Crooked by Camilla Nelson Page B

of furniture. There was a sofa upholstered with green dancing dragonflies and beside it, a teak wood table with claw-and-ball legs, littered with bottles and glasses, and an open jar of cold cream with a fag end sticking out. A thick jungle of chandeliers hung down from the ceiling.
    Pigeye settled himself on the sofa. ‘Mrs Brennan?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜That would be Dolly Brennan?’
    Dolly located a box in the shape of a Buddha among the debris. ‘I reckon you know that already, Mr Donaldson.’
    Pigeye made an elaborate tick in his notebook. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want to get that wrong.’
    Dolly extracted a cigarette from the Buddha and fitted it to a black plastic fag holder, which she clicked between her teeth. ‘I don’t really know I’ve got anything to say that I didn’t tell the coppers already. I was there at the Latin Quarter on the night of the shooting, but it was getting kind of late. I was pretty lit up, and getting ready to leave. Next thing, some bloke squeals, “Look out, he’s got a gun.” I hear a sound like crackers and this funny-looking bloke is laying dead on the floor.’
    â€˜And?’ said Gus.
    Dolly turned towards a side table and fumbled for a match. She lit her cigarette and waved the match thoughtfully, dropping it, still burning, into a black onyx ashtray. ‘And nothing,’ she said, blowing a half yard of billowing smoke up to the ceiling.
    â€˜I guess that about wraps it up then,’ said Pigeye, and picked up his hat.
    â€˜Hang about.’ Gus sensed there was something awry, though he wasn’t really sure what it was. He said, ‘I find out you’re lying about this, like you lied about Harry … well, youthink that was grief, I promise this will be more grief than you ever dreamed.’
    Gus let the threat hang there, then walked to the door. ‘Come on, I reckon we’re wasting our time.’
    â€˜No, wait.’ Dolly raised her head slightly, pressing her fingers to her temples. Then, eyeing the half bottle of scotch on the table, she poured a neat inch into a tumbler and tossed it straight back. ‘I didn’t say anything before and I know it was wrong, but I’ve got my reasons. I would’ve mentioned it earlier. Only they told me. They warned me –’
    Gus interrupted, ‘Who warned you? Sammy Lee?’
    Dolly gave a shrill, artificial laugh. ‘Oh, Sammy, I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s as sweet as they come. But Sammy’s got problems.’ She took a long drag on her cigarette, and started again. ‘It was late in the evening. Just before three. I was talking to a couple of blokes at the bar and this other bloke is trying to squeeze past me. Anyway, I’m ready to give him a piece of my mind when I feel something hard strike my foot. I bend down and see that it’s a very large pistol. So I look hard at the bloke who’s dropped it, and I say, “That’s a funny thing to drop.” But the bloke doesn’t say anything. He just picks up his gun and puts it back in his pocket.’ Dolly’s manner was almost perfect.
    â€˜What did this bloke look like?’
    â€˜Like Ducky O’Connor.’
    â€˜How do you know? Have you met O’Connor before?’
    Dolly affected to look shocked. ‘Do you reckon I’d know somebody like that? After he was shot, they put his picture in the papers. I recognised him from the photograph.’
    â€˜Think about this carefully. Do you remember the gun?’
    â€˜I’m pretty sure it was a Dreyse,’ said Dolly, brightly. Gus stared across the room in blazing disbelief. Dolly pulled herself upright, indignant. ‘I could see the gun. I couldn’t have missed it. It fell right on my foot.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you tell the officers at the scene then?’
    â€˜Because Sammy tells me I’m making a fuss. He says it could’ve been