Yaxley Farcett folded up the review that Reg Dixon had written and put it into his jacket pocket. He couldn't explain why, but he thought it might be significant. He pointed once more to the pictures of Dixon's broken body. 'Ok let's forget the cod journalism for a moment and get back to this. Have you got an alibi or not ?' Graham Trent pursed his lips. 'No. I haven't. My lady left about six months ago. I was enjoying the sleep of the just at around that time I should say' and he gave Farcett an oily grin. 'Do you deny having a fight with Dixon ?' 'No. Not at all' answered Trent. 'We were in the car park after closing time and he'd had too much to drink as he usually does, or did, recently. He started banging on again about that bloody field and making out I was public enemy number one. I told him to shut his Fen Boy mouth and asked if he'd been to Ealham Market lately. Or if he was still giving the delightful Mrs.Worthington one'. Trent took one of Farcett's cigarettes, lit it and blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. 'Well', he continued 'He went mad, like a rabid dog, just leapt on me, flapping his arms about like a big girl, screaming and shouting a load of rubbish about 'pure love' and 'friendship' and accused me of being a caveman'.
Yaxley considered this. He hadn't been expecting any co-operation. 'And what did you do ? he asked. 'Well, I defended myself didn't I. I was scared for my life. So I gave him a slap !' Yaxley grimaced. 'A Slap'. the new catchall description for anything from a tap on toddlers bum to a smash across the skull with a baseball bat. He blamed 'East Enders'. 'A slap' he repeated. Trent raised an eyebrow, 'Yeah a little one...just to bring him up short. He was all over me, I told you !' 'And what constitutes 'a slap' in your opinion Mr.Trent ? A minor blow to the face with an open palm or a knee in the ribs followed by swift kick, which almost burst Reg Dixon's spleen ?' 'I told you' barked back Trent, 'I was scared for my life. A man has to defend himself. There are some nutters out there you know.'
Yaxley took back his cigarettes from Trent's side of the table and lit one himself. He inhaled deeply and blew a minor cloud into Trent's face causing him to rub his eyes. 'And what condition was Dixon in when you left him ?' asked Farcett. 'Well he was alive, if that's what you mean. He was leaning against the pub coalbunker holding on to his ribs... I think he'd fallen against the corner' he added as an afterthought. Yaxley narrowed his eyes and drew on his cigarette once more. 'Did he say anything ?' Trent laughed, 'The man never bloody shut up. He'd had a slap and still he kept on...'True Love', 'Fraudster', 'Mickey Mouse Journalism'...I just left him there holding on to his guts !'
Yaxley stood and walked round behind Trent. He was considering twisting the Londoners ears. 'By the way Trent' he said, 'The matter of the illegal land acquisition by yourself and Cedric Morgan while local councillors is now in the hands of the Serious Crime Squad. Morgan has confessed to the lot. I'll be handing that one over as it isn't within my Drainage jurisdiction. My only concern with Thompson's Wood is that it may have been sufficient motive for you to run Dixon through with a pitchfork'. Trent strained to look over his shoulder at Farcett, 'Why would I kill the bloke ? The way the public enquiry is going over the building of the Power Station it'll be years before the damn thing's built. If anyone had a motive, it was Morgan. He's the one with the rising career.'
'But he has an alibi, and you haven't', replied Farcett. 'And you were going down to Split Feather Farm on Friday to see John weren't you ? That places you at the farm at the time of the murder.' Farcett indulged himself and grabbed Trent's ears and gave them a quick but very sharp twist, before shouting 'And you needn't have bothered, because the miserable sod knew already. His mum had caught them at it months ago...you needn't have bothered going down there.'
Trent rubbed his ears and glared at Farcett as he sat down. Dave 'Stumpy' Stumpsfield spoke for the first time since they had walked into Interview Room Two. 'You might as well tell us it all Graham. The games up old mate'.
'Alright...Straight Yeah ? I got a couple of mates from Cambridge to visit old Fred Rickett's a couple of times...just to move things along a bit. I didn't know they'd done his dog in - honest. If you say Morgan has grassed me up, I'll just have to take my chances on that. But as far as killing Dixon goes, you're out of order. I may be a lot of things but I'm no murderer. I went down to Cauliflower Drove at about half past seven on Friday morning, knowing I'd see John about somewhere. After listening to Dixon's 'holier than thou' bullshit the night before I just wanted to tell John what his wife was getting up to...let him know how his duvet was being disturbed on a Thursday afternoon' Farcett interrupted, 'And he took the wind out of your sails ?' Trent nodded. 'Yeah he did. We stood there chatting and he told me the lot. Did some right crying on my shoulder'. 'Then what happened ?' asked Yaxley. 'I told him that what he'd told me wouldn't go any further and I left, just as that bloody wind got up. The land was already starting to blow down at the bottom of that field'. Yaxley started: 'The ten acre field, where Dixon was found ?' 'If you say so' replied Trent. 'So you just left John Worthington standing there at the side of the drain and left ?' Trent nodded. 'And as the Fen started to blow up around my ears I saw Reg Dixon come staggering across the field from the other direction. He was still drunk from the previous night I reckon...and he was heading straight for John Worthington !'
