The Colour of Her Eyes
The Colour of Her Eyes
SUSSEX POLICE. ARUN DISTRICT. BOGNOR SOUTH.
11.15. 20 March
DI HARRIS - John Stanley Dexter
"Yes, she was a pretty girl, if I remember rightly".
"What does that mean, if you remember? She was either pretty, or she wasn't".
"It's an expression".
"I don't need expressions. I need to know. Anyway, it doesn't strike me as being an expression. Strikes me as being an evasion".
"Yeah I reckon. Strikes me as you saying you don't really want to admit she was pretty. Or that you found her pretty".
"Why would I do that?"
"Hey. We have a system here. It goes like this. I ask a question. You answer".
" So, you tell me, why would you not want to admit? That she was pretty?"
"I don't know...why I would do that. There's no reason".
"There's a reason for everything".
"I know you do, you believe in chance. Or let's put it this way, you say you believe in chance. Coincidences".
"I prefer to call them correspondences. Parallel sort of things, happening."
"Call them what you fucking well like. I'm not going into that psychic crap. Just answer the fucking question. Was she pretty?"
"I suppose so."
"You suppose? If you remember rightly?"
"OK, she was pretty".
"She was pretty. Jesus how long is this going to take."
"Takes as long as it takes, I suppose".
"I wasn't asking you. It was just..."
"Don't fuck around with me John. What was she wearing?"
"What do you mean when, when when when, what are we talking about here?"
"A dance. A school dance. A disco. She was wearing what you'd wear at a dance."
"I wouldn't wear what she was wearing. I'm not a fourteen year old girl".
"You're kidding? You had me there for a minute."
"What was she wearing?"
"I told you, she was wearing what a girl would wear, dancing, clubbing".
"You didn't, you told me she was wearing what I, me, a Sussex copper, what I would wear at a dance".
"I meant what one would wear at a dance. One."
"Enough of the fucking English grammar lesson, you're not a schoolteacher. Anymore".
"Once a teacher, always a teacher".
"Once a fucking evasive bastard, always a fucking evasive bastard. Look John, the point is. The reason we're sitting here. You were a schoolteacher then, at that disco. So, tell me, what was she wearing?"
"No top? Like some kind of south sea maiden?"
"Of course she was wearing a top. I just started by mentioning the skirt".
"Probably because they usually wear jeans".
"Who, who usually wear jeans?"
"You spend a lot of time looking at teenage girls?"
"I was a teacher, didn't have much choice".