Читать книгу The Common Enemy - Paul Gitsham, Paul Gitsham - Страница 19

Marcus ‘Goldie’ Davenport, was another person whose nickname was both unimaginative and descriptive. In addition to his gold earring and incisor, he also sported several gold sovereign rings. Like his friend, Bellies Brandon, he too wore an England shirt, although it was probably one-third the size.

‘Can we be quick about this? I need to get back home to feed the cat.’

Davenport’s face was inscrutable and Warren couldn’t tell if he was being serious or facetious.

‘It’ll take as long as it takes, Mr Davenport. After all, we don’t want to miss something that could let your friend’s killer go free.’

Davenport sighed his acquiescence.

Much of his story matched that of Bellies Brandon, so Warren focused on the small details. Davenport enjoyed the audience.

‘I’m a pacifist, me. I wasn’t going to get involved in any violence. I was just there to exercise my freedom of speech. So when the police let the protestors attack us, I left quickly.’

‘Where did you go when you left the square?’

‘Me and Jimmy headed past the war memorial then towards BHS.’

‘Did you go into the shop?’

‘Nah, ’course not. They’d pulled the shutters down, probably to stop the muzzers and the soap-dodgers from nicking stuff, you know what they’re like.’

‘So where did you go?’

‘Down the alleyway and onto the street behind.’

‘Did Tommy and Mr Brandon follow you?’

‘No, we split up at the war memorial. Bellies is too fat to run, so Tommy left him and headed towards Marks & Spencer.’

‘Do you know where he went after that?’

‘I reckon he probably cut through into the backstreet, but we were ahead of him and didn’t see him again.’

‘And that was definitely the last time you saw him?’

‘I just said that, didn’t I?’

‘OK. Did you see anybody else in the street or around the area?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Where did you go after you cut past Marks & Spencer?’

‘BHS,’ Davenport corrected.

Warren acknowledged the correction.

‘We went through another alleyway next to a key-cutter’s and then headed towards the pub.’

‘Which pub was that?’

‘The Feathers.’

‘And you went straight there.’

‘Yeah, pretty much. Jimmy led the way, he knows the area.’

‘Do you know roughly what time you arrived?’

‘No, I wasn’t wearing a watch.’

‘Were you the first to arrive or were there others there already?’

‘We were pretty much the first.’

‘Do you know when everyone else arrived? Was anybody late?’

‘Most everybody else arrived at the same time. Bellies got lost and came in last.’

‘How long did you stay for?’

‘We were supposed to be there until about nine, then catch the coach back home. The beer was flowing and they’d laid on food. It was the shittiest chicken Kiev I’ve ever eaten, even Bellies didn’t finish it.’

Warren looked over his notes. Despite his attitude, the man had been helpful. A picture of Tommy Meegan’s movements in the hours before his death was being built, but it was slow going. Large gaps remained and they had yet to identify any concrete suspects.

With that, he turned off the tape recorder and thanked Davenport for his time. The man merely grinned.