Plus, he was called Baz. What duty solicitor went by the name “Baz”?

  “It’s just our video evidence tells a different tale,” DS Mannilow said. He was a thin-faced man with a bumpy nose, which circular glasses rested on. Beside him, a chubby-cheeked brunette officer sat silently, staring me out like a wolf watching her prey.

  “Your video evidence?” I said.

  Mannilow looked down at the grey interview room table. “Well, the YouTube video footage.”

  “Very valid evidence you’ve got there,” I said. I knew I wasn’t really helping my case by being cocky. But shit, what else did I have?

  “Officers,” Baz said. He rubbed his beefy hands together and leaned across the table, the stench of his B.O. making me want to hurl. “Mr. Dent was embroiled in combat atop the bus station.”

  Embroiled in combat. I liked the sound of that. Made me sound like Bond, or something.

  “The truth is, we don’t know what happened up there. Nobody knows what happened. But we do know that Jed Chipps was the murderer you were searching for. We do know he tried to push his own poor child off the top of the bus station. Whatever happened afterwards… well, it happened. But whatever you decide, Blake did a good thing. A moral thing, ridding the earth of scum like that.”

  Mannilow shrugged and sighed. “Trust me, we’re pleased Chipps is gone. One less asshole for the world to deal with. But Mr. Dent knows he can’t take the law into his own hands. Bounty hunter or not, the law must be respected. Order must be followed.”

  I shook my head. “If we’d followed order in this case, you’d have three dead Chipps on your hands instead of one.”

  Mannilow opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t.

  “Mr. Dent is right again,” Baz said. Damn. I was really starting to like this guy. Lose a few pounds and we could be buddies. Maybe. “After all, Jenny Chipps may not have survived had Mr. Dent not intervened when he did.”

  “She lost an arm and an eye,” Mannilow said. “I’d say that’s a significant loss.”

  “But not as significant as the loss of life.”

  Mannilow opened his mouth again. And again, he couldn’t respond.

  He flicked over his papers, and I wondered what all these law enforcement officers actually kept on these suspicious papers after all.

  “Look, there’s a lot of ifs and buts and maybes. But let’s say for a minute Mr. Dent here is acquitted of his crimes. There’s still the matter of Grace Wallens to discuss.”

  My stomach sank when he said her name. I wondered when Grace Wallens was going to come up. When Lenny was going to sell me out and put me behind bars to avoid paying his cash. Bastard. Absolute bastard. I’d caught his killer, and he’d found it impossible to take the credit because my face was all over YouTube, all over the papers. Some kind of public hero, as much as I hated to admit it.

  This was his way of lashing out. His way of getting back at me.

  “What about her?” I said.

  Mannilow leaned in towards me. “You were responsible for her death, were you not?”

  “I was framed for her death,” I said. Didn’t give a shit if I slung accusations at the police anymore. If I was going down for Grace’s death, the bastards were coming down with me.

  Mannilow scratched his nose. “As much as I’d like to believe you, Mr. Dent, I can only look at the evidence—”

  “Ask Lenny Kole about the evidence. See what he has to say.”

  Mannilow’s eyes narrowed. “Detective Inspector Kole? Is there a reason you’d like me to speak with him?”

  Baz looked at me when I mentioned Kole too.

  I thought about Lenny. Thought about the things I’d do if I saw his knifing face again.

  I waved my hand at Mannilow. “Forget it. Just do what you have to do.”

  Mannilow scrupled the papers. Cleared his throat. “Very well. Mr. Dent, I’m going to have to ask you to stand in court to be questioned on suspicion of murdering both Jed Chipps and Grace Wallens.”

  I didn’t feel disappointment. Just inevitability.

  “I must ask you not to leave the country…”

  “Hardly taking a trip to Barbados now my business is screwed.”

  “And you must…”

  A knock at the door.

  Mannilow looked over. Nodded at me and Baz. The other officer, who I still hadn’t caught the name of, continued to silently stare with her bulldog eyes.

  “Hold on a second.”

