Bill and the UFO26

Inspector Murphy flung his jacket over the hard blue-grey plastic chair and let the chatter of the patron’s falsers chattering to one another, like starlings, wash over him. He often thought Community Cafés were more than just cheap food. They were about caring and kept the kind of people that were orange Spanglers, the last pick, in the Christmas selection box of life, off the streets. Sergeant Cook had the full three coursers, for starters, including apple pie and custard and was back up getting extras, so it was a bit like being squeezed in next to the fat kid at school. Murphy didn’t like eating when his teeth hurt, so he just had vegetable soup, a living algae colour in which he found new depths of enjoyment. The only thing putting him off was people looking at him as if they were going to say something to him, or the Sergeant, and then suddenly looking away. It might have been the smell, of course. Cook was a bit whiffy after being in that house. After nearly twenty years service he should have been used to civilians peering at him like a constabulary exhibit that they could just wander round and pull at his white shirt colour to see if it was real. He kept looking up, catching a customer’s eye and expecting to hear something ominous like I’ve just raped my granny, cut her head off and put it in your soup, or the weather is turning a bit peeky. There was also always, in his workaday experience, somebody with an overloud voice that when they saw a uniform were programmed to perform. He kept his eyes on the pea- green matting of the tablecloth. It was thick and durable enough to use as roofing material on any passing day-care centre and easily rubbed down with any piece of reusable dried- in- cloth. Right on cue, a pensioner with ears like two kettle jugs and a voice that spilled out like ketchup went through his everyday routine with one of the volunteers behind the counter.

‘Betty,’ words lolled about his grey moustache, waiting for an opening, for her to look up and notice his amber punch-drunk eyes ‘are you getting fatter or just putting on weight?’

Betty gave him her routine cashier till smile with an added bit of lip; a smear of fandango lipstick showing more ivory whites than usual. Tannic tea was pushed towards him and the red and silver flagged foil of Tunnock’s chocolate biscuit plated, ready for him to pick up.

‘Is that all your having?’ Sergeant Cook looked at the thin soup. He had two bits of caramel cake, one in his right hand and one in reserve on his saucer. ‘You’d think they’d put a bit of meat in it.’

Inspector Murphy sipped at his soup and looked at his partner cautiously. ‘It’s vegetable.’ He thin lips were primed, ready to set into some carefully contrived semblance of a frozen smug smile, when Cook’s punch line finally appeared.

But Sergeant Cook went off script, made one of those sneering jowly faces that the Inspector had seen 10 000 times and wanted to slap again and again, every time. ‘It’s not even proper white Sunblest bread you can get your teeth into.’

The side plate on the table had been crowded out by Sergeant Cook’s stack of plates so that Inspector Murphy had hardly noticed that the bread was brown. He didn’t say anything just stuck his feet out under the table to give himself more leg room and lit up an Embassy Mild. The ashtray had not been emptied and was full of the discarded corpses of cigarette butts that smelled of tobacco and decay, which hung in the air, like the cheap zirconium of heavy metals.

‘The thing about your soup is…’ Cook swilled the remains of his tea around and flung it back like a whisky, ‘there’s nothing in it, just water. So it doesn’t taste of anything.’ He moved to one side as if riding a motorbike to let out a little fart and gave a satisfying grunt. ‘I mean I’m looking after two Goldfish, Lizzy and Dizzy, for my niece and they’d be at home in that soup. Are you going to finish that?’ He reached across and started chewing on the brown bread. ‘Well, one of them would. That’s the thing. I came down this morning and there was only one in the bowl. Do you think one of them could have escaped?’ He shook the thought away. ‘What do you think happened, maybe it’s like those kids with the Ufo?’

Inspector Murphy scraped his teacup about the checked cloth like a draughts piece, waiting for Cook to wind down so that they could leave.

‘What am I goin’ to tell Mona?’ Cook stopped chewing the bread, simply swallowed the partially chewed bolus and stuck his thumb in his mouth and started nibbling on his nails as if he was going to start devouring his own body next. ‘She’s quite young and loves those fish. That’s kids for you. Beats me how you can love something slimy. Maybe I could just cut something out of one of the magazines, The Radio Times, and let it float on top of the bowl and just tell her that Lizzy has died and is away to fish heaven.’

Inspector Murphy’s fingers drummed on the table. He took a deep breath, and patted himself on the chest as he coughed and spluttered. His fag was out and he sneaked a look at his watch. They were already over the tea-break limit by 18 minutes. ‘Why don’t you tell her the truth, that Lizzy or whatever her name, has ate Dizzy, or Dizzy has ate Lizzy and have done with it.’

Sergeant Cook pushed his chair back and lifted his cap from the table. ‘You’re cruel you are.’ He caught his knee on the table as he stood up to leave.

Inspector Murphy had the car keys. He thought about giving them to Sergeant Cook to drive, but sometimes driving freed his mind and let him think. They sat side by side, neither willing to be the first to speak.

‘Where did you say those kids and that daft dog, Todger, were spotted?’ Inspector Murphy kept his eyes on the road and squinted out of the side of his eye at Macintoshes Bar as they passed to see if anybody was giving the police car the Vicky.

‘At the canal. Going towards Clydebank Town Hall, where that paedophile ring works out of. Poor kids they probably think a paedophile ring is some kind of Frisbee game.’

‘Alleged paedophile ring.’ Inspector Murphy made a U turn. ‘We’ll go back down that way now and see if we can spot them.’