only turning as she heard the sound of an electric wheelchair behind her.
Ex-detective Barry Southwood wheezed as he brought the chair to a standstill. He was grossly overweight, his belly almost resting on his knees.
‘Barry Southwood?’ she asked.
He stared at her, red-faced with thinning, greased-back hair.
‘I am Detective Sergeant Anna Travis.’ She was about to open her bag and show her identification.
‘Jesus Christ! How old are you, for God’s sake?’
‘I’m twenty-six.’
‘Twenty-six and a DS? Fucking ridiculous! My day, you’d have to have been in the force a good ten years. You come out of university a penpusher and they bump you straight up through the ranks!’
‘Could we go somewhere to talk?’ Her jaw felt tight.
Southwood shook his head, sweat drops flicking like the spray from a shower. ‘They took their fucking time, then they send me a fucking kid! Disrespectful load of shites. Well, you can fuck off, tell them to send me a real copper.’
‘Mr Southwood, I’ve come a long way to talk to you. I am on the murder enquiry and you said you had some information that might help us.’
‘Well, you can just go back and tell them to fuck themselves.’
Stepping closer, Anna could smell the alcohol.
‘Moira Sedley sends you her regards. She spoke very highly of you,’ she lied.
‘Who?’
‘Moira Sedley. She was with the Vice team you used to be on. Blonde.’
‘Oh yeah, big tits. Slag.’
From above came the sound of moaning, then a high-pitched howl, followed by further moaning. Southwood started to turn his chair round, wheezing as he did so.
‘Don’t pay any attention. Come on through.’ His chair disappeared through two open double doors at the end of the hall.
Anna could identify the sound of a girl’s moans and groans and then, as she entered the massive open drawing room, the sound behind her changed to shrieks of laughter.
Southwood was pouring himself a drink. ‘Used to have a view of the marina before the cunts built up that block of flats.’ He indicated the bottle of Scotch.
‘No, thank you. But I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.’
‘Help yourself.’ He opened a bottle of soda and poured some into a tumbler half full of Scotch. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Anna. Anna Travis.’
‘Cheers.’ He gulped at his whisky and then burped loudly. The chair buzzed over to the open window.
‘I have a return flight,’ she said, following him. The floor-to-ceiling windows opened on to a terrace. ‘I have to be at the airport by three.’ She was grateful for the slight breeze from the window.
Southwood gazed out to his empty pool.
‘Is there a reward?’
‘I’m afraid not, no,’ she said matter-of-factly, sipping some water.
Opening a flap on the side of his chair, Southwood took out a pack of cigarettes. Heaving for breath, he lit up. Anna watched his face getting redder as he sucked in the smoke.
‘You said that you had information,’ she repeated.
‘Maybe. Sit down.’
Anna sunk into a large sofa with pale pink floral cushions and gilt fringes hanging loose. She positioned herself away from the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table in front of her. Southwood had aimed his ash towards it, but missed.
‘Who’s heading up the enquiry?’ he gasped.
‘DCI James Langton and the chief superintendent is Eric Thompson, Commander Jane’
He waved his hand, impatiently. ‘All right, all right … never heard of them. Bloody female commanders now. I know they gotta put the friggin’ women up the ranks, ‘cos it’s all discrimination nowadays, but they’re bloody useless. Never met one that knew what she was doing.’
‘How did you hear about the case?’
He sipped his drink, clutching the glass with puffy fingers stained with nicotine.
‘I was at the dentist. Someone had left some English newspapers. I don’t usually bother with them: out of sight, out of mind. Said you got another Ripper on the loose.’
‘Yes, the
Ex-detective Barry Southwood wheezed as he brought the chair to a standstill. He was grossly overweight, his belly almost resting on his knees.
‘Barry Southwood?’ she asked.
He stared at her, red-faced with thinning, greased-back hair.
‘I am Detective Sergeant Anna Travis.’ She was about to open her bag and show her identification.
‘Jesus Christ! How old are you, for God’s sake?’
‘I’m twenty-six.’
‘Twenty-six and a DS? Fucking ridiculous! My day, you’d have to have been in the force a good ten years. You come out of university a penpusher and they bump you straight up through the ranks!’
‘Could we go somewhere to talk?’ Her jaw felt tight.
Southwood shook his head, sweat drops flicking like the spray from a shower. ‘They took their fucking time, then they send me a fucking kid! Disrespectful load of shites. Well, you can fuck off, tell them to send me a real copper.’
‘Mr Southwood, I’ve come a long way to talk to you. I am on the murder enquiry and you said you had some information that might help us.’
‘Well, you can just go back and tell them to fuck themselves.’
Stepping closer, Anna could smell the alcohol.
‘Moira Sedley sends you her regards. She spoke very highly of you,’ she lied.
‘Who?’
‘Moira Sedley. She was with the Vice team you used to be on. Blonde.’
‘Oh yeah, big tits. Slag.’
From above came the sound of moaning, then a high-pitched howl, followed by further moaning. Southwood started to turn his chair round, wheezing as he did so.
‘Don’t pay any attention. Come on through.’ His chair disappeared through two open double doors at the end of the hall.
Anna could identify the sound of a girl’s moans and groans and then, as she entered the massive open drawing room, the sound behind her changed to shrieks of laughter.
Southwood was pouring himself a drink. ‘Used to have a view of the marina before the cunts built up that block of flats.’ He indicated the bottle of Scotch.
‘No, thank you. But I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.’
‘Help yourself.’ He opened a bottle of soda and poured some into a tumbler half full of Scotch. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Anna. Anna Travis.’
‘Cheers.’ He gulped at his whisky and then burped loudly. The chair buzzed over to the open window.
‘I have a return flight,’ she said, following him. The floor-to-ceiling windows opened on to a terrace. ‘I have to be at the airport by three.’ She was grateful for the slight breeze from the window.
Southwood gazed out to his empty pool.
‘Is there a reward?’
‘I’m afraid not, no,’ she said matter-of-factly, sipping some water.
Opening a flap on the side of his chair, Southwood took out a pack of cigarettes. Heaving for breath, he lit up. Anna watched his face getting redder as he sucked in the smoke.
‘You said that you had information,’ she repeated.
‘Maybe. Sit down.’
Anna sunk into a large sofa with pale pink floral cushions and gilt fringes hanging loose. She positioned herself away from the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table in front of her. Southwood had aimed his ash towards it, but missed.
‘Who’s heading up the enquiry?’ he gasped.
‘DCI James Langton and the chief superintendent is Eric Thompson, Commander Jane’
He waved his hand, impatiently. ‘All right, all right … never heard of them. Bloody female commanders now. I know they gotta put the friggin’ women up the ranks, ‘cos it’s all discrimination nowadays, but they’re bloody useless. Never met one that knew what she was doing.’
‘How did you hear about the case?’
He sipped his drink, clutching the glass with puffy fingers stained with nicotine.
‘I was at the dentist. Someone had left some English newspapers. I don’t usually bother with them: out of sight, out of mind. Said you got another Ripper on the loose.’
‘Yes, the
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