  As Mannilow got to his feet and walked to the door, I looked around this dismal grey room. Prison wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. I’d get free meals. And apparently they had decent televisions in there now. iPads and Internet access, too.

  Yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad. I might be bummed to buggery in the showers, but hey. At least then I could claim I’m sexually active.

  Mannilow cleared his throat. He walked away from the door. His face had gone pale, and behind his circular glasses, his eyes were wide.

  “Is there a problem, Officer?” Baz asked.

  Mannilow scratched a flake of dry skin from his bald head. “I… Mr. Dent, you are free to leave. All charges dropped.”

  I didn’t understand what Mannilow was saying. Bulldog Eyes looked at Mannilow, turned on him like he was her prey now.

  “I… I beg your pardon?” Baz said. Even he sounded stunned.

  Mannilow looked just above my eyes. Not right into them, just above them.

  “All charges dropped. You’re free to leave.”

  I looked at Baz. Looked at him, completely frigging baffled as to what was happening.

  Baz smiled and shrugged. “Don’t look at me, pal. Do what the man says.”

  I stood up. Walked slowly past Mannilow and Bulldog Eyes, just in case this was all some kind of joke or prank.

  But they didn’t stop me as I left the interview room.

  They didn’t stop me as I walked down the bustling corridor outside.

  They didn’t stop me as I pushed through the rotating glass door at the front of the station and inhaled the warm summer air.

  “Blakey. Good to see you out and about.”

  I looked to my left.

  Lenny was standing by the brick wall at the side of the station. He was dressed in a blue suit, wearing some new sunglasses. He’d had a haircut, shaved short at the sides and long on top. Probably looked pretty attractive to women.

  Until he opened his mouth.

  I walked over to him. Amazingly, I didn’t want to beat the shit out of him. Being released and having serious charges dropped seemed to have that effect.

  “What’s going on, Lenny?” I asked.

  Lenny looked to his left, then to his right.

  “Got a gift for ya. I’m a man of my word.”

  He reached into his never-ending suit pocket and pulled out a cheque.

  I stared at it, as he hovered it in front of me.

  “Well go on. It doesn’t bite.”

  I reached out. Gently tugged the cheque from Lenny’s fingers.

  “Had a slight problem juggling money around the accounts, so you’ll have to settle for nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand. I know we agreed a million, but I’m sorry. This is just how it—”

  “This is legitimate?” I asked. I ran my fingers across the cheque. Couldn’t believe the figure staring back at me in printed black ink.

  £999,107.

  “As real as the day. And the night. And, well, everything else real.”

  I felt sweat drip down my head. Felt my hands and arms going weak. “What… How…”

  “I’m a man of my word, like I said. You might think I’m an idiot, but I’m not a double-crossing idiot. Besides, you did a good job with Chipps. I’d have booted him off the roof of that bus station harder than a Ronaldo free-kick, so fair play.”

  I looked Lenny in his sunglasses. I didn’t know what to say to him. How was I supposed to thank a man I’d spent the last several years of my life convinced was a complete and utter idiot?

  “A simple ‘thank you’ would be nice. A ‘thank you for dropping the charges for me, Lenny’ would be even better. ‘Detective Inspector Kole,’ better still—”

  “Thank you, Lenny,” I said. And it was honest, too. Honest and genuine.

  Lenny tilted his head at me. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  I smiled. Smiled as I stuck the cheque in my pocket, not even wanting to crease the damned thing.

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  Lenny tutted and shook his head. He patted me on my shoulder and started to walk away from the police station.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said. He reached into that bloody pocket of his and pulled a bundle of papers out. “Your Groovy Smoothie license. Managed to clear it for you.”

  I grabbed the papers, my hands and arms tingling.

  “Just whatever you do, stick to the rules.”

  “No blue food colouring,” I said.

  “No any food colouring. E-numbers. Parental paranoia, that’s what food colouring causes.”

  He patted me on my shoulder again and turned away.

  “Behave yourself, Blakey. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Later rather than sooner. Please.”

