(The scene: Roger, on the run from the police, suspected of a series of murders of women he has met through a dating agency and trying to prove his innocence, has recruited one of his dates, a TV journalist called Candice, and her colleague, Crispin, to help him. Roger and Candice have tried to get his remaining former dates to go into hiding with him, but, having initially drawn a blank, are forced to stay the night at Crispin’s house.)
As they drew up back at Crispin’s house, it was already growing dark, which suited both of them fine. Roger didn’t want to be seen. Candice certainly didn’t want to be seen with Roger.
"How’s the exclusive going?" was Crispin’s only greeting.
"Have you any food?" was Candice’s only reply.
"Try the freezer."
Candice grilled some pork chops without ceremony and without vegetables. Crispin added some canned peas, microwave chips and instant gravy as an afterthought. Bachelor cuisine. Candice sat, studying the meal, Roger toyed with his food, and only Crispin made any attempt to eat anything.
"You should get stuck in, mate," said Crispin to Roger. "It’s probably better than prison food."
"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," said Roger.
"I’m going to make some calls," Candice announced, abandoning her plate. She pulled out Crispin’s mobile. "I’ve got to have another shot at talking the women round."
"You won’t be needing this, then" said Crispin, stabbing her chop with his fork, along with a generous scoop of chips.
"You can have this too," said Roger, scraping his food on to Crispin’s plate before Crispin could stop him.
Crispin had just loaded his face with a huge mouthful, when the doorbell rang.
"You expecting anyone?" said Candice.
"Don’t!" said Roger. "Remember what happened when I said that?"
Unable to talk, Crispin stole a sidelong glimpse out of the front window.
"Fffck!" he cursed, spitting potato down the curtains. "Iff Frnnk Knn’nnduh!"
"It’s what?" said Roger.
Candice suddenly caught on. "Frank Kennedy! He’s a friend of Crispin’s. A detective friend."
"Oh, God! Not again!"
Crispin emptied his mouth on to his own plate in a disgusting spray of food, and slipped the other two plates underneath. "Quick – get in the kitchen! I’ll find out what he wants and try and get rid of him. If I can’t, make a dash for it."
"Don’t worry – we know how to do this."
The two scuttled out of sight while Crispin gave himself a quick preen, tried to remember what normal looked like, and nonchalantly opened the door. He made sure he had a tight grip on it, just in case he needed to shut it again quickly.
"Frank!" he said, a trifle too cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"
"Let me in for a start. I’ve not come all this way to admire your bloody doorstep."
"I’m just having my…" But Frank had already pushed past him. So much for holding the door. "You in here?" Frank made his way into the front lounge where the dinner table was set. "Good. It’s turning miserable out there tonight."
"What do you want?" said Crispin, following him into the room. It didn’t look like he’d brought the rest of the police force with him, but Crispin didn’t think this was a social call either.
"I got to thinking, perhaps we can do each other a favour on this dating agency killer thing." He noticed the huge pile of food on the stack of plates. "Flippin’ ‘eck. You eat well, for a thin ‘un."
"Er, that’s because I work hard. Got to keep my strength up."
"Why the three plates?"
"I’ve no place mats."
"Just as well – you might eat them an’ all. You don’t mind me coming in, do you? I’m not interrupting anything?"
"No, not at all. Well… yes. Only my dinner."
"There’s nobody else here is there?"
"No, of course not."
"Only I don’t want to get in the way."
"No, Frank. Stay as long you want. As long as it’s only a few minutes."
Out in the kitchen, and easily within earshot, Candice and Roger craned to catch every word of this performance. The number of times Candice had told Crispin not to contradict himself when writing copy.
Crispin attempted to back-track. "So, what is it you want, exactly?"
"Well, I was thinking – I’m giving you the nod and wink on any developments from the police end, when it occurred to me that you are in a privileged position with the public."
"I’m… I’m sorry, Frank, I’m not following you."
"Get rid of the little blighter," Candice hissed to herself behind her hand.
"I’ll second that," whispered Roger.
"What we could do with," said Kennedy expansively, settling into an armchair, "is some background on dating agencies in general, y’know what I mean? What kind of people use ‘em, what the service is like and so on. Build up a picture of the clients or whatever they call themselves. Sad bastards, I call ‘em."
"Know what you mean, Frank," Crispin nodded.
"So how about you run a piece on Northwest News and see if you can get members of the public to phone in with their stories? See if you can paint a picture of these nutters. Any gory details, so much the better. Especially off-the-record confessions."
"Frank – you know, nothing is ever off the record."
"Exactly. Find out as much as you can about these wierdos and losers."
The sound of Candice’s teeth grinding was abruptly drowned out by Crispin’s mobile phone going off in her hand.
"Excuse me, Frank." Crispin was the height of casual urbanity. The only thing was, he thought he was going to wet himself. "Duty calls. That’s my phone, in the kitchen."
"Wish I could cook," said Kennedy and, as Crispin left the room, stole a mouthful of pork from Crispin’s plate.
"I can’t get rid of him!" Crispin whispered to Roger. "He’s going to reinvent Crimewatch, Police Five and Dragnet at this rate!" He suddenly realised that Candice was taking no notice of him, and listening with rapt concentration to the phone call she had just received.
"Candice," said Crispin, "if it’s another date, tell him he’ll have to wait!"
Candice hung up. "It’s Elizabeth! She’s in trouble. She thinks she’s got a prowler."
"Well? So have we!" said Roger. "Does she want to swap?"
"We’ve got to go," said Candice.
"I’ll not argue with that!" Crispin leapt to the back door, unlocked it and shoved the pair of them out into the night. Trying to recollect a Tai Chi exercise, he then slowly swaggered back into the lounge to rejoin the detective.
"Just one of my sources with a tip," said Crispin.
"That mobile phone of yours must be bloody loud," said Kennedy, swallowing hurriedly. "I could almost hear what the other person was saying."
"Well… er, they do say good policemen have big ears."
"Do they bollocks. You’re thinking of Noddy."
Outside, in the pitch dark of a damp Manchester evening, Candice and Roger encountered another obstacle. The gate on the side path of Crispin’s house was locked.
"Hang on," said Roger. "I’ll give you a bunk up."
"You will not!"
"Then you give me a bunk up."
"Piss off."
"Which finishing school did you go to?"
"Roger! Climb on top and pull me!"
"Whoa! Honeymoon night flashback."
A patent leather toe-cap caught a shin.
"What was that noise?" said Kennedy. "Y’know, these chips are a bit soggy. You should give ‘em another couple of minutes… There it is again. Can y’hear?"
"It’s… it’s…" Crispin shook his head, utterly bereft of a cover story. "It’s burglars. Probably."
"Oh, that’s alright then."
"Excuse me? You’re a police officer. Aren’t you supposed to catch burglars?"
"Jesus Christ!" said Kennedy, giving up on the chips. "If I went after every bloody burglar in Manchester, I’d never get any work done."
Outside, Roger and Candice had somehow managed to scale the gate. Candice thought she might have laddered something. Roger though he might have ruptured something. They tiptoed over to the Galaxy and quietly let themselves in.
As Crispin heard the familiar sound of his own car starting up and driving away, Kennedy took out a Regal and lit it. "Now, about this TV piece…"
Crispin looked in stern disapproval at Kennedy’s cigarette. "Do you mind?" he said.
"What?" said Kennedy, puzzled for a moment. "Oh! Sorry." He took out the packet and offered it to Crispin. "Help yourself."
End of Extract
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