Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Twenty-Two

John's eyes concentrated on the carbon-tipped tool cutting an engine drive wheel to its correct size. With a turn of the controls, the tool withdrew from the metal. He stopped the lathe and, with a micrometre, checked the size. "Perfect," he muttered.

Someone hammering on the workshop door disturbed the peace. "Who is it?"

"Philip Holland."

"Have you forgotten? I'm retired. What do you want?"

"A chat. Thought I'd drop in and see how you are."

"Pull the other one. Wait there, and I'll open the side gate."

John guided his visitor into the kitchen. "Grab a chair, and you can tell me what you want."

Philip smiled. "Those who do the work at the station miss you. I'll admit your methods were sometimes, unconventional, but your track record and the number of villains you put away speak for themselves. But, you had a purpose in life and did what you believed to be right."

"You're not so bad yourself, but that's the end of the self-appreciation society. So, what do you want?"

"Did you hear that some nutter attacked Sergeant Newton?"

Johns's face showed no emotion as he strolled to the fridge and removed a beer. "Want one?"

"No, thanks, I'm driving."

"Was she hurt?"

"She's tough and appears to have taken it in her stride

"Did she know who it was?"

"I interviewed the prime suspect yesterday morning. A total lunatic, in my opinion. She was lucky Bob Thompson arrived before she hurt the bastard. Have you heard of Mace?

"The American police use it, I believe. Why do you ask?"

"Angela used it and blinded the creep. That is, of course, pure hearsay. I do not have any proof and don't intend to look for any. A beat copper found his mate in a burnt-out car. Whoever done him didn't even remove the number plates. He must have wound someone up, or it was a revenge killing. Newton's attacker is up before the magistrate today. After that, he'll get bail and vanish into the woodwork, never to be seen again unless."

"Happens a lot," said John.

"So, what have you been doing?"

John stared out of the kitchen window. "You must know I make model railway engines and rolling stock. Since the day I left, train enthusiasts have been ringing me with orders. I might finish by the end of next year, and they are happy to wait. The good thing is I haven't touched my pension. Might book me a cruise or something."

"Alright, for some. The missus, kids and me will be lucky to afford Majorca this year."

John shifted on his chair. He knew every step of this conversation. "Philip, I like you, but we aren't exactly best friends. So why are you here?"

"The guvnor told me you are a man with an itch you keep wanting to scratch."

John gave a big smile. "What should I stop scratching?"

Philip shrugged. "He said you would know what he means. I haven't a clue what's going on between you two. Do you care to enlighten the messenger?"

John shifted his weight on the chair. "If I knew, I'd tell you. Maybe the guv is having a breakdown. Stressful job being in charge."

He gave John a weary smile. "Better be on my way. Remember, if you can't be good, be careful."

John gave him a look. "And what's that supposed to mean?"