that person's guilt rested on the opportune discovery of DNA, Jon couldn't help feeling uncomfortable – he knew the potential for a stitch-up was immense. 'OK, Sir,' he said, backing off. 'Very last thing. The man who called. You were with him I take it?'
Peterson rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
'Is that a yes?'
'Yes.'
'Can you tell me anything about him?'
Peterson looked at Jon. 'Apart from the fact there was a bald patch on the top of his head, all I can say is that he gave a mediocre blow job.'
You win, Jon thought. That's enough for me. He stood up, took out a card and handed it to Peterson. 'Don't hesitate to call me if anything useful comes back to you. And I'd get a doctor to look at those injuries.'
Peterson looked Jon's card over. 'Yeah, will do.' Leaning to the side, he slid the card into his back pocket.
Jon drove back towards Longsight, turning the interview over in his head. Peterson was lying, that much was obvious. But why? He could understand the man's reluctance to get involved. Local press, or any press for that matter, loved a crime that had some sordid sex thrown in, as Peterson had already discovered to his cost.
But why the deceit over his attacker's description? Jon couldn't help feeling that it was more than a random attack. After all, it didn't appear that the other man had been assaulted. Was the assailant only after Peterson?
He pulled into a lay-by and reached for his mobile, scrolling through the numbers until he reached Rick Saville's name.
'Rick, it's Jon Spicer here. How are you?'
'Jon! Good to hear from you. I'm not bad. Yourself ?'
'Yeah, I'm OK.'
'How about Alice and the baby?'
'Yeah, they're good too. We still haven't got used to getting up for the night feeds. Don't suppose anybody does. Listen, how stacked out are you at the moment?'
Rick gave a sigh, then lowered his voice. 'Not at all. This rotation I'm on is just about finished, thank God.'
'What was it, complaints or something?'
'Yup. And I've got a few complaints of my own. It was pure shite.'
Jon grinned. 'Well, I might have something a bit more interesting for you. It's about this case I'm on.'
'What is it?'
Jon glanced at the debris littering the grass verge. Empty crisp packets, a plastic carton, a trainer with no laces. Messy bastards.
'This guy was attacked in a car park near Middleton.'
'Yeah, I saw a report in Saturday's paper.'
'There's a witness to the attack out there somewhere. I need to track him down.'
'Are you liaising with Stonewall and True Vision?'
'True what?' He reached into the glove compartment, trying to find a pen.
'True Vision. It's a web site we run for reporting hate crime.'
'We? Some sort of a group you belong to?'
'Yeah, it's called the police force.'
'No shit? We've got a web site for reporting this kind of stuff ? No one told me. What was the other name you mentioned?'
'Stone... look, shall I just meet you at Longsight station?'
'Yeah, nice one. When can you get over there?'
'About half an hour?'
Derek Peterson waited until the copper had shut the front door behind him, then he stood up and went over to the window. The movement made his head wound start throbbing all over again, and as he watched the policeman through the dirty netting, he pressed the fingers of one hand against his temple in a futile attempt to dull the pain.
Meddling bastard police. He couldn't believe the guy in the car park had supplied them with his car registration. Typical of his luck. The officer was now walking towards his car parked out on the road, examining it as he did so. Peterson hoped the bunch of ferals on the street corner had at least put a side window through and emptied the contents of the glove compartment, but the copper seemed satisfied no damage had been done. His type probably left the glove compartment open to show would-be thieves there was nothing of value inside. Following their own sensible advice on crime prevention, living boring, stilted lives. Everything done
Peterson rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
'Is that a yes?'
'Yes.'
'Can you tell me anything about him?'
Peterson looked at Jon. 'Apart from the fact there was a bald patch on the top of his head, all I can say is that he gave a mediocre blow job.'
You win, Jon thought. That's enough for me. He stood up, took out a card and handed it to Peterson. 'Don't hesitate to call me if anything useful comes back to you. And I'd get a doctor to look at those injuries.'
Peterson looked Jon's card over. 'Yeah, will do.' Leaning to the side, he slid the card into his back pocket.
Jon drove back towards Longsight, turning the interview over in his head. Peterson was lying, that much was obvious. But why? He could understand the man's reluctance to get involved. Local press, or any press for that matter, loved a crime that had some sordid sex thrown in, as Peterson had already discovered to his cost.
But why the deceit over his attacker's description? Jon couldn't help feeling that it was more than a random attack. After all, it didn't appear that the other man had been assaulted. Was the assailant only after Peterson?
He pulled into a lay-by and reached for his mobile, scrolling through the numbers until he reached Rick Saville's name.
'Rick, it's Jon Spicer here. How are you?'
'Jon! Good to hear from you. I'm not bad. Yourself ?'
'Yeah, I'm OK.'
'How about Alice and the baby?'
'Yeah, they're good too. We still haven't got used to getting up for the night feeds. Don't suppose anybody does. Listen, how stacked out are you at the moment?'
Rick gave a sigh, then lowered his voice. 'Not at all. This rotation I'm on is just about finished, thank God.'
'What was it, complaints or something?'
'Yup. And I've got a few complaints of my own. It was pure shite.'
Jon grinned. 'Well, I might have something a bit more interesting for you. It's about this case I'm on.'
'What is it?'
Jon glanced at the debris littering the grass verge. Empty crisp packets, a plastic carton, a trainer with no laces. Messy bastards.
'This guy was attacked in a car park near Middleton.'
'Yeah, I saw a report in Saturday's paper.'
'There's a witness to the attack out there somewhere. I need to track him down.'
'Are you liaising with Stonewall and True Vision?'
'True what?' He reached into the glove compartment, trying to find a pen.
'True Vision. It's a web site we run for reporting hate crime.'
'We? Some sort of a group you belong to?'
'Yeah, it's called the police force.'
'No shit? We've got a web site for reporting this kind of stuff ? No one told me. What was the other name you mentioned?'
'Stone... look, shall I just meet you at Longsight station?'
'Yeah, nice one. When can you get over there?'
'About half an hour?'
Derek Peterson waited until the copper had shut the front door behind him, then he stood up and went over to the window. The movement made his head wound start throbbing all over again, and as he watched the policeman through the dirty netting, he pressed the fingers of one hand against his temple in a futile attempt to dull the pain.
Meddling bastard police. He couldn't believe the guy in the car park had supplied them with his car registration. Typical of his luck. The officer was now walking towards his car parked out on the road, examining it as he did so. Peterson hoped the bunch of ferals on the street corner had at least put a side window through and emptied the contents of the glove compartment, but the copper seemed satisfied no damage had been done. His type probably left the glove compartment open to show would-be thieves there was nothing of value inside. Following their own sensible advice on crime prevention, living boring, stilted lives. Everything done
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