Friday Feeling (6/8) By Nick Quantrill

(1/8), (2/8), (3/8), (4/8), (5/8), (6/8), (7/8), (8/8).

Coleman raised his eyebrows wearily. 'Why does he bother? He'll tell us sooner or later.' 'Tell me about it. It can wait though. Young hasn't gone anywhere for 30 years, he isn't likely to leave the country over £4,000, is he?' 'I doubt it. I'd rather have spent 30 minutes chatting to Coxon instead of that piece of shit, Craig Melton, who I've just been talking to.' Maynard laughed. 'You're probably right. What was you talking to him about?' 'I think he's involved in that spate of car crimes I'm looking at for the DI.'

'Sounds about right for him.' 'So, what are you going to do about Eddie Young?' 'Wait and see what Coxon turns up for me, I guess.' 'It's not going to be easy. You're going to need a confession from either Young or whoever he got to pull the job. You're going to need somebody to talk.' Maynard considered this. 'Fair enough, but it's still a crime and I don't like people taking liberties with us.'

'That's true, but I'm sure we'll get something to do next week that'll be deemed more important, and you'll have to drop the investigation.' Maynard closed his computer down. 'You're probably right, but it just really rankles with me. I don't like to think of some toe-rag sat in the pub laughing about us, saying that we can't touch him.' Coleman nodded his agreement. 'I hear you, but I suppose that we've got to be pragmatic about it. We can't solve every crime.' Maynard stood up, scooped up his mobile phone and put his coat on. 'It doesn't make it any easier to take though. I'm off. I'll see you on Monday.'

Friday 7.00pm Maynard turned onto Freetown Way and made his way towards Spring Bank. He glanced at his watch, nearly 8 o'clock; late again. Melanie would no doubt be sat silently brooding when he arrived home. Melanie's job ran strictly to office hours, whereas his role was becoming ever demanding. He promised both himself and Melanie that he wouldn't allow it to take over his life, but it was rapidly beginning to do so.

It was a small comfort, but at least he could be thankful for the fact that he wouldn't have to sit in the rush-hour traffic. He glanced down to the light that had just illuminated on his dashboard.

Cursing his luck, he looked at the light telling him that his fuel was low. As he turned onto Princes Avenue, he indicated and pulled into the petrol station. He turned the ignition off and got out into the cold air to refuel his car, savouring the lingering smell of petrol as he did so. Maynard fumbled for his wallet as he made his way into the station to pay for his purchase. Climbing back into his car, he drove towards the petrol station's exit but was struck by the thought that it was Friday night. It'd be nice to relax with Melanie and a few tasty treats. He reversed his car into a space around the back of station and made his way into the shop.

The station now housed a sizeable convenience store that you had to pass-through on your way to the cashiers' desk to pay for your petrol. He looked around and thought it was easy to see why people like Eddie Young were being squeezed out of business. He could see everything from the basic necessities like bread and milk, through to a selection of chocolate and biscuits, and a range of magazines and CDs that would put WH Smiths to shame. Knowing that he had to make up his late arrival to Melanie, what could be better than a selection of chocolate and crisps to eat while cuddled up on the settee?

Continued... Next Page (7/8)

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