The Chinaman Read Online Free PDF Page B

the papers, the IRA has claimed responsibility.’
    â€˜And do they know who in the IRA is responsible?’
    â€˜No, Mr Nguyen, they do not.’ Sergeant Fletcher fought to keep himself from snapping at The Chinaman, but it was hard, bloody hard, because every time he came and stood in front of the desk he asked the same questions with the same inane grin on his face. He realised that the man must be devastated, losing his wife and his daughter, and God knows Fletcher wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing.
    â€˜How long will it be, Sergeant Fletcher?’ Nguyen asked quietly.
    The policeman shook his head sadly. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said.
    â€˜The lady policeman who came to see me last week said that the men would be caught.’
    â€˜I am sure they will be.’
    â€˜She said that they will be punished.’
    The silly cow. Fletcher wished she’d kept her mouth shut and not raised The Chinaman’s hopes. He made a mental note to find out who she was and give her a piece of his mind.
    â€˜I am sure that when they are caught they will be punished, Mr Nguyen,’ agreed Sergeant Fletcher.
    Nguyen began wringing his hands as if washing them. ‘When will that be, Sergeant Fletcher?’ The smiled widened, the lips stretched tight across his yellowing teeth.
    It was a nervous smile, Fletcher realised. The policeman put his palms down on the desk. ‘I do not know. I simply do not know.’
    â€˜I know you and your men are doing their best. I know they want to catch the men who killed my family. But I wonder . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished, his eyes fixed on Fletcher’s face.
    â€˜Yes?’ said the sergeant.
    â€˜I wonder if there were any other policemen on the case. How do you say, specialists? Policemen who hunt the IRA. The terrorists.’
    Fletcher suddenly felt the sky open and the sun beam down. He saw a way of getting The Chinaman off his back once and for all.
    â€˜There are such policemen, Mr Nguyen. They are called the Anti-Terrorist Branch.’
    â€˜Where do I find the Anti-Terrorist Branch?’
    Fletcher found himself grinning. ‘Mr Nguyen, stay right where you are. I’ll go and write down their address and telephone number for you.’
    Elliott Jephcott drove the white Rover off the main road and into the small cobbled mews. He switched off the radio and looked at his watch. It had just turned 8.30 a.m. and he didn’t have to be in court until 11.00 a.m. He had plenty of time. He checked his hair in the driving mirror and then reached into the glove compartment for his breath-freshener aerosol and gave his mouth two minty squirts. He put the aerosol back and as he did he saw that a streetsweeper was watching him while he attacked the cobbles with a long-handled brush. Jephcott blushed like a schoolboy caught with a dirty magazine and was immediately angry with himself. A High Court Judge feeling guilty under the scrutiny of a roadsweeper in a filthy donkey jacket? Ridiculous, he thought. He locked the car and walked to the door of Erica’s cottage. It opened just as he was reaching for the brass knocker.
    â€˜I heard the car,’ she said. She looked ravishing, her blonde hair carefully arranged so that she gave the impression that she’d just got out of bed. She moved to the side to let him in and he smelt her perfume. It was the one he’d bought her last month and he was pleased that she’d worn it for him. She was wearing a purple blouse with a high collar and pockets over each breast, and a purple, green and pink flower-patterned skirt that reached halfway down her calves, and around her waist was a purple leather belt. On her left wrist was a thick gold bracelet and around her left ankle was a thin gold chain. He’d bought her the jewellery, too. And the Alfa Romeo outside. That had been a twenty-first birthday present. She was worth it, God she was worth