ThirteenThe police detective stubbed out his cigarette, sat back in his chair and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Tell me again.”
He'd walked into the nearest police station and told the duty officer what had happened. The desk sergeant, bored, yawned, took notes and motioned Françoise to wait whilst two other policemen went out to investigate. Now here he sat in an airless room, going through it all again.
“So, these three men waylaid you on the road to Exeter market and you overpowered them with your bare hands?”
Françoise shifted uneasily in his chair, shying away from the ferocious glare of the detective whose hat, a brown Derby set at a jaunty angle, lent him an air of arrogance mixed with contempt. Here was a man who believed his quarry was cornered, with no place to go.
“My fa
