Death of a Bovver Boy by Bruce Leo

Author:Bruce, Leo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 1974-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

A motor-bike came to a noisy halt in front of Carolus’s house in Newminster and the rider pulled it up on its stand. Then two very strange-looking young men advanced to the front door.

Uncombed, and it would appear uncombable hair leaked down from under their crash-helmets which were ornamented with skull-and-crossbone designs crudely painted. It was impossible to distinguish their faces behind the eye-shields they wore.

Carolus heard the front door bell ring and a few minutes later Mrs Stick appeared in a state which might be called ‘put out’ ‘upset’ ‘in a huff’ or simply ‘indignant’.

‘I won’t let them in!’ she said. ‘If you could see them, sir!’

‘I can. I have,’ said Carolus.

‘It’s not their dirty boots I mind, but they shouldn’t be allowed in the house, not whatever you’re trying to find out from them. They’re not fit. I told them, I said, yes, Mr Deene’s in, I said, but I don’t suppose for a minute he’ll see you, I said. They’ve got hair down their backs and I don’t know what to think, whether they’ve come to stick a knife in you or whether they’re what they call impersonators.’

‘Surely you’re used to the hair-styles of young men by this time, Mrs Stick?’

‘Hair-styles I may be, but not looking like someone in a fair. How do we know we shan’t have fleas in the furniture if they once get inside?’

‘All right,’ said Carolus. ‘I’ll take the responsibility. You needn’t speak to them again.’ He went out to the front door. ‘I take it you’re Phil White and Des Grayne? Come in. I was expecting you.’

‘You were?’ said Des as they came into the sitting-room. ‘How come?’

They began to take off their outer protective clothing and dropped pieces of black macintosh into a corner of the room.

‘Just a hunch, perhaps,’ said Carolus. ‘On the other hand you must have heard that I’ve seen Swindleton.’

They nodded rather solemnly.

‘Yeh. We heard,’ said Phil.

‘What d’you want to tell me?’

There was great embarrassment on the faces of both of them, but finally the one called Des managed to get out what he wanted to say.

‘If we was to come clean and tell you what we know, are you going to run to the Law and tell them?’

‘Probably,’ said Carolus. ‘The police will have to be told if you’ve any material information.’

‘What about pot? I mean if it had nothing to do with Dutch? What I mean is, if what we tell you helps to find out about Dutch, do you need to mention anything about Swindleton selling pot?’

‘Look here,’ said Carolus, cutting short these complicated hypotheses. ‘I suggest you leave it to me. I shan’t involve either of you in any enquiries except the identification of Dutch’s murderer, or murderers. I don’t know what you’ve got to tell me but I think you’ll be safe in my hands. That’s about all I can say till I know the rest.’

Des still wasn’t satisfied.

‘I mean you’re not going to think because we grow our hair

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