Last Reminder by Stuart Pawson Read Free Book Online Page A

say something about a ladder being exactly the same length upright as it was when lying on the ground? Sounded reasonable to me. I did some elementary geometry in my mind, and when Lockett finished on the radio I asked him to move the crowd another fifteen feet back.
    He had about six uniformed PCs with him, and they pushed and jostled until I was satisfied. The crowd were good natured, some of them on personal terms with the bobbies, but the mood could soon change. A fire engine with a turntable ladder came warbling down the road.
    ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Now turn those blues off and tell Thomas the Turntable to go hide somewhere. We’ll let him know if we need him.’
    When it was quieter, the environment as reassuring as I thought I could make it, I strolled towards the foot of the ladder. The crowd stopped jeering.
    ‘Gerraway!’ the youth yelled at me. ‘I’ll chuck fuckin’ dog darn if tha comes any closer.’ He pulledthe terrified hound from within his jacket to reinforce his words.
    I took an extra couple of strides and stopped. ‘Hi!’ I shouted up to him, with all the sincerity of a reluctant recruit at the Mormon training academy. ‘My name’s Charlie.’
    ‘I’ll jump!’ he yelled back, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll chuck me-fuckin-sen off.’
    He was leaning against the wall. ‘Please, be calm,’ I pleaded. ‘We don’t want to hurt you. Can we just talk?’
    ‘Warrabout?’
    ‘Well, I’m called Charlie. What are you called?’
    ‘Joe Fuck!’
    ‘Do you live round here?’ I asked, adding, ‘Mr Fuck,’ under my breath.
    He didn’t bother answering, but he put the wriggling dog back inside his jacket. It was calmer in there.
    I was about six feet from the foot of the ladder. I shuffled forward, my hands in my pockets. ‘Is it your dog?’ I called out. I’m usually reasonable at interviews, but this was different. The spectators had brought their video cameras along, and tomorrow I could be on the news. He ignored my question.
    ‘Do you like dogs?’ I tried.
    ‘They’re all right.’ That was an improvement.
    ‘I expect you prefer bigger ones?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘What sort’s that one?’
    ‘How the fuck do I know?’
    He was an articulate so-and-so. I was at the foot of the ladder now.
    ‘Don’t come any fuckin’ closer,’ he warned.
    ‘No, I won’t,’ I assured him, taking my hands from my pockets.
    He was agitated. ‘I’ll fuckin’ jump. I’m warnin’ thi.’
    They say a drowning man clutches at straws. I wondered if a falling one would cling on to a dog. It was worth the risk – it wasn’t my dog. With one easy movement I placed my right foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, grasped the fifth rung in both hands and heaved. As the foot of the ladder came off the ground it started to accelerate away from the wall with a velocity that shocked me. I jumped aboard, and was propelled backwards towards the hushed crowd, like a surfboard rider, my arms flailing wildly. He scraped down the wall at exactly the same speed, emitting a long wail of fear and surprise.
    My end stopped, and I fell backwards into a mess of arms that pushed me upright again. His end bounced a yard into the air, ejecting him like water off a sheepdog’s back. The Chihuahua scampered away, between the legs of the cheering crowd, and into the open doorway of the flats. He’d had enough excitement for tonight.
    I drew a breath and turned to Inspector Lockett. His eyes were wide and his mouth gaping, but he couldn’t form any words.
    ‘Cancel the sandwiches,’ I said.
    The youth could have had a gun or a knife, or even a fractured spine, so I approached him warily. He was about nineteen, undernourished and under average. On drugs at a guess. He had landed in a sprawled position, his shoulders against the wall, the residual fear still pulling at his face. Or maybe it was a new fear.
    ‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.
    He didn’t answer but his unblinking eyes tried to focus on me. I moved one of his