Read Online Clean Break by Val McDermid - Free Book Online Page B

into computer games, then?” I asked. Time to check out just how much I had in common with this breathtaking profile.
    â€œI have a 486 multi-media system in my spare room. Does that answer the question?”
    â€œIt’s not what you’ve got, it’s what you do with it that counts,” I replied. As soon as I’d spoken, I wished I was on a five-second delay loop, like radio phone-ins.
    He grinned and listed his current favorites. We were still arguing the relative merits of submarine simulations when he pulled up outside a snooker supplies shop in an unpromising part of Stockport Road. A short walk down the pavement brought us to That Café, an unpretentious restaurant done out in Thirties style. I’d heard plenty of good reports about it, but I’d never quite made it across the door before. The locale had put me off for one thing. Call me fussy, but I like to be sure that my car’s still going to be waiting for me after I’ve finished dinner.
    The interior looked like flea market meets Irish country pub, but the menu had me salivating. The waitress, dressed in jeans, a Deacon Blue T-shirt, big fuck-off Doc Marten boots and a long white French waiter’s apron, showed us to a quiet corner table next to a blazing fire. OK, they only had one vodka, but at least it wasn’t some locally distilled garbage with a phony Russian name.
    As our starters arrived, I said ruefully, “I wish finding Henry Naismith’s Monet was as easy as a computer game.”
    â€œYeah. At least with games, there’s always a bulletin board you can access for hints. I suppose you’re out on your own with this,” Michael said.
    â€œNot entirely on my own,” I corrected him. “I do have one or two contacts.”
    He swallowed his mouthful of food and looked slightly pained. “Is that why you agreed to have dinner with me?” he asked.
    â€œOnly partly.”
    â€œWhat was the other part?” he asked, obviously fishing.
    â€œI enjoy a good scoff, and I like interesting conversation with it.”
I was back in control of myself, the adolescent firmly stuffed back into the box marked “not wanted on voyage.”
    â€œAnd you thought I’d be an interesting conversationalist, did you?”
    â€œBound to be,” I said sweetly. “You’re an insurance man, and right now insurance claims are one of my principal interests.”
    We ate in silence for a few moments, then he said, “I take it you were behind the story in the Chronicle ?”
    I shrugged. “I like to stir the pot. That way, the scum rises to the surface.”
    â€œYou certainly stirred things around our office,” Michael said drily.
    â€œThe people have a right to know,” I said, self-righteously quoting Alexis.
    â€œCheers,” Michael said, clinking his glass against mine. “Here’s to a profitable relationship.”
    â€œOh, you mean Fortissimus are going to hire Mortensen and Brannigan?” I asked innocently.
    He grinned again. “I think I’ll pass on that one. I simply meant that with luck, you might track down Henry Naismith’s Monet.”
    â€œSpeaking of which,” I said, “I spoke to Henry this afternoon. He says your assessor was there this afternoon.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Michael said cagily.
    â€œHenry says your man put a very interesting suggestion to him. Purely in confidence. Now, would that be the kind of confidence you’re already privy to?”
    Michael carefully placed his fork and knife together on the plate and mopped his lips with the napkin. “It might be,” he said cautiously. “But if it were, I wouldn’t be inclined to discuss it with someone who has a hotline to the front page of the Chronicle .”
    â€œNot even if I promised it would go no further?”
    â€œYou expect me to believe that after today’s performance?” he demanded.
    I