The Writer by RB Banfield Page A

father in that way.”
    “I see,” Dale said as he
looked for someone else. “That’s good. Thank you for your time. We
may speak to you again, so if I can take some details?”
    “Except that van nearly
hitting me,” Ken continued.
    “What’s this?” Dale asked,
looking at him twice before it registered.
    “Speeding, nearly knocked me
off my bike. I go biking every day, you see. I’ve never seen
anything like it; not in Gendry.”
    “Yes, he does,” added Sal,
“He goes riding, does our Ken. He’s quite a sight for sore eyes,
all decked in his bright yellow bicycle costume. Got that from the
city, did you, Ken?”
    “Helmet and professional
cyclist clothes,” said Ken. “They cut down the wind-resistance, you
see. Got it from the city by special delivery. Cost a fortune,
too.”
    “Then how come,” asked Sal,
“you don’t go any faster than young Daisy Waterdown pushing her
baby around town?”
    “Thank you, ma’am,” Dale
said to Sal, “but I would kindly request you don’t interrupt this
gentlemen. You can have your say when I get to you, but until then,
please hold your peace.”
    Two-Tooth took his chance to
say a word. “I’m just waiting for you to announce one of us here in
this room is the murderer, and you know who it is! Isn’t that the
way these gatherings go, detective? One of us may be the murderer,
which is why you brought us all here!”
    They all laughed and Dale
raised a hand to stop them. “I would like to remind you all,
despite the informality, this is still a police investigation. None
of you are required to be here, and are free to leave. But I will
require an interview with each and every one of you, and I know you
agree it is easier for us all to have them completed here today,
especially given the distances away some of you live.”
    “Sorry there, chief,”
Two-Tooth said with a quick salute.
    “Now, Mr. Giblett,” Dale
resumed as he looked at his notes, “you were saying about your
being hit by a van?”
    “I wasn’t hit by it. I never
said I was hit by it. Don’t twist my words, now.”
    “Then what did happen, if
you can remember?”
    “This van came speeding at
me from behind, so close I nearly fell off.”
    “Seen the van before, have
you?”
    “Never at all. Not even
once.”
    “Get the number
plate?”
    “Nope. I was too busy
fighting the bike. Nearly lost control.”
    “What about the make and
colour? Any identifying marks?”
    “It was white, that’s all I
remember.”
    “Where did this
happen?”
    “Kent Bridge.”
    “Kenny, that’s a one-lane
bridge,” Sal said with amusement. “You weren’t fighting that van
for the right to go over first, were you? Sorry sir, but he does
that. You ask him why, you go on!”
    “Now, Mr Giblett,” said
Dale, ignoring Sal, “I need to ask you to tell the whole story
here. What actually happened to you regarding this white
van?”
    “This van came speeding,”
said Ken, “as I came to the bridge. Now, I was there first; I’m
sorry Sal, but I was, and I have my right as a road user to go over
first. Now, they tried to overtake me, went way out onto the grassy
part by the roadside there. But you can’t do that, there’s lots of
big rocks back there, left over from when they built the bridge. So
then he gets all mad and starts shouting at me.”
    “You heard the driver’s
voice?” asked Dale, his mouth feeling dry and needing coffee. “Did
you see him?”
    “I heard him but I didn’t
want to hear him, if you know what I mean.”
    “Did you see him enough to
identify him?”
    “Not really. These
youngsters all seem the same to me.”
    “It was a man, then? A white
male? He was young?”
    “Yeah, that’s right, and
real young.”
    “Okay, that’s good. Go on,
please.”
    “Well, when I saw he was in
a right state of agitation I tried to wave him away, but he paid no
heed.”
    “You should have let him go
past, Kenny,” Sal interrupted again. “He sounds dangerous to me.
Just pull over