Linda flashed a quick look at her partner, who was enjoying himself far too much to help her out. He leaned forward and poured out three mugs of coffee. Looking like she’d bitten into a pickled lemon, Linda said, ‘We’ve received an allegation which my inspector felt merited investigation.’
‘From whom? About whom?’ I demanded, best grammar on show.
She poured milk into her coffee and made a major production number out of stirring it. ‘Our informant alleges that you have engaged in a campaign of threats against the life of one Richard Barclay.’
I was beyond speech. I was beyond movement. I sat with my mouth open, hand halfway towards a mug of coffee, like a Damien Hirst installation floating motionless in formaldehyde.
‘The complainant alleges that this harassment has included placing false death announcements in the local press. We have verified that such an advert has appeared. And now Mr Barclay appears to have gone missing,’ the male detective asserted, sitting back in his seat, legs wide apart, arm along the back of the sofa, asserting himself all over my living room.
Anger kicked in. ‘And this informant. It wouldn’t be an anonymous tip-off, would it?’
He looked at her, his face puzzled, hers resigned. ‘You know we can’t disclose that,’ Linda said wearily. ‘But we have been trying without success to contact Mr Barclay since nine this morning, and as my colleague says, we have confirmed that a death announcement was placed in the
I’d had enough. ‘Bollocks,’ I said. ‘We both know what’s really happening here. You get an anonymous tip-off and your boss rubs his hands with glee. Oh goody, a border line legitimate excuse to nip round and make Brannigan’s life a misery. You’ve got no evidence that any crime has taken place. Even if somebody did place a bullshit ad in the
‘It’s our duty to investigate serious allegations,’ the Tyson lookalike rumbled. ‘And so far you haven’t explained why anyone would want to accuse you of a serious crime like this. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing most people do unless they’ve got a good reason for it. Like knowing about some crime you’ve committed, Ms Brannigan.’
I stood up. I was inches away from really giving them something to arrest me for. ‘Right,’ I said, furious. ‘Out. Now. Never mind finishing your coffee. This is bollocks and you know it. You want to talk to Richard, sit outside on your arses and waste the taxpayers’ money until he comes home. The reason you haven’t been able to contact him, soft lad, is because he’s a rock journalist. He doesn’t answer his phone to the likes of you, and right now, he’s probably sitting in some dive listening to a very bad band desperate to attract his attention. He’ll be in the perfect mood to deal with this crap when he gets home. Now you,’ I added, leaning forward and pointing straight between his astonished eyes, ‘are new in my life, so you probably don’t know there’s a hidden agenda here.’
I swung round to point at Linda, who was also on her feet and edging towards the door. ‘But you should know better, lady. Now walk, before I have to drag Ruth Hunter away from her favourite TV cop to slap you with a suit for harassment. Bugger off and bother some proper villains. Or don’t you know any? Are you kicking your heels waiting for me to provide you with enough evidence to arrest some?’
Linda was halfway through the door by the time I’d finished my tirade. Her sidekick looked from me to her and back again before deciding that he’d better follow her and find out what the real story was here. I didn’t bother seeing them out.
I couldn’t believe Linda Shaw had let herself be sucked into Cliff Jackson’s spiteful little game. But then, he was the boss, she had a career to think about, and women don’t climb the career ladder in the police force by telling their bosses to shove their stupid vendettas where the perverts shove their gerbils. And as for their anonymous source — that cheeky, malicious little toad Will Allen was going to pay for ruining my evening. If he thought he could frighten me off with a bit of police harassment, he was in for the rudest shock of his life.
Chapter 10
The front door closed on a silence so tremendous I could hear the blood beating in my brain. The last time I’d been this angry had nearly cost me my relationship with Richard, who had infuriated me to the point where violence seemed the most attractive option. This time it had been a police officer I’d nearly decked. The repercussions from that might have been less emotionally traumatic, but they would probably have cost me just as much in different ways. On the other hand, trying to sell a share in a business where the remaining partner is on bail for assault would present Bill with one or two problems…I nearly ran after Linda Shaw and begged her to wind me up again.
I rotated my head enthusiastically in a bid to loosen some of the knots the CID had put there and went through to the kitchen. I wasn’t about to let Linda Shaw put me off the job I had planned for later that night, but I could allow myself the necessary indulgence of one stiff drink. I raked around in the freezer until I found the half- bottle of Polish lemon pepper vodka I’d been saving for a rainy day and poured the last sluggish inch into a tall slim tumbler. There was no freshly squeezed grapefruit juice in the fridge, which tells you all you need to know about the week I was having. I had to settle for a mixer bottle lurking behind the cheese. It needed the kind of shaking I’d wanted to give Linda Shaw. I’d barely swallowed the first mouthful when the silence gave up the ghost under the onslaught of the patio doors opening from the conservatory.
‘Brannigan?’ I heard.
Stifling a groan, I reached back into the fridge and pulled out one of the bottles Richard periodically donates from his world beer collection so he doesn’t have to walk all the way back to his kitchen when he’s in my bed. Staropramen from Prague, I noted irrelevantly as I grasped the bottle opener, wishing I were there. ‘Kitchen,’ I called.
‘Hullawrerrhen,’ said another voice behind me. At least, that’s what I think it said. I turned to see Dan Druff grinning warily in the doorway. Silently, I handed him the Czech beer and reached for the next bottle in line. Radeberger Pilsner. I popped the top just as Richard appeared alongside Dan.
‘What the hell were Pinky and Perky after?’ Richard demanded after the first half of the bottle had cleared his oesophagus.
‘They spoke to you?’
He nodded. ‘Weird as fuck. They were just getting into their motor when we pulled up. The brick shithouse got all excited and said, “That’s him,” to the Chris Cagney wannabe. She looked absolutely parrot and got out of the car.’
Richard paused to swallow again and Dan took up the tale. ‘She comes across to us and says to your man, “Are you Richard Barclay?” and he goes, “Yeah, who’s asking?” And she goes, “Police. Have you been the victim of any death threats?” And he looks at her as if she’s just dropped off the planet Demented and shakes his head.’
‘So she turns round and says, “Satisfied?” to her partner. She sounds dead narked, he looks as bemused as I feel, and off the pair of them go, little trotters twinkling all the way back to their unmarked pigsty,’ Richard concluded. ‘Now, I might not be Mastermind, but I reckon there’s a higher chance of me winning the Lottery than there is of that little encounter being completely unconnected to you.’
‘I cannot tell a lie,’ I said.
Richard snorted. To Dan, he said, ‘Do you know the story about the two Cretans? One could only tell lies, the other could only tell the truth. Guess which one is Brannigan?’
‘Hey,’ I protested. ‘This man is my client.’
‘That’s right,’ Dan said. ‘Gonnae no’ take the mince out of her?’
