Bobby McGee

Chapter Nine. Out in the Cold.

Chapter Nine 

Out in the Cold. 

D.I.Wolfe, an impressive figure, well over six feet tall, with slick black brylcreemed hair, rose from his desk chair brandishing a thin folder. 

"I've read your report, McGee, and I'm afraid there's nothing new here. No need to bring Wacowic in for further questioning. He does seem to be a bit paranoid however. You can tell him from me, that he's not a suspect, and for God's sake, man, get him out of that hideaway of his. He'll be scaring the villagers to death next." 

"Do you think he's right about Karwolska, Sir?" 

"A load of rubbish. We confiscated Karwolska's belongings, and my team have been going over them for a couple of days. Nothing suspicious there." 

"Did you check his birth certificate, or the Foreign Office, Sir?" 

"Do you think I'm a bloody nincompoop, McGee? Of course I have, and it's none of your damned business anyway. This is my case. The murder took place outside your territory and I'm in charge. Understand?" 

"Yes, Sir, but the victim, and maybe even the suspects, are from my area." 

"Very true. There's possibly one way you could help."  

McGee was all ears. This could be his chance. 

"Whoever did this was an expert marksman." 

"How do you know?" 

Wolfe's prominent eyebrows flared.

"The autopsy showed that Karwolska was killed by one bullet, shot through the heart, from a distance. Any idea who could have done that in the dark? Any ex military men, poachers in the village?" 

McGee grimaced. He knew so many.  

"Did you find the bullet, Sir?"  

"No. The search is proving very difficult, but you can guarantee that if it's there we're going to find it."

"I could take another look, Sir." 

"Now look here, McGee," said Wolfe, rising from his office chair, his eyes bulging, neck veins pulsating. "Get this straight once and for all. What happened on that beach is none of your damned business. Get the Hell out of here, and don't come back unless you find that gunman." 

A week passed. McGee talked Andy out of his self- imposed exile. The Pole now kept a very low profile, never going anywhere alone, and it was rumoured that he had converted Sally's house into a virtual fortress. He was obviously still worried. McGee's enquiries proved fruitless - the gunman remained at large.  

By the time the schools broke up for the summer holidays the murder had become a distant memory. There had been no developments, no arrests, nothing reported in the papers, so interest naturally waned.

                                                                            ***** 

 During the summer months, McGee spent most of his time dealing with the irritations of minor property damage. Fletch had warned him of this at one of their breakfast meetings. Every summer the boys formed gangs, unfortunately on socio-economic grounds, and spent the entire holiday preparing for war. By some unwritten rules this meant that they built a den, which had to be concealed and defended at all costs. The boys spent hours constructing wooden swords, bows, and non-fluted arrows for the final showdown, traditionally held the weekend before the start of school. The damage inflicted on timber was extensive and infuriated local landowners. 

The gangs also competed on the sports field, which just happened to be in the vicinity of the largest greenhouse in the village. McGee could have spent the entire summer responding to the irate calls from the beleaguered  owner, but he was often unavailable, tied up providing security at local fairs and agricultural shows. He found it difficult to believe the intense rivalries that developed over prize begonias and largest onions. Many futile hours were spent investigating sabotaged gardens and disappearing vegetables.  The villagers never seemed to grow up.

Through all this Meg adjusted to her new surroundings. She became fast friends with Fiona, who had been hired as a lab technician at the very school Meg was to attend that September. She was trained during the first weeks of the summer, leaving Meg to her own devices during the day. This time she spent in household chores, tasks she had become accustomed to when they had lived in Liverpool, and her mother had sunk into deep depression.  

McGee suspected nothing. He had come to accept the Friday night dance, Saturday at the pictures, and the sudden interest in tennis. The late evening jogs should have been a clue, but he attributed the flushed cheeks and shining eyes to a rigorous workout.  

"Dad, would you mind if Richard came for tea on Saturday?"