  Lenny laughed. “Do you think that’s what Batman said to Gordon? ‘Later rather than sooner?’”

  “Batman didn’t give a shit about curved televisions and replacement iPads. I do.”

  Lenny walked off into the distance towards town. I stood there in the sunlight. Stood there, my entire body tingling, a smile on my face that I couldn’t shake no matter how damned goofy I felt.

  Nine hundred thousand. Nine hundred bloody thousand.

  I jogged into the bank. Got a few funny looks as I cashed my cheque, but the money cleared just fine, after a phone call or two.

  I left the desk clerk a nice one-hundred-pound tip, just because I bloody well could.

  I walked over to Currys electricals. Saw the curved television in the window. NEW! Starting at £1,999!

  I smiled.

  “First things first,” I said, as I walked inside.

  FORTY-SIX

  “Holy hell, hun, this is delicious. Why have you never invited me here before?”

  I sipped on a raspberry smoothie and looked out over the sun-drenched Friargate. Martha stood alongside me in Groovy Smoothie, stuffing every piece of fruit in reach into the blender.

  “You knew I was here. Nothing stopping you paying a visit.”

  “Hey,” Martha said. She punched my arm. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy, eh?” I raised my eyebrows. “Treated yourself to a new telly yet, anyway?”

  Martha licked the smoothie from her lips. “Oh you and your televisions. What ever happened to that curved thing anyway?”

  “Ah, that. I dunno. I didn’t really rate it so I just went back to a flat screen. Quality picture though. Full HD. I really like it. I really think I might keep it as my main telly for longer than a few months.”

  Martha shook her head. “I know you too well. You should get some new threads, anyway. Get yourself out of those scruffy checkered shirts.”

  “This shirt is not bloody scruffy.”

  She brought her hands down her tightly fitted blue dress. “If you say so. Anyway, customer waiting!”

  I looked around and prepared a smile.

  My smile dropped when I saw who it was.

  “Blake, right?” The blonde girl. The blonde girl I’d met when I was at the Groovy Smoothie hearing.

  The blonde girl I’d forgotten the name of.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I… I remember you.”

  She smiled at me, revealing a cute little gap between her pearly teeth. She was wearing a striped red shirt and a white skirt, bare legs on show. “But not my name, evidently.”

  I felt my cheeks going warm.

  “It’s okay. Danielle. We met at the—”

  “At the hearing. Right. Course I remember you, Danielle.”

  Awkward silence between us. Or was it awkward? I could never tell. I needed a bloody criteria of what was and wasn’t awkward, that was for sure.

  She looked either side. “Just checking for ‘baldies.’ Don’t want you firing missiles at any of them.”

  I chuckled, and so too did Danielle.

  “Wow. What on earth does he get up to when I let him off the leash?”

  Danielle smiled at Martha. “Is this your wife?”

  “No!” Martha said.

  “No! She… she’s just a man who… a woman who used to be a man who is my friend.”

  Martha glared at me. Mouthed what I’d just said. “Smooth, Blake. Very smooth.”

  “Anyway I thought I’d just pop by seeing as you reopened. Hear you’re quite a hero these days. Saving kids from nasty blokes on the top of bus stations.”

  I felt flushed but in a better, more confident way at this remark. “Yeah, well. Just doing my bit for the community.”

  “Should’ve seen the state of his trousers when he got off that roof,” Martha chipped in. “Took days to get the piss stains—”

  “What can I get you?” I asked Danielle. “Wait. Let me remember. It was the… the Strawberry Chocolata, right?”

  “Close,” Danielle said. “Strawyberryana Chocolata.”

  “Dammit,” I said. I grabbed the strawberries, bananas and chocolate milk and popped them in the blender. “I’ll get it right next time.”

  “Hopefully,” Danielle said.

  Tingly feeling inside. Was she hitting on me? Did I actually still have it?

  I mixed the ingredients together. Tried my best not to look at Martha as I did, who was acting particularly annoying around me.

  “There we go.”

