Read Online Country of the Blind by Christopher Brookmyre - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Brookmyre
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that this information would be used to plan a burglary."
The image cut to a petite figure in a light blue skirt and jacket, walking down the steps of the police building, being swarmed upon by an insect-like infestation of multi-limbed creatures - arms, hands, booms, mics and cameras. The purpose of the chaotic footage was, of course, to underline just how bloody important this news programme was when she appeared talking exclusively to them in the next shot.
The autumn breeze blew her straight black hair erratically around her pale, girlish face as she spoke, nervous but determined. Parlabane realised then how flustered Jenny must have been; even if Carrow wasn't one hundred per cent exactly the policewoman's type, she was certainly cute enough to 39
have normally elicited comment. Such declarations of desire were a running joke between them; Jenny indulged in the occasional ostentatious pastiche of dykiness when in Parlabane's company, and he steadfastly made no reaction to it. Neither was ever quite sure who was taking the piss out of who.
"I received an envelope from my client at the beginning of last week," she began, English accent, surprisingly husky voice for