Chapter III

John Tyler woke and swore as he realised that he was still lying on the sofa. He massaged his left arm with his other hand to try and encourage some feeling back into it that had gone while he had slept awkwardly for the few hours since he had been back. The mug of cold coffee was on the floor by his feet as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and then ran both hands back across his thinning hair. Still pretty fit at fifty, he was wide-awake within a matter of minutes. He pulled off yesterday's socks and disdainfully rolled them into a ball then leaned back and pulled off the dirty blue jeans. If Sally had been around he would have screwed hell out of her. She wasn't and before he could allow himself the opportunity to regret it he grabbed his boots, socks and jeans and marched into the bedroom, stripped off and turned on the shower. John never thought much about himself. His life had always been lived along the lines others had led. His everyday actions were automatic. The navy had given him self-discipline, to follow orders and to respect those more intelligent than him. A period in the police force had taught him how to get away with a few tricks but he had spent most of his life in the building trade. He had built his own house, plumbed it, painted it, laid the carpets and had not particularly wanted any help with the wiring but the man from the Electricity Board had insisted. If he had not met Chris Austin that is probably what he would still be doing. Soapy water began to trickle slowly down his back then turned to a clear torrent as the shower spray burst upon him. He energetically cleansed himself of the previous day's sweat as if with it would be washed away the memories of what he had done. It was generally agreed, amongst 'the old crowd', that John Tyler knew a lot more about what had happened to Chris than he would say. The police knew it and had got pretty close on one of the several interviews, as they politely termed the grillings they had put him through. Few really cared now. The past was the past. They had all lost something - money in most cases, one way or the other - pride, too, and, for a while, a future. Tyler had not lost anything to speak of. He had been grateful to Chris for a chance to get into something a bit more challenging than putting bricks together. He had been paid right up to the end and had no complaints, except for what was going on then. The phone was ringing but he didn't notice.