The Bungalow-7

Continued from Chapter 6: The Bungalow-6 | ABCtales

Hawke tapped on the back door of No. 49A. Hales looked up from the   kitchen worktop and motioned him inside. It wasn’t locked. She carried on spooning out Whiskas into two small flower-patterned bowls. Hawke sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar.

“Sorry, just getting Their Highnesses their breakfast. Make yourself at home – I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I had a detective come round last night – after I got back from my trip to Town.”

“Oh yeah. They came to see me too yesterday afternoon.”

“What they ask you?”

“Oh, all my movements that day – so to speak -who I’d been with, what I’d done.”

“What did you say?”

“About our little walk. Our little...dalliance in the woods, my visit to the Harrow, the Uber home...”

“You told him about the woods? I just said we stopped for a talk.”

“Well, isn’t that just typical of you, Budgie? I said we made mad passionate love...”

“You never!”

“Actually, I said you took best part of an hour just to bring yourself to the point of actually doing something. I was checking my Whatsapp on my phone by then.”

“Bitch.”

“Love you too, Budgie!”

“They ask you anything about before we went out?”

“Asked me about whether anyone had called. Apparently, Auntie Hilda heard a bit of a disturbance, round about ten o’clock.”

“Oh yes, what sort of a disturbance?”

“Shouting. Someone kicking the side of a car.”

“Road rage, probably, one of those rat-runners. I tell you, it’s getting more and more like Brands Hatch every morning here. I blame those bloody satnavs. This was a quiet lane when we moved in...”

“Yes, Budgie.”

“Auntie didn’t hear what was actually being shouted...or who it was?”

“Nope. Don’t think so. Why?”

“No particular reason.”

“So, why you asking Budgie? Come on, you had a run-in with a Pikey, didn’t you?”

“You actually think I killed one?”

“No, Budgie! I’d never say that. But you were acting all weird yesterday. I mean, not Budgie-weird but...really weird. Come on, you can tell me, surely? I won’t tell the Police.”

“It’s just that, if I tell you stuff, then if they put you under interrogation, you might crack.”

“Crack?”

“Say things you don’t mean to. If you don’t know, you can’t tell.”

“If yoo doornt know, you can’t terl...For fuck’s sake, it’s only the Surrey Constabulary making door-to-door enquiries. Not exactly the Stasi.”

“Sorry Hales, my lips are sealed.”

“OK Budgie, keep that beak of yours clamped shut...”

To be continued in Chapter 8