Widows

Fran smiled and patted Resnick’s hand. ‘You’re a lovely man,’ she said. Her cold and clammy sausage fingers tickled the back of his hand and he desperately wanted to pull away. ‘I wish I could tell you, my love,’ she went on, ‘but I just can’t remember. I ain’t lying to you. I’ve had a bump to the head. I can’t picture the fella at all. I think I blocked it, you know. Trauma does that, the doctor said so. It blocks things you don’t want to remember.’

‘Your little trauma doesn’t do that, Fran, money does. Where d’ya get the money for all that booze?’

Andrews stopped timing Resnick. Fifteen seconds!

‘I do run a business, you know. I can earn money!’ Fran insisted.

‘What you going to do if he comes back, eh? Pour him a whisky?’

‘He won’t come back!’ Fran howled in fear. ‘Why would he?’

Resnick had Fran on the back foot. ‘Well, you did come to the station of your own free will, my dear... and we’re here now, ain’t we? What if he’s watching you?’ The fear in Fran’s eyes grew as Resnick continued. ‘He doesn’t seem the tolerant type, and if he thinks you’re telling us stuff, he might just visit you again. But tell us who he is, and we’ll take him off the streets and put him behind bars. Then you can sit in your lovely little flat and get pissed, safe in the knowledge that he’s not going to be knocking on your door anytime soon.’

By the time Resnick had finished, Fran was blubbing awful, childlike sobs, her belly bouncing up and down as she squeezed the air from her lungs in short, sharp bursts. Andrews felt so sorry for her that he took out his handkerchief and handed it to her. As she loudly blew her nose, Resnick stood up sharply, knocking the pouf over.

‘Take her in for obstructing the police,’ Resnick instructed Andrews. ‘Come on, love, get to your feet. I’ve had enough of you lying to me.’

Fran wailed and held her hand out to Andrews who, without thinking, took hold of it. ‘Ooh, don’t take me in! I’ve told you everything I know. I can’t remember no more, honest I can’t.’

Andrews pulled his hand away from hers and tried to get her to her feet. It was like trying to lift a dead weight.

‘Please don’t take me in,’ she wailed. ‘I wish Boxer was here — he’d look after me. Where’s Boxer? I want Boxer!’

‘Boxer’s dead,’ Resnick spat. ‘Killed by whoever it was who beat you nearly half to death. If you care for Boxer, you’ll tell me who did this to you!’

Fran’s wailing went up an octave. Andrews backed off to save his ear drums. Resnick had the decency to pause and let the woman grieve for a moment. Once she’d wailed long enough, he crouched back down in front of her.

‘Now you listen to me, Fran.’ Resnick said firmly. ‘If you’ve been paid to keep your mouth shut, me and you are going to fall out big time.’

‘I ain’t—’

‘Shut up and listen, because I’m running out of patience with you! I know you’ve been hurt, but others have been hurt worse.’ Resnick leapt up, grabbed one of the shopping bags of booze, held it up and leaned in close. ‘Who gave you the money for all this? I know you don’t earn enough renting rooms in this fleapit. Who? Come on Fran, who?’ As Resnick waved the heavy bag in the air, one of the handles snapped, sending the bottles crashing to the floor. Brown frothy beer flowed across the carpet. Fran lurched forward with another howl.

‘Aargh, me beer! Me beer!’ Fran buried her face in her hands and wept again.

Resnick was now very red in the face, frustrated at not being able to break Fran. ‘You tell me who attacked you and who gave you the hush money—’

‘I don’t know! I don’t know! I told you a thousand times. This nice man come and asked to see Boxer and I showed him upstairs. The other one come later... the one that hit me. I didn’t know either of them. I swear I didn’t. I can’t remember nothing else.’

‘Try!’ Resnick barked.

‘I was so tired. I said to this woman—’

Resnick interrupted. ‘What woman?’

‘The one that rang. I said, “He’s gone out,” I said.’

‘Just a minute!’ Resnick focused in on this new detail. ‘A woman phoned for Boxer?’

‘Yes, I just told you.’

Andrews watched as Resnick’s tone changed again. ‘When, Fran?’ he was willing her onward. ‘When did she call?’

‘She called twice. First time she spoke to Boxer.’ Fran put her head in her hands again. She was flagging, getting tired and confused.

‘And the second time?’ Resnick paused for Fran to think, then gently prompted her. ‘Listen, love, this is really important. What were you doing when she called the second time?’

‘Watching telly.’

‘What was on?’

Fran looked up at Resnick. ‘Coronation Street.’

‘Good girl. So, the woman called during Coronation Street. What did she say?’

‘She said she’d been cut off the first time. But, well, now Boxer was out with the first man, the nice man, so she just hung up on me. Oh, God, Boxer!’ Fran whispered almost to herself. ‘I ain’t never gonna see my Boxer again.’

‘Help me find who killed him, Fran,’ urged Resnick. ‘If you ever felt anything for Boxer, help me!’