neck. “
What?
Why me? He has a big family. Why don’t you just get one of them to do it?”
“None of his family have shown up, and it doesn’t look like they will. Probably ashamed. You knew him, didn’t you?”
“Not that well,” lied Karl, his stomach tensing.
“Well enough, it seems. We found one of your business cards in his possession.” It sounded like an accusation.
Think! Quickly!
“And? My business cards are everywhere. They’re collectors’ items. Anyway, I’m with a client at the –”
“I
haven’t
time for dick pulling. I could have you dragged in here, questioned, day after day. Instead, I’m calling in one of the many favours you owe me. We need to get this body shifted. Chief Constable Finnegan is breathing down my neck. He’s taking a personal interest in all this, by the sound of his voice on the phone this morning. Now, are you coming or not?”
Karl could detect smothered impatience in Wilson’s voice. The added pressure coming from the Chief Constable probably had Wilson’s nerves hanging by a thread – if not his balls.
“When you put it so delicately, how can I refuse? Give me about an hour,” said Karl, killing the phone conversation with a touch of a button.
“What was that all about?” asked Naomi, popping back into the room.
“I really wish you would stop eavesdropping on my phone conversations. I’m paranoid enough without you adding to it. Chris Brown was murdered last night. Shot, apparently by drug dealers.”
“Chris Brown?”
“A man with a very murky past, lots of enemies and few friends. He was also a paraplegic.”
“A paraplegic? God. And they shot him? What kind of person would do that?”
“The kind of person I always try to avoid.”
“Any suspects?”
“Ten phone books,” replied Karl. “Chris Brown wouldn’t be a candidate for free air miles to heaven. Killed an awful lot of people, in his time. Sorrow and tears weren’t part of his vocabulary.”
“Still, I can’t help feeling sorry for him, despite all that he supposedly did.”
“No
supposedly
about it, Naomi. Fact. Anyway, you’d feel sorry for the Devil, if he whispered a good enough sob story into your pretty ears about Michael the Archangel stomping on his tail,” muttered Karl. “Most people would say that’s the deathbed Chris made, and that he probably had all this coming to him. One thing though I don’t fully believe.”
“What?”
“Wilson’s theory of drug dealers appearing in the night to exact their revenge.”
“Why? Sounds plausible to me, from everything you’ve just said about the man.”
“Wilson said that a quantity of heroin was found at the scene.”
“And? That would back up the drug-dealing story. Wouldn’t it?”
Karl shook his head, smiling cynically. “No matter how much of a hurry they are in, my dear, pirates never leave their booty behind …”
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
Wednesday, 14 February (Afternoon)
‘Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
’Twas best to take it to the grave.’
A. E. Housman,
A Shropshire Lad
“H ICKS IS AT court today, thank goodness,” said Wilson, accompanying Karl and Cairns down the narrow corridor. “We’ve only his assistant to contend with. Some kid from school on work experience. What a place to get work experience.”
“You’re very quiet, Cairns,” said Karl, glancing at the detective. A nasty-looking rash covered the young man’s face. “Nice rash. Looks like you and Bulldog must have been having unprotected sex.”
“Fuck you, Kane,” snapped Cairns.
“No, you can keep that for Bulldog, thank you. Speaking of Bulldog, I suppose it must be awfully hard for a dummy to talk when the ventriloquist isn’t here. Where is the loyal bloodhound?”
“What is it with you and winding people up?” asked Wilson.
“If they have a key sticking out of their arse, that’s what it’s for,” replied Karl, never
What?
Why me? He has a big family. Why don’t you just get one of them to do it?”
“None of his family have shown up, and it doesn’t look like they will. Probably ashamed. You knew him, didn’t you?”
“Not that well,” lied Karl, his stomach tensing.
“Well enough, it seems. We found one of your business cards in his possession.” It sounded like an accusation.
Think! Quickly!
“And? My business cards are everywhere. They’re collectors’ items. Anyway, I’m with a client at the –”
“I
haven’t
time for dick pulling. I could have you dragged in here, questioned, day after day. Instead, I’m calling in one of the many favours you owe me. We need to get this body shifted. Chief Constable Finnegan is breathing down my neck. He’s taking a personal interest in all this, by the sound of his voice on the phone this morning. Now, are you coming or not?”
Karl could detect smothered impatience in Wilson’s voice. The added pressure coming from the Chief Constable probably had Wilson’s nerves hanging by a thread – if not his balls.
“When you put it so delicately, how can I refuse? Give me about an hour,” said Karl, killing the phone conversation with a touch of a button.
“What was that all about?” asked Naomi, popping back into the room.
“I really wish you would stop eavesdropping on my phone conversations. I’m paranoid enough without you adding to it. Chris Brown was murdered last night. Shot, apparently by drug dealers.”
“Chris Brown?”
“A man with a very murky past, lots of enemies and few friends. He was also a paraplegic.”
“A paraplegic? God. And they shot him? What kind of person would do that?”
“The kind of person I always try to avoid.”
“Any suspects?”
“Ten phone books,” replied Karl. “Chris Brown wouldn’t be a candidate for free air miles to heaven. Killed an awful lot of people, in his time. Sorrow and tears weren’t part of his vocabulary.”
“Still, I can’t help feeling sorry for him, despite all that he supposedly did.”
“No
supposedly
about it, Naomi. Fact. Anyway, you’d feel sorry for the Devil, if he whispered a good enough sob story into your pretty ears about Michael the Archangel stomping on his tail,” muttered Karl. “Most people would say that’s the deathbed Chris made, and that he probably had all this coming to him. One thing though I don’t fully believe.”
“What?”
“Wilson’s theory of drug dealers appearing in the night to exact their revenge.”
“Why? Sounds plausible to me, from everything you’ve just said about the man.”
“Wilson said that a quantity of heroin was found at the scene.”
“And? That would back up the drug-dealing story. Wouldn’t it?”
Karl shook his head, smiling cynically. “No matter how much of a hurry they are in, my dear, pirates never leave their booty behind …”
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
Wednesday, 14 February (Afternoon)
‘Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
’Twas best to take it to the grave.’
A. E. Housman,
A Shropshire Lad
“H ICKS IS AT court today, thank goodness,” said Wilson, accompanying Karl and Cairns down the narrow corridor. “We’ve only his assistant to contend with. Some kid from school on work experience. What a place to get work experience.”
“You’re very quiet, Cairns,” said Karl, glancing at the detective. A nasty-looking rash covered the young man’s face. “Nice rash. Looks like you and Bulldog must have been having unprotected sex.”
“Fuck you, Kane,” snapped Cairns.
“No, you can keep that for Bulldog, thank you. Speaking of Bulldog, I suppose it must be awfully hard for a dummy to talk when the ventriloquist isn’t here. Where is the loyal bloodhound?”
“What is it with you and winding people up?” asked Wilson.
“If they have a key sticking out of their arse, that’s what it’s for,” replied Karl, never
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