support system when it became obvious that Kirsty was not going to ever wake up again and Jean took the lead in that, but how she feels I just don't know. Kirsty was her life you see.”

  For some reason he felt the need to explain.

  “You know what it is like being a copper's wife. You can go for days hardly seeing each other. In the early years she had both the kids to keep her busy, but when boys get to about fourteen they don't need their Mums, except as washers, ironers and cooks. Kirsty on the other hand was always with her mum and by the time she was sixteen they were like sisters. Shared everything and ganged up together on me whenever one of them wanted something.”

  He went and stared out of the window himself before he continued.

  “It was Kirsty that persuaded Jean to go back to work and helped her to find the job.” He turned back into the room. “I don't know if she has really taken it in yet. You know, Sir. If she really believes and understands that Kirsty has gone.”

  He turned away again quickly, embarrassed that he had revealed his feelings to a man for whom he had such little respect or feeling.

  Bill Reid nodded and his face showed a sympathy and understanding he did not really feel. Reid was an ambitious copper of the modern school. Like MacAllister he had become an Inspector at a very early age, but unlike MacAllister his star had kept rising. He was still only in his late thirties, but it was understood by all that Bill Reid would one day be a Chief Constable. He was not particularly liked by the men that served under him as they usually realised that their careers would be considered expendable to the cause of Reid's promotion should the occasion arise. However, that had never worried other ambitious men and it certainly did not bother William Reid. He knew he was star material and he was not in the force to win some popularity competition. Normally MacAllister would not have been so open with him as he knew Reid did not approve of some of the methods he used to get results. However, his own immediate boss, Chief Inspector Jack Roper, was away on long-term sickness and he had been forced to see Bill Reid. He decided it was time to get things back onto a more formal footing.

  “I would like to return to work as of this morning and as Chief Inspector Roper is away, I thought I had better report to you and let you know I was back.”

  Reid looked at him through suddenly suspicious eyes.

  “This rush back to the grindstone doesn't have anything to do with the Jason Howlett arrest, does it, John?”


  MacAllister carefully kept his face expressionless.

  “I am always pleased to hear we have caught another one, but I don't think I have heard about that one yet.”

  The lie was a mistake and he knew it as soon as the words had left his lips. He should have admitted that he knew of the arrest of Jason Howlett and that his desire to return to work was from a need to return to normality. With any other Commander he would have probably done so, but his dislike of Reid had prevented him from admitting to a normal human need and had led him to make an error of judgement. Disbelief was all over Reid's face, but he decided on the fatherly advice approach.

  “Listen to me, John. I don't want you within a million miles of that case and that's an order. You leave it to Clive Sayers and then, if it does turn out this little tow rag had something to do with your Kirsty's death, we won't have blown it before we get it to court. Do you hear me, Inspector? Stay away.”

  MacAllister was suddenly all Kestrel.

  “I hear you, Sir, but if this is the right person you do realise that I am an eye witness to what happened?”

  “Yes I do, but we will cross that bridge when and if we can prove it was him driving the car. Until then it is out of your hands. Do you understand me?”

  MacAllister's face was an unreadable mask when he answered.

  “Most clearly, Sir.”

  “Good. Then I will let you get on with some work.”

  He turned back to the window and MacAllister was dismissed.

  When he reached the CID room only Clive Sayers was there and he was on the telephone with his back to the door, so MacAllister sat himself down behind Jackie Ward's desk and waited. After about half a minute, in which he just nodded and twice said yes sir, Sayers put the phone down and turned around. He jumped when he saw MacAllister sitting there and then went red. MacAllister stared at him for several seconds before he spoke, during which time Sayers shuffled the papers on his desk and looked embarrassed.

  “It’s all right, Clive, I know who that was and what it was all about. I won't cause you any problems.”

  Sayers looked relieved.

  “I'm sorry, Guv. I reckon Reid is a shit to go to your staff behind your back, but he was adamant that I shouldn't tell you anything about the Howlett case. I told him you were a certainty be called as a witness by the defence or us when it finally comes to court, after all, you were in the car that was following him. Reid then agreed that I could keep you informed, but I am to tell him if you get involved at all.”

  He looked like what he was. A man trapped between a rock and a hard place. MacAllister smiled a thin smile at him.

  “Don't you worry, Clive laddie, I am going back to see Mr. Reid right now.”

