Inspiration didn’t get a chance to express itself. Pete was putting his bike back in its box behind the house and Joe was selecting brushes when the police arrived. Joe didn’t recognise the plain clothes officer, but he had the bearing of the ones who had tried to send him down the last time. The policeman reached into his jacket and produced a warrant card. “Mister Wilkinson. If you can come with me.”
“Why.”
The detective considered this, wondering if he could get away with giving out no information. “We need you to identify someone.”
“A line up?”
“No.”
“A body.”
The lack of an answer was answer enough. Pete had returned and caught the end of this exchange. “Hill?” he asked. The detective gave him another wordless glance that spoke volumes. “I didn’t catch your name and rank.”
“Detective Sergeant Warren.”
“Okay, Detective Sergeant. You want me to identify someone.”
“Yes.”
“A dead someone?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Who you think is Tommy Hill?”
Another pause. “Yes.”
“Okay. Can I expect transport back here when I’m done.”
The detective looked conflicted. Joe had him off balance. “I guess.”
“Okay.”
NaNoWriMo Progress
Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.
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