Long Time Dead (Gus Dury 4) by Tony Black Page A

the SP, Detective?’
    ‘Erm, well … no’ much change since the briefing.’ He turned to me. ‘This is the bloke that found him.’
    The super put steely-blue eyes on me; I felt frozen in his gaze.For a moment I thought he might speak, but he merely sussed me out, drew what he could from my appearance – by the kip of me, I dreaded to think what that might be.
    The super took the notebook from the detective, flicking back a few pages. He halted on one or two points. I watched him wet his lips with a flash of grey tongue. The piercing eyes seemed to be recording every detail; he unnerved me.
    ‘That’s enough, Detective,’ he said, ‘back to work. I’ll expect your report on my desk in the morning.’
    ‘The morning … It’s the middle of—’
    The super lifted his head; it was enough.
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    As plod departed I was left alone with the top boy. He spoke to me for the first time: ‘So, Mr Dury …’
    Was it a conversational gambit? I didn’t bite. Held schtum.
    He put his hands behind his back, turned and nodded to the car park. ‘Shall we take a walk?’
    Couldn’t say it appealed to me, but I followed on. He had a strong stride, spoke as he walked. ‘You have a name I hear cropping up quite a bit these days.’
    ‘That so?’
    A piranha smirk. ‘Oh, yes.’ He stretched out the vowel.
    ‘Well, better than no one talking about me, I suppose.’
    We’d reached the bourne of the car park. ‘I don’t believe I’ve given you my name.’ He extended his hand. ‘Chief Superintendent Charles Henderson.’
    I shook his hand, but it felt unnatural.
    ‘What interest do you have in this … case, Mr Dury?’
    I played him. ‘By case, do you mean Calder’s murder … or are you including Ben Laird’s too?’
    He brought a gloved hand up to his chin, rubbed the spot where most men would have stubble at this time of the night, said, ‘What makes you think either were murdered?’
    I let out a sigh. Most people would have taken that as an indication that I wasn’t playing the game but Henderson didn’t faze.‘Well, Ben aside, for the moment, if you were properly briefed tonight you’d know that I’d heard movement in the hall before I found Calder.’
    He smiled. ‘It was probably just the wind. It’s a draughty old hall.’
    Couldn’t believe I was hearing this, said, ‘Are you serious?’
    The smile remained. ‘I’m deadly serious … there’s no way he was murdered, Mr Dury – we found a suicide note.’
    First Ben dies, put down as a gasper; then Calder’s a suicide. Aye, right. I didn’t button up the back.
    I said, ‘The note was typed, I suppose.’
    ‘On Calder’s computer.’ Henderson blinked – first sign I had that he was human. ‘There’s no disputing it’s his.’
    There was no way I was buying this, arked up, ‘If you think I’m stupid enough to believe—’
    He raised a gloved hand, smirked. ‘Mr Dury, I’m sure you’re not stupid enough to challenge the official version of events.’
    I eyeballed him, making sure he got my meaning. ‘What you mean is … surely I’m not stupid enough to challenge you .’
    He remained calm, quiet; kept that firm gaze of his on me. That earlier blink now seemed like a momentary lapse of concentration. He was back in character.
    I turned, headed out of the car park. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might pack in at any moment. I was deeper into this caper than I’d imagined; wondered if it was going to be the end of me. If filth – right at the top of the ladder – were taking an interest, it couldn’t be good … but this turn was the worst yet. Felt as if I’d waded deep into shit creek.
    On the street I turned, stared back into the dead of night. Henderson was gone, the spot on the tarmac where he’d stood now bathed in blue light flashing from a stream of exiting police cars.

Chapter 13
     
    I PROPPED MYSELF IN A Southside bar. Felt so wasted by lack of sleep and mental exhaustion I couldn’t even