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Not in the mood
It’s a Friday. I don’t know what day anymore. Weeks have passed.
I’d taken the mail to the letter box. As I walked by the bus lay-by on my way home, a car pulled up beside me. The window wound down. There was Detective Sergeant Smythe.
'Just hop in please, Ms Backhouse. I need to talk to you.'
'Do I have to? I’m really not in the mood.'
'We can do this without you being in the mood,' he snapped.
He released the door catch and it swung open. He wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. I climbed in beside him and shut the door. The window whirred upwards.
'How can I help you, sergeant?'
There was a long pause, while he took his notebook and pencil out. His whole demeanour was that of a fifties cop like you see in TV dramas. I put my hand on the door release and moved to get out again. That concentrated his mind.
'You will be aware that you owe me.'
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