Well, whaddya know?
Mendrick's turned into the goddamn Cheshire Cat. Feels like.
And so off we go to pay a nice little visit to sweet little Mrs Bell, who's been having an affair with some idiot every time her husband's out down the goddamn chippie.
Nice topic of conversation. I'm still not sure how Mendrick's going to handle this one. I certainly am not gonna say a goddamn word. I'd probably go and goddamn crack up before I could get anything half decent out. And it wouldn't be the first time.
Mendrick's driving (apparently, I drive too fast. I'm a bluebottle. Whaddya expect?). If I drive like a bluebottle, he drives like a little old lady who's about three hours early and wants to pass the goddamn time.
As you can tell, everything's goddamn hunky dory. Well, actually, it is. We've got a guy under lock and key (but only after he's had the snot kicked out of him) and we're about to visit an adulteress and... I dunno. Lock her up too?
Seems to me we'll have a mighty full prison if we keep going this way.
We pull up at Mrs Bell's little house, knock on the door - you know the routine, you've done it enough goddamn times yourself so why I'm telling you the whole goddamn thing is beyond me.
The door opens a tiny crack so all we can see is a nose and a pair of eyes, and perhaps a wisp of red hair.
'Hello, Mrs Bell.' Mendrick's doing his Cheshire Cat impression again. I don't even attempt to look like anything other than an annoyed Queen of Hearts. Which makes Mrs Bell Alice. Unless she's the executioner...
'We just wondered if we could talk to you for a moment-'
Looks like our moment was up. The door, which was never open more than a tiny gap, is closed again, slap bang in our faces.
Mendrick's obviously a physic Cheshire Cat, because he goes: 'Back to the car. We'll come here again when she's out - give the place the old once over. See what we can find.'
Alrighty. Sounds as good a plan as any. To me.
So here we are, sitting in the car, waiting for her to go out. Funny how she keeps denying us entry like that. Seems to me if I were a criminal, I'd want to get my goddamn alibi out as fast as is humanly possible. So is she a criminal? I wish I had a tape of the conversation where she was told of her husband's death. Seems no one around here believes in getting any goddamn evidence. All they want to do is be the goddamn Cheshire Cat.
I swear the last time I saw her, Mrs Bell had dark hair.
So who did we just talk to?