  He was gone before Sayers could stop him. Gill Bradley looked surprised to see him back so soon, but he didn't give her a chance to speak. His manner was formal.

  “Will you please tell Superintendent Reid that Detective Inspector MacAllister would like to see him on a matter of some urgency please, Mrs Bradley?”

  She looked once at his face and thumbed the intercom.

  “Detective Inspector MacAllister is here again, sir. He says it is urgent.”

  Reid's voice told her to show him in and without waiting for her MacAllister banged his knuckles once on the door and walked straight in. Bill Reid was at his desk this time, behind his fortress of authority.

  “Yes, Inspector, was there something you forgot just now?”

  The formality and the desk between them told MacAllister that Reid had guessed why he was here. He controlled himself and adopted the same formal stance as Reid had.

  “No, Sir. I didn't forget anything, Sir, but I think you did.”

  Reid bristled and sat up straighter in the chair.

  “I did? And just what did I forget, if I may ask, Inspector?”

  MacAllister stared at him. Still standing to attention as if he too was in uniform.

  “Well, Sir. About a year ago you insisted that I attend a course at Hendon on the subject of leadership.”

  “Yes, I thought at the time you needed a refresher. What's that got to do with this?”

  His expression on his face said that he knew exactly what it had to do with this, but he wasn't going to admit it. MacAllister looked him right in the eye.

  “Well, Sir. That course was actually entitled Leadership and the Command Structure and it was about why we have a command structure, Sir and how a good leader respects it.”

  Reid's face had gone red with anger and MacAllister knew he had already realised why he was here. Reid ground out the question.

  “What about it?”

  “Well one of the golden rules they insisted upon was never to shortcut the command system by going past anyone. Upwards or downwards, Sir.”

  “Now look here, MacAllister.”

  Any other man would have realised the dangers of the course on which he was set and to be fair to MacAllister at any other time so would he. But this wasn't a normal time. This was within a few days of his and Jean's decision to end their daughter's life and unwittingly Bill Reid was giving MacAllister a target on which to focus all the pent up rage and frustration of their loss. Caution went out of the window.

  “No, you look here, Sir. Whether you like the way I operate or not, I run the everyday working of the CID office. After I left this office this morning you went past me to Clive Sayers and practically told him to spy on me. I think that stinks and I think you should apologise, and while we are on the subject let me say that I am a police officer with over twenty five years service and I have learned in that time not to let my personal feelings fuck up a case. If you will excuse my French, Sir.”

  Reid looked as if he was about to suffer a heart attack. He stood up from his chair and putting both hands flat on the desk leaned forward towards MacAllister.

  “Now you listen to me, Inspector. You are a dinosaur in your methods and your approach to the whole concept of policing. You are the sort of officer that the force has been trying to get rid of for years and replace with modern thinking graduates. You are also a maverick who goes his own way and cuts corners when it suits him. So far its seems that you have got away with it, but one day it is going to come home to roost and we will either be sued or else your cowboy antics will lose us an important conviction. If you want an example lets look at the case of Mitael Khorta. Including this last arrest, when you brought him in without a shred of real evidence. You have now arrested him on five occasions only to have to release him again and he is currently threatening us with a case for wrongful arrest. If that happens I will personally make sure that you face a disciplinary hearing.”

  They stood there glaring at each other until Reid remembered he was a senior officer and by association, a gentleman. He offered the olive branch to his junior officer.

  “Look, John, I know this is a difficult time for you, but you must see that I only gave those instructions in your own interests. No police officer can be expected to keep a sense of perspective when it concerns the death of a member of his own family.” He made the gesture that might heal the breach. “I apologise for going past you, but I have to insist that you have nothing to do with the case. Shall we leave it at that.”

  He started to come around his desk with his hand out, but MacAllister held up a hand to stop him.

  “I can find my own way out thank you, Sir.”

  He turned and left the room and Reid sat down to get his version of what had taken place down on paper while it was still fresh in his mind. He had tried to be fair, but MacAllister had not wanted it. Well he wasn't going to let a maverick CID Inspector upset the whole station.

  When MacAllister got back to the CID room word had already gone around that he was back and practically the whole team were there. Jackie Ward came to greet him in the doorway while Marcus Lomax and Frank Lintsey stood by Clive Sayers desk looking pleased, but embarrassed. He walked straight past them all and over to the doorway to his office where he stopped and
turned to face them.

