Anxious to impart the good news, Eric arrived well ahead of time and rushed in breathless with excitement. Leaving the door swinging on its hinges, his boots clattered on the concrete floor as he trotted over to Alfie. Before he could even open his mouth Alfie yelled for him to go back and shut the door, adding a few appropriate epithets to accompany Eric’s path.
After slamming the door, Eric jogged back and gasped, “You’ll never guess what’s happened, Alfie. They’ve arrested Ronnie.”
Alfie’s demeanour was momentarily arrested and his eyes widened as he feared the worst. He looked around wildly. “Christ! We’d better get this lot loaded double quick and get out of here.” Infused with sudden energy, he threw the ignition key at Eric. “Bring the van round to the entry. Quick as you can.” He began grumbling to himself. “The bloody idiot! What’s he gone and got himself picked up for now?”
“It’s all right, Alfie. It’s nothing to do with this caper. He got caught in Fennel Wood, trying to cut up some more animals – cats, I think. I did keep warning you about him.”
For the second time, Alfie pulled up short in his tracks. He sat down heavily on a crate and stared through Eric for so long that Eric began to think he had had some sort of seizure. He wasn’t far wrong: Alfie was shocked to the core, having assumed all this time that his brother Tommy was the culprit, whom all and sundry were seeking to string up as the animal torturer. Since having made up his mind to confront Tommy, and that very evening no less, he had been extremely grieved to miss him. Thank you, God! Given that Tommy was innocent, as now seemed certain, had he followed through with his plan to accuse Tommy, it would have caused a great rift between them.
He suddenly became aware of Eric’s scrutiny. “How did they catch him? I mean, who saw him doing it?”
“The Holdcroft lads. They were hiding in the dell, birdwatching or something. And Constable Turner, too.”
“What! The Constable was bloody birdwatching?”
“No. He was hiding as well. Not with them. He was on his own in another bush, so I heard. He was there trying to catch Ronnie in the act, believe it or not. ’Course, he didn’t actually know it was Ronnie, until then – I think. Anyway, Ronnie comes along with this sack of cats, or whatever, and Lenny Holdcroft puts a spanner in the works by starting a fight. Fought like the devil, everyone’s saying. And Ronnie pulled a knife on him and then Lenny’s little brother – Rayne is it? – jumps in on the struggle.
“The way I heard it, Constable Turner took his time wading in to put a stop to it. Some are saying that he was waiting for Ronnie to knife Lenny Holdcroft or the boy, so he’d be had up on more serious charges than animal cruelty and assault. There’s talk of attempted murder. But I’d take that with a pinch of salt. Whatever they end up charging him with I don’t expect he’ll see the outside of the station this side of midnight. So, there you are!”
Alfie tilted his head and then nodded, his expression sombre. “Where did you hear all this?”
“Duke of Bridgewater.”
“I see. Might’ve guessed. Hope you’re sober.”
“Just had the one, Alfie. Just enough to wet me whistle before tonight’s job.”
“Right then. Looks like we’ll have to manage on our own, for tonight at least. Let’s get going. You fetch the van, and I’ll open up at the top and get the winch ready.”
“You’ll be taking him back, then?”
Alfie shrugged. “’Course. Though remind me never to bring the dog along,” he sniggered.
As Eric strolled back to the door, a disturbing thought snatched at his mind. “Alfie, you don’t think he’ll say anything about this lot, do yer?”
“Nah,” Alfie scoffed. Suddenly he smirked and then added, “Not unless they start pulling teeth. Then again, given what we know now, he might just enjoy that. Could be he’s one of them that likes receiving it as well as dishing it out.”
Eric didn’t think so.
*
Ronnie Clarke wasn’t budging from his story.
Inspector Benton was finding it difficult to keep his hands off him, especially when he considered what damage the smug little brute could reek if let loose on his prized pigeon loft, not to mention the unsecured rabbit hutch housing his daughter’s cherished pure-white Angora rabbits. “We’ve got more than enough evidence to charge you,” he snapped.
“You’ve got bugger all.”
Arrogant little swine!
“Don’t be stupid. You were caught red-handed.”
“You’re the one who’s stupid. I’ve told you umpteen times – I was doing a bloke a favour. He was going to drown the poor mites. I said I’d take care of it for him. I was going to give them a painless death (screwing his fists together as if wringing a neck) and a half-decent burial. That’s why I was in the wood. See?”
“I don’t believe a word of it. You don’t need to go deep into a wood to do something like that. Who is this bloke? What’s his name?”
“Haven’t a clue. I saw him down by the estuary and asked him what his game was. And it went on from there.”
“I don’t think the magistrate would see it that way. In any case, the assault charge will see you up in the Crown Court for sure.”
Sergeant Bloore leaned over to whisper something in Benton’s ear, and as he listened a smile crept over his lips. He nodded smugly and murmured, “Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that. Thanks for reminding me.” The anonymous letter would surely cinch the case.
Over their low murmuring, Ronnie was protesting. “I’m the one should be bringing assault charges. First off, that cretin Lenny Holdcroft attacks me right out of the blue. Then along comes that lump of lard, Turner, who tried bludgeoning me half to death. It was totally uncalled for. Any fool could see I was only defending meself. Isn’t that right? I ask you! Isn’t that bloody right?”
Inspector Benton made a sudden decision to change tack. “What’s your business in Myotts Warehouse?”
“Odd-jobbing.”
The searching questions and sharp answers continued to go back and forth well into the night until Benton, frustrated at the lack of progress, decided it was home time for him and the lock-up for Ronnie. He would have another go at him in the morning.