Chameleon

Chapter 26

She was the twelfth name on his list.

He didn't hold out much hope. Four days of raking up painful memories had produced no worthwhile results. It was too long ago. Nobody remembered, nobody wanted to remember.

How many more straws will you clutch at before you finally drown? Bannerman asked himself.

Just one more, he promised.

Sandy Caldwell. Sandy Maxstead now. Twenty-five years ago a young PC Bannerman had taken her statement. Maybe it will turn out to be a lucky omen.

Sandy Maxstead lived at 27 Kitchener Road. It was a run-down council house with a scrubby front garden and a satellite dish that had no doubt fallen off the back of a passing satellite.

Two youths aged between Borstal and Strangeways were kicking a deflated football about the front garden and swigging lager from cans at the same time.

Bannerman pushed open a gate that screeched like the three witches from Macbeth. The two youths eyed him malevolently. As he walked forward, the taller of the two barred his way.

'Wot you want?' the youth asked.

'Yea, wot you want?' the smaller version repeated.

'Peace and understanding between the nations of the world,' Bannerman replied, deadpan.

They blinked, one after the other. Bannerman could almost smell the circuits of their brains burning out as they tried to work out what he had just said.

'You a poofta?' the tall one asked eventually.

'Yeah, you a poofta or what?' said Little Sir Echo.

'Nice parrot you have there,' Bannerman remarked. 'Can he do any other tricks?'

'You're askin' for a good kickin', Lofty stated.

'Yea...' Shorthouse began, but Bannerman raised a hand to stop him.

'Don't say it,' he advised. 'I couldn't stand it if you said something different!

I shouldn't be doing this, he told himself. It's a battle of wits and my opponents are unarmed!

'Jason! Wayne!' The harridan lilt came from the direction of the front door. Both youths turned in unison.

I wonder which is Jason and which is Wayne? Bannerman pondered. He glanced towards the door.

The years had not been kind to Sandy Caldwell as was. Bannerman knew from her record that she had a string of arrests, mainly shoplifting and prostitution, but even so, she was a far cry from the pretty young thing whose statement he had taken all those years ago,

'Mrs Maxstead?' he called.

'Who wants to know?'

'Detective Inspector Bannerman.'

Jason and Wayne made audible hissing noises. They looked like they would have made the sign of the cross if it would have done any good.

'Can I have a few words?' Bannerman asked.

'If you like,' she replied cautiously. 'But it'll have to be quick; I'm expecting company in half an hour.'

'The Archbishop of Canterbury, no doubt,' Bannerman muttered under his breath as he walked steadfastly into the lion's den.