  “Clive I need to talk to you, the rest of you take those silly grins off your faces and get on with some bloody work.”

  He entered his office and took his seat behind the desk while the rest of them carried on grinning as they did as they had been told. The boss was back. Sayers arrived in MacAllister's office within seconds and took the seat in front of the desk.

  “Bring me up to date, Clive. Start off with the Flinders case”

  Sayers sat back in the chair and took a few moments to gather his thoughts during which time Jackie Ward came in and placed two coffees in front of them. MacAllister nodded his thanks and waited for Sayers who's face told him he was not going to receive joyful news.

  “The case starts a week from Monday and the betting is that he will get off with a verdict of manslaughter and a light sentence.” He looked apologetic. “The fact that Trevor Morton had a jack handle in his hand at the time completely knackers any charge of murder, Guv and the CPS people won't allow us to try for anything more than unlawful killing. Still, at least the bastard won't just walk.”

  MacAllister just looked at him with his face full of scepticism and then dropped his eyes back down to his desk. The CPS, the Crown Prosecution Service to give it its full tile were the ones who made the final decision on whether a case went for trial or not. In MacAllister’s and many other copper’s views they were too cautious and too worried about being seen to waste public money. The result of which was they usually only took on dead certainties. He chewed on the information for about a minute and then let it pass.

  “What about Alison Jenson?”

  Sayers kept his voice and expression carefully neutral.

  “She appears before the Magistrates tomorrow. Same session as Jason Howlett.”

  MacAllister felt the surge of adrenaline hit him and cause his heart to race. Through a throat that felt tight and constricted he managed to get out the question.

  “What happened?”

  “Forensic found that the car had been wiped completely clean of any prints before it was pushed into the river. There were some hairs found on the headrest of the drivers seat and they are away for matching and should be back in a few days, but Marcus really gave us the result.”

  “Marcus? How did he give you a result? He no more saw the driver than I did except as a silhouette against the streetlights. Nothing you could pin an identity on.”

  “He didn't identify anyone, Guv. He just remembered the music.”

  “Music? What the hell are you talking about, Clive?”

  “Marcus said that when the car pulled alongside you at the top of Park Street the volume of the music coming from it was enough to make your car vibrate. He asked what kind of sound system that Focus had as he was thinking of getting one for his own car.”

  He grinned.

  “Well, when he said that the forensic bloke stopped in his tracks. Then he dashed off and left us standing there. Two hours later we had a case.”

  MacAllister leaned across the desk and spoke slowly.

  “Clive, if you don't get to the point I may empty the rest of this lousy coffee over you.”

  Sayers grinned again.

  “It seems they had checked everything in the car including all the music CDs and the controls, but they had not checked inside the CD player. It was one of those expensive ones with a flap on the front, the type that draws the CD right inside. So they went back and looked inside and there was a CD they hadn't checked. Result? One nice clear thumb print identical to that donated to us by Jason Howlett.”

  MacAllister realised he had been holding his breath in tightly and let it out with a whoosh. Got the bastard! Sayers just looked happy.

  “We charged him yesterday. Half a dozen or more motoring offences including causing death and injury by reckless driving.”

  MacAllister had picked up the phone and was dialling. He looked up at Sayers.

  “Just letting Jean know. Might help her to know that we have got the bastard. Great work Clive and tell Marcus I concede that he may have some uses.”

  He listened for some moments and then moved the phone away from his ear and put it down.

  “She isn't answering. Perhaps she has gone down to the shops. God knows we haven't much in the house. Haven't been shopping since...”

  He stopped abruptly and turned away. It was some seconds before he continued.

  “Thanks again, Clive. I suppose I had better spend some time getting up to date with this lot.”

  He indicated the pile on his desk. Sayers nodded and left. Soon have the Guvnor back to his old self. Couldn't bring Kirsty back of course, but if they nailed Jason Howlett's miserable little hide to the wall it would at least help in his recovery. When he reached the outer office Jackie Ward came over to his desk and asked him how did MacAllister seem to be coping. He smiled and shook his head.

  “You know the Guvnor, Janet. Who knows what he thinks.”

