Blast from the Past

51

Outside, a police car turned into Polly’s street and drove slowly towards her house. Both the officers inside the car knew the man they were looking for, having often been called out by Polly in the past to deal with him. As they searched they agreed that it was a crying shame that a nice girl like Polly should be harassed in such a way, and they resolved to give Peter the fright of his life if they found him.

They did not find Peter, but they did notice that the light was burning in Polly’s flat. This struck them as strange, seeing as how it was only just after four in the morning. They concluded that either the milkman had woken her up again (they knew most things about Polly’s life by now) or Peter was about and had already been pestering her.

They decided to check that Polly was all right.

From his position in the hall Peter could see the silhouettes of the police officers through the window panels of the front door. He had retreated to the bottom of the house after his shock at nearly being discovered and had been sitting on the bottom stair considering how best he could attack the American. Seeing the shadows on the window, Peter thought that the game was up. The hated peaked caps outlined clearly by the streetlights surely meant his arrest. He was, after all, inside her house, caught redhanded. For a moment Peter thought about using his knife, but there was no way he was going to stab a policeman. There were a couple of bicycles leaning against the wall. Peter leaned forward and put his knife into the saddlebag of the nearest one. If they found him with that it would be prison for sure.

Upstairs in Polly’s flat the intercom buzzer went. Someone was at the front door.

Jack was on his feet in an instant. “It’s him. He’s back,” he said. “And this time he isn’t going to get away.”

“What do you mean?” said Polly “What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to deal with him.”

The buzzer went again.

“You keep him talking,” Jack continued. He was at the door now. “I won’t be long.”

“No, Jack, I don’t want you to-”

The buzzer was insistent. Not for the first time that evening Polly was torn. So much of her wanted to let matters take their course. If Jack wanted to confront the Bug then why not let him? On the other hand, what if Jack got carried away? What if Jack killed him? The buzzer sounded again. Gingerly Polly picked up the receiver, half resolved to shouting a warning to her hated enemy below.

“Polly, it’s Constable Dewison,” the receiver said.

Jack stopped dead, his hand on the door. “Cops?” he hissed.

“Oh, hello, Frank,” said Polly. “This is a surprise.”

“We had a call from your admirer’s mum, Polly. She said he was hanging about. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but she did say that he had a knife. We just wanted to check that you were all right.”

Polly assured the officers that although the Bug had indeed been about earlier in the night she had heard nothing from him for an hour or so. Constable Dewison asked if she would like them to come up and take down the details of the harassment for an official complaint in the morning. Polly glanced at Jack. Somehow she felt that the presence of a four-star American general in dress uniform in her flat was a conversation that she did not wish to have.

“No, it’s all right, officer. I think I’d rather try and get some sleep.”

Downstairs in the hall Peter watched as the silhouettes of the policemen retreated. His relief at escaping arrest was entirely overshadowed by the fury that was consuming him. Peter had heard every word that the policemen had said. He could scarcely believe it! His own mother had grassed him up! She’d even told them about his knife! Peter’s blood boiled at her betrayal. Well, she’d regret it, that was for sure. Peter would deal with his mother later.

For now, however, he was still inside the house. Inside her house. Even the police hadn’t found him out! Surely this was a sign that fortune was on his side. Surely now he could do exactly as he liked.