To Honour the Dead by John Dean

this, Jamie reckons there were others involved. A nightclub doorman on his way home from work saw four people in a car near the old fellow’s house on the night it happened. Challenged them and they drove off. Looks like they came back later.’
    ‘Got any names on the two that got away?’
    ‘The ones we nicked stayed schtum, as you would expect, but Jamie says they have a couple of associates that fit the bill. David Forrest’s one. We reckon he was the driver. Name ring a bell?’
    ‘’Fraid not. What’s his story?’
    ‘Usual thing. Record as long as your arm. Robbery, assault, aggravated burglary … it goes on and on. This lad’s a real piece of work.’
    ‘What’s more, he has no respect for traffic law.’
    ‘Come again?’
    ‘I think our lot may have stopped him in Levton Bridge yesterday with a tail light out. Not that I’m very hopeful of that producing much. I’d put money on false ID. And the other guy?’
    ‘An old friend of yours, I think. One Ronald William Michaels. I seem to remember that you banged him up for doing lorries on the M62.’
    ‘I certainly did,’ said Harris, scowling as he glanced out of the window to see Elaine Landy interviewing a couple of villagers next to the war memorial. ‘Tried to make out that he was not a violent man but still managed to cosh an HGV driver. Where are they now? Do we know?’
    ‘Not been seen since the job. It says here that Standish reckons they left the city.’
    ‘Well, I have this awful feeling I know where they were last night,’ said Harris. ‘Can you send me something over on them, Graham? Mug shots would be nice.’
    ‘Consider it done, matey.’
    ‘Oh, can you check one more thing?’ said Harris. ‘No, forget I said it. It’s daft.’
    ‘Try me. I know you’re daft anyway.’
    ‘Yeah, but I really am flying a kite here. We’ve got a local tea-leaf, strictly small stuff. Bloke called Lenny Portland. He’s been hanging round the village where our old chap was murdered.’
    ‘Let me check,’ said Leckie and again there was a tapping sound. ‘Portland. Portland. No, nothing. Sorry about that, old son.’
    ‘Thanks for looking anyway. It was always going to be a long—’
    ‘Let me try something else.’ There was silence for a few moments then, ‘Well, well, that’s interesting.’
    Harris sat forward in his seat. ‘What is?’ he asked.
    ‘Seems like Ronny Michaels may indeed have an associate from your neck of the woods. There was an unknown face seen with him a couple of times last year and our lot followed him to the railway station where he bought a ticket for Roxham. That’s further down the valley from you, isn’t it?’
    ‘It’s where you change if you want to get up to Levton Bridge.’
    ‘Thought you needed a time machine for that,’ said Leckie.
    ‘Yes, thanks for that, Graham. Did your lot get a decent look at the face?’
    ‘Not really. It didn’t fit in with any known associates so they lost interest.’
    ‘Well, I’m interested.’
    A few seconds later, Jack Harris was striding across thegreen towards Gallagher and Butterfield, who were standing watching the force mobile incident room parking up alongside the green.
    ‘Stop that bus,’ said the inspector to a startled Gallagher, pointing in the direction of Levton Bridge.
    ‘This isn’t the Chuckle Brothers,’ said the sergeant without thinking. And immediately regretted it.
    ‘Will you just stop that fucking bus?’ snapped the inspector.
    ‘Which bus?’ asked Gallagher, trying to sound serious.
    Harris looked at Butterfield. ‘The one the constable here let Lenny Portland get on,’ he said. ‘See, there may be more to our Mr Portland than meets the eye.’
    Gallagher and Butterfield exchanged dubious glances.
    ‘Are we talking about the same Lenny Portland?’ asked Gallagher.
    ‘For God’s sake, am I the only one who has worked out that we are investigating a murder here?’
    ‘No, of course not,’ said Gallagher hurriedly,