  “Three thirty, is it?”

  “It’s okay. On the house.”

  “No, I can’t—”

  “Seriously, it’s on the house. My drug-dealing-landlord business is absolutely thriving.”

  Danielle giggled some more. God, that giggle was angelic.

  “Well, nice seeing you again, Blake.”

  I nodded at her. “You too, Danielle. You know where to find me if… well, you ever want a smoothie.”

  “Isn’t he a smoothie?” Martha asked.

  I punched her in her side.

  I watched Danielle walk away. Watched her walk away, smoothie in hand.

  “You’re just letting her go?”

  “What?”

  Martha sighed. “Bloody hell, hun. Don’t ever accuse me of never doing anything for you.” She stuck her fingers in her mouth. Whistled. “Hey! Danielle!”

  “What the hell are you—”

  “Blake wants to ask you something!”

  Don’t turn around, Danielle. Don’t turn around. Don’t—

  She turned around.

  She looked at me. Looked into my eyes with twinkling blue eyes of her own.

  I tried to smile at her. Tightened my sweaty hands. “Do you… So that…”

  “Breakfast would be nice, if that’s what you’re trying to ask me,” Danielle said. “Tomorrow?”

  I felt my fists loosen. The vice grip around my throat released. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be… tomorrow would be nice. Meet you here?”

  “Seven a.m. Better be there.”

  Seven bloody a.m. “I’ll be there.”

  Danielle walked off, and I felt like running down Friargate singing and dancing.

  “Hey, heyyyy,” Martha said. She jabbed me in my stomach. “Someone’s pulled, someone’s pulled. Wow. Is this it? Is this the moment Blake Dent settles down for good?”

  I watched Danielle walk away, her blonde hair shaking from side to side, her white skirt blowing in the breeze. “Yeah, whatever. Hey, fancy trying something for me? Being a guinea pig?”

  “No. But go on.”

  I grabbed a cucumber.

  “Whoa. I mean, you’re a nice guy and everything, but I’ll pass.”

  I blended the cucumber. Added some fresh herbs, a little bit of lime. Then ice. Lots and lot of ice.

  I poured it into a plastic cup. Handed the green concoction over to Martha.

  She looked at it like it was some kind of poison.

  “What is this?”

  “Figured I need a new lead product after the Bubblegum Smoothie got phased out. So I present to you the Cucumber Coolie.”

  She took a sip, dabbed it against her lips, eyes squinted.

  “Well?”

  She took a minute. Tilted her head side to side, weighing up the flavours.

  And then she shook her head. “Arguably the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Novelty enough to stick a £1.90 price tag on? Trick a few gimmick-crazed fiends into buying?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I placed the advertisement for the Cucumber Coolie outside Groovy Smoothie.

  In the distance, I saw a mother and child. They were looking right at me, but not approaching.

  The mother had one arm, and there was something off about one of her eyes.

  The kid was wearing a Bolton Wanderers shirt, curly hair completely covering his ears.

  I nodded at them. Nodded at Jenny and Daley Chipps.

  They nodded back at me.

  “Come on, grumpy. Time to take an early lunch,” Martha said. She smacked my ass.

  “Ow! What… what d’you mean?”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Well if you’re having a breakfast date with a bimbo, we’re gonna have to kit you out. Get you dressed in some new threads. Can’t wear checkered shirts every day.”

  I hung the “Closed” sign over Groovy Smoothie and headed into Friargate with Martha.

  “I suppose I could do with one non-checkered shirt,” I said.

  “Good boy. You’re learning.”

  We approached Debenhams. Beside it, I noticed Dixons advertising the new range of SuperUltraExtra HD televisions. The football match they were showing on it looked ridiculously clear.

  I salivated with the thought. Tasted menthol, even though I’d been off the damned substance for some time.

  Well, for a day, anyway. Since I’d run out of Soothers packets.

  “Martha.”

  She stopped just before entering Debenhams. “Yeah?”

  “I think I need a new television.”

  What Next for Blake Dent?