Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 120

He was like a boy again, full of foolish, hopeless thoughts. He wanted to laugh, shout and cry. But all the while that same little voice kept calling to him. Banging out its questions with deafening power. Where was this leading? And where would it end?

She pushed the bell down hard and didn’t let go. She had already rung it twice, done a perimeter of the house, but it remained resolutely closed to her, despite the fact that it was obviously occupied. The curtains were closed and she could hear the TV playing inside.

Eventually she heard footsteps, accompanied by a volley of cursing. Emilia Garanita smiled to herself and kept her finger on the bell. Only when the door swung open did she take finally her finger off, restoring peace once more.

‘We don’t buy at the door,’ the man said, already shutting the door.

‘Do I look like I’m selling fucking dusters?’ Emilia replied.

The man hesitated, taken aback by her forceful and unrepentant response.

‘I know you,’ he said eventually, ‘you’re what’s-her-name…’

‘Emilia Garanita.’

‘Right. What do you want?’

He was clearly anxious to get back to his viewing. Emilia smiled before continuing.

‘I want a file.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You do work at the probation service, Mr Fielding?’

‘Yes and as such you should know that there is no possible way I could ever give a journalist any information. It is all confidential.’

He said the word ‘journalist’ with real distaste, as if he were somehow operating on a superior plane. Emilia loved these moments.

‘Even if she was going to save your life?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your professional life, I mean.’

Now Fielding was quiet. Could he tell what was coming?

‘Got a few friends in uniform. They told me an interesting story about a middle-aged guy getting caught on the Common engaging in lewd acts in the back of a Ford Focus.’

She let her eye drift to the Ford Focus parked on Fielding’s drive.

‘Story goes he’d picked up the girl at a bar… but she was only fifteen. Whoops! Apparently the guy begged and pleaded and eventually the officers let him off, each with £100 in their pocket. Still, they kept a record of the licence plate and a description of the dirty bastard. I’ve got their police notepad right here.’

She pretended to rummage in her bag. Now Fielding stepped outside the house, pulling the door to behind him.

‘That’s blackmail,’ he said indignantly.

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ Emilia replied smiling. ‘Now, are you going to give me what I want or shall start writing my story?’