Blackwater (Di Nick Lowry)
“The ancient-looking police lamp above the entrance to the 1950s building glowed grubbily in the cold, damp air. He’d just come from Seaview Avenue, the address he’d been given for the witness to the post-office robbery, but had found no one home. The station was open though, and the rattly door knob yielded to the twist of his wrist. Stepping over the threshold into the tiny reception room, he had the sense of walking in on a private conversation. Behind a reception hatch, an elderly, red-faced... man in uniform paused mid-sentence, while, on the visitors’ bench, a whiskery old man in a fisherman’s jersey sat smoking a pipe. Both stared at him.
‘Afternoon,’ Kenton said tentatively. The man on the bench shifted position, but Kenton declined the unspoken offer to sit down. Beside the bench was a gas fire with half of its elements out, which explained why the room felt barely heated. ‘Sergeant Bradley, I wonder if I might ask you a few questions.’ Kenton had never met the Mersea chief sergeant before and felt obliged to address him formally rather than use his affectionate nickname, ‘Dodger’.MoreLess
‘Afternoon,’ Kenton said tentatively. The man on the bench shifted position, but Kenton declined the unspoken offer to sit down. Beside the bench was a gas fire with half of its elements out, which explained why the room felt barely heated. ‘Sergeant Bradley, I wonder if I might ask you a few questions.’ Kenton had never met the Mersea chief sergeant before and felt obliged to address him formally rather than use his affectionate nickname, ‘Dodger’.MoreLess
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