Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [84]
“You girls—I don’t know…just because they give you a pair of trousers and a porter’s job, you think you’re supposed to act like men…”
THE WOOLWICH Ferry:
“Filthy day, constable.”
“Morning, captain. I expect it’s worse on the high seas.”
“Can I help you? Or are you just crossing the river?”
“I want you to look at a face, captain.”
“Let me put my specs on. Oh, don’t worry, I can see to guide the ship. It’s close things I need the glasses for. Now then…”
“Ring any bells?”
“Sorry, constable. Means nothing to me.”
“Well, let me know if you see him.”
“Certainly.”
“Bon voyage.”
“Not bloody likely.”
NUMBER 35 Leak Street, London El:
“Sergeant Riley—what a nice surprise!”
“Never mind the lip, Mabel. Who’ve you got here?”
“All respectable guests, sergeant; you know me.”
“I know you, all right. That’s why I’m here. Would any of your nice respectable guests happen to be on the trot?”
“Since when have you been recruiting for the army?”
“I’m not, Mabel, I’m looking for someone, and if he’s here, he’s probably told you he’s on the trot.”
“Look, Jack—if I tell you there’s nobody here I don’t know, will you go away and stop pestering me?”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because of 1936.”
“You were better looking then, Mabel.”
“So were you, Jack.”
“You win…take a butcher’s at this. If chummy comes in here, send word, okay?”
“Promise.”
“Don’t waste any time about it, either.”
“All right!”
“Mabel…he knifed a woman your age. I’m just marking your cards.”
BILL’S CAFE, on the A30 near Bagshot:
“Tea, please, Bill. Two sugars.”
“Good morning, Constable Pearson. Filthy day.”
“What’s on that plate, Bill—pebbles from Portsmouth?”
“Buttered buns, as well you know.”
“Oh! I’ll have two, then. Thanks…Now then, lads! Anyone who wants his lorry checked from top to bottom can leave right away…. That’s better. Take a look at this picture, please.”
“What are you after him for, constable—cycling without lights?”
“Never mind the jokes, Harry—pass the picture around. Anybody given a lift to that bloke?”
“Not me.”
“No.”
“Sorry, constable.”
“Never clapped eyes on him.”
“Thank you, lads. If you see him, report it. Cheerio.”
“Constable?”
“Yes, Bill?”
“You haven’t paid for the buns.”
SMETHWICK’S GARAGE, Carlisle:
“Morning, Missus. When you’ve got a minute…”
“Be right with you, officer. Just let me attend to this gentleman…twelve and sixpence, please, sir. Thank you. Good-bye….”
“How’s business?”
“Terrible as usual. What can I do for you?”
“Can we go in the office for a minute?”
“Aye, come on…now, then.”
“Take a look at this picture and tell me whether you’ve served that man with petrol recently.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s not as if we get hordes of customers passing through…ohh! D’you know, I think I have served him!”
“When?”
“Day before yesterday, in the morning.”
“How sure are you?”
“Well…he was older than the picture, but I’m pretty sure.”
“What was he driving?”
“A grey car. I’m no good on makes, this is my husband’s business really, but he’s in the Navy now.”
“Well, what did it look like?”
“It was the old sort, with a canvas roof that comes up. A two-seater. Sporty. It had a spare petrol tank bolted to the running board, and I filled that too.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing?”
“Not really…working clothes, I think.”
“A tall man?”
“Yes, taller than you.”
“Have you got a telephone?…”
WILLIAM DUNCAN was twenty-five years old, five-feet-ten, weighed a trim 150 pounds and was in first-class health. His open-air life and total lack of interest in tobacco, drink, late nights and loose living kept him that way. Yet he was not in the armed services.
He had seemed to be a normal child, if a little backward, until the age of eight, when his mind had lost the ability to develop any further. There had been no trauma that anyone knew about, no physical damage to account for sudden breakdown. Indeed it was some years before anyone noticed that there was anything wrong, for at the age of ten he was no more than a little backward,