  As these conversations were taking place, in the multi-storey car park opposite the Bricewell police station Mrs Molly Parkinson was emerging from the lifts and walking towards her car, which she had been forced to park right on the top floor of the car park. It was always the same when the Exhibition Centre was being used. All the Sales Reps that had stands there would clog up the car park forcing regular customers to go higher and higher to find a space. How their companies could afford to pay the parking fees day after day was beyond her. She stopped by the new Volvo Estate and opened her bag to get her keys. She had missed her husband a lot in the three years since his death, but at least she was free to spend some money now. When Cyril had been alive he had always been very careful with money, so when the will had been read she had been amazed to find out he was worth over one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. That, plus his life insurance of another twenty five thousand and as the house already bought and paid for and there she was. Fifty-five years old and rich. Well, extremely comfortably off.

  Cyril had never let her drive so the first thing she had done was to take driving lessons. It had taken her over two years and eight attempts to pass her test, but two months ago she had made it and the big Volvo was her present to herself for being such a clever girl. She found the keys in the bottom of her handbag and opened the boot, picking up and loading into it the carrier bags of shopping she had just bought in the Marks & Spencer food hall. She closed the boot again thinking of the meal with which she would spoil herself tonight. It would be naughty, but after all she did go to aerobics every morning to stay in shape. That was something else Cyril would not have approved of. She unlocked the driver’s door.

  The young man appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spinning her around slammed her back against the side of the car. The only features she could see were the clear grey eyes that stared at her from between the scarf that covered the lower part of his face and the peak of his baseball cap. To her surprise she found herself reading what was written on it. Washington Redskins. She felt quite calm at this point. After all, she carried very little actual money, just four credit cards and they could soon be cancelled. The man showed her a sharp looking kitchen knife with a six-inch blade.

  “Give me your bag.”

  She handed him the smart grey leather handbag with the long shoulder strap without protest and he rummaged through it, stuffing her purse, her car park ticket and credit card wallet and mobile phone into the pockets of his black nylon car coat and throwing unwanted items, like her lipstick and compact, on the floor. He gave her back the bag and snatched the car keys from her hand, slipping the knife into his pocket as he did so. He turned to the car.

  “Nice car, Grandma. You might get it back in one piece if you are lucky.”

  She was unprepared for this and she bristled.

  “You are not taking my car?”

  He turned back from climbing into the car, the knife once more in his hand.

  “Listen, you old bag. I am taking the fucking car and you are going to wa
lk. Now back off, before I cut you.”

  She stepped hurriedly backwards and the man turned again towards the car. Then livid anger arose in Molly Parkinson's breast and for the first time in her life she understood about the red mist of rage. He was going to take her car. The one she had spent two years of purgatory and taken eight driving tests for. No he bloody well wasn't.

  She stepped forward and stamped the short stiletto heel of her shoe into the instep of the foot he still had on the floor outside the car. The man shouted in pain and started to scramble out, knife again gripped in his right hand. As he emerged she looped the long leather strap of her handbag over his head and around his neck and heaved him sideways. The man came flying out of the seat twisting to try and face his attacker and landed face down spread eagled on the concrete flooring with the knife still clutched in his hand. She stepped forwards and again brought the heel of her shoe down, this time on the back of his hand in a vicious stamp that had all of her nine and a half stones behind it. The man screamed as bones snapped and he let the knife go. She stepped back slightly and then kicked him in his upturned face as hard as she could, breaking the nose and making the floor suddenly red as the blood flowed. Then she leaned back against the side of car breathing hard and muttering to her self.

  “Nobody takes my car, nobody.”

  The youth looked up at her with terrified eyes and then scrambled away on his knees and his uninjured hand as if his life depended on it, until he was safely outside of her reach. Then he used the next car, two spaces away, to drag himself to his feet and hobbled away towards the exit stairs as fast as his injured foot would take him, shooting fearful glances over his shoulder. Molly Parkinson watched him go and then got into her Volvo. Picking up the car phone the nice man had sold her when she bought the car, she dialled the emergency code.

  “Hello. Police please. I want to report a robbery.”

  MacAllister was still catching up with the different crimes that had been committed in his absence when Frank Lintsey put a grinning face around his door. MacAllister glanced up at him.

  “Don't you ever knock, Frank?”

  “Sorry, Guv, but I thought you would like to know that we have just collared the car park mugger.”

  MacAllister sat back, all attention.

  “And not before time if I may say so. Who got him?”

  Lintsey's grin got broader.

