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?"
Philip ignored him and moved towards the door. "See you around."
Even though his mind raced, John waited until Philip was out of sight before he shut the door. Angela's attempted mugging bothered him. With one of the culprits cremated in his car, it had the hallmarks of the brothers. He wanted to see her but knew that was not the best of ideas. If the brothers had targeted her, they were playing a dangerous game. He smiled, knowing Bob Thompson would have extracted every ounce of information from the prisoner.
At the kitchen table, he wrote, Will be at Jubilee Park Grandstand, 1500. J.
This he shoved into an envelope, printed her address and telephoned the Station Cab Company.
He stood at the front window and waited. The rain had fallen nonstop since Philip left. "I've never known it so bad," he muttered.
A Blue Triumph 2000 stopped outside in less than ten minutes and beeped its horn.
John opened his front door, stepped out and opened an umbrella and headed towards the taxi. He knocked on the driver's window and waited for it to open.
"Where to, sir?"
"I want you to deliver this letter. What would be the charge if you took me?"
The driver appeared to stare at John. "I know you. You're a copper. You helped pull my son out of a total when others ran away. No charge, guv, I owe you his life."
John handed him five pounds. "Buy yourself a couple of beers or maybe a box of chocolates for the missus."
The driver grinned. "It'll be chocolates. I never drink during the week when working."
"Good man," said John as he stepped back from the car and waved as it drove away before he turned and returned inside. He checked the time. Almost an hour before she could arrive at the bandstand. From a fresh packet of cigarettes, he took one and lit it. "I must be suicidal. It's pouring with rain. I'm going for a run and smoking more than I should."
At two-thirty, John closed his front door and stepped into the monsoon-type rain. Laughing, he jogged along the road towards the park. Every footfall soft, every movement positive. As he ran, his mind cleared. Running was how he conducted his life, one step at a time. You start initially, never thinking how long the road may be and determined you reach the end. Something about the rain made him relax more than he had in days.
On nearing the bandstand, another runner joined him. He smiled at Angela as they continued along the course of the park run.
He turned his head towards her. "Word on the street tells me. Some idiot attempted to mug you."
"Who told you that?"
"Philip popped in for a chat. I reckon the governor sent him to discover what I was doing."
"I dealt with it."
"So, I heard. I'd hide your Mace until this becomes ancient history."
"I have a new version in a pretty pink scent bottle."
"I don't want to know. I believe the brothers may have hired your attackers."
"You don't know that for sure."
"I'll be happier if you disappear for a few weeks."
"Stop worrying. I'm taking three weeks off starting this Saturday."
"So long as you are a long way away from here, I'll be happy."
"Why are you so worried?"
"Maybe I like you more than I care to admit. You are wonderful at being you."
She laughed. "Every woman needs to know someone cares."
"I'll leave you when we pass the bandstand. Can we get together when you return?"
"I'll call you. Okay."
John veered to the right, and for an instant, their hands touched. Soaked but in a great mood, he slowed his pace and jogged home.
After a hot shower, John glanced around his bedroom. He instantly knew Gillian, his cleaner, had been busy. The room was clean. Not a speck of dust was visible. He sat on the edge of the bed, and memories of the past flooded his mind. He twisted his body around as if someone was there.
"Be quiet, Jackie. I'm not in the mood. Why is it your nearest and dearest tend to think the worst? I know you can't answer, but you never liked my job and never understood what I did. When you passed, the job and the pub became my escape route. I'd nod to those I met in the pub while eating my dinner, but they were not my friends. Yet it was enough to fool me, and after a few beers, I survived. I hate to admit it, but I need Angela, and when this part of my life is over, I hope our relationship works." Annoyed, he donned his raincoat, descended the stairs, and left the house.
For a moment, he stopped, turned his face to the wind and let it clear his mind.