  “You will love this, Guvnor. It seems that about five minutes ago on the top story of the car park he robbed a fifty-five year old widow. Its pretty full at the moment with that Electronic Office Show on at the Watershed and that was the only place she could park. Well it all went all right to start with. He threatened her with a kitchen knife and she let him have her money and her credit cards, but he got greedy and wanted to take her new Volvo Estate. So she beat the shit out of him and he ran away. She reported it on her car phone and the uniform boys grabbed him within two hundred yards of the car park entrance.”

  MacAllister eyes were wide in disbelief.

  “She did what to him?”

  Lintsey made a show of checking his notes.

  “The hospital says...”

  The eyes grew rounder.

  “The hospital?”

  “That's right, Guv. He was quite knocked about. I have a list here. Torn tendons and two broken bones in his right foot.” He looked up. “The guy was only wearing sneakers and she stamped on his instep with a stiletto heel. Several broken bones in his right hand, she stamped on that too and a broken nose and three teeth knocked out.” He looked up. “That's it.”

  “Jesus H. Christ.” MacAllister shook his head. “What would she have done to him if he had tried to get her knickers off?”

  Lintsey grin became even broader as his inherent male chauvinism took over.

  “She's not a bad looking woman for fifty-five, Guv. She dresses a lot younger and can get away with it. I reckon he might have fallen on his feet if he had only wanted to steal her cherry, but was the thought of losing the car that upset her. Come and meet her, she's in with Jackie giving us a statement”

  “No thanks, Frank. If she can do all that to some young tearaway she would probably kill me. You carry on, laddie.”

  He turned back to his paperwork. No doubt about it. Life was coming back to normal.

  It was with some guilt that he turned into the cul-de-sac that contained the MacAllister residence that evening. It was past seven o'clock and he had not meant to leave Jean all alone for this long on his first day back at the office. He had thought about getting her a peace offering, but knew it would be inappropriate under the circumstances. This was hardly a time to be coming home with flowers or chocolates. He swung the Vectra into the drive. It was odd that there were no lights on in the house. Perhaps Jean was in bed already. She had been suffering from severe headaches since Kirsty's death and the only cure had been to lie quietly in a darkened room. He decided to leave the car on the drive rather than make a noise opening the up and over door of the garage, as it always rattled and banged. He slid out of the driver’s seat, closing and locking the door as quietly as he could and fumbled in his jacket pocket for his keys. His nose twitched. What was that smell? It smelled like gas. He approached the front door. It was stronger. With mounting dread he lifted the letterbox lid. Gas flooded out, stinging his eyes and choking his breath off. He screamed.

  “Jeanie. Jeanie, No-o-o.”

  He ran around to the boot of the car scrabbling for the keys he had returned to his pocket. He opened the boot and started hastily throwing the accumulated junk it contained onto the drive. There it was, the jack handle. He rushed back to the house and smashed the glass in the top half of the street door. Then he went to the bay window and did the same thing to every pane of glass there. The gas rolled out of the house in choking clouds. Running around to the back of the house he smashed all the glass in the kitchen door and the French windows. More choking clouds of gas appeared. He waited thirty seconds until the air was clearer. Then holding his handkerchief across his face, he reached in through the smashed glass of the French windows and opening them, entered the house.

  He found her in the lounge. She was lying on the settee with a bottle of sleeping pills still clutched in her hand. She looked peacefully asleep, but from the blueness of her lips he knew better. He felt for the pulse that he knew he wouldn't find. The build up of gas that had poured out of the house meant it must be hours since she had laid herself down for the final time. He went throughout the house switching off all the gas, first from the fire in the lounge and then all the taps on the gas cooker. A part of his mind was grateful that they were in the summertime and the automatic heating system had not come on at six-thirty as it did in the winter and destroyed half the neighbourhood in the ensuing explosion. He went to pick up the telephone and then remembered that you were not supposed to use anything that used electricity or made any sort of electrical connection if there was gas about. He hesitated, thought about using his mobile and then picked it up anyway. What did he care now if the whole house went up? He dialled the emergency code and asked them to send the police, told them that an unnatural death had occurred, a suicide. When he said it was his wife and gave his name and rank, it jarred the operator out of the boredom of his daily routine and he knew he would not have long to wait. Then he went and sat out on the bench in the back garden that they had bought in better times, to await their arrival. After a few moments he put his head down into his hands and cried like a baby, and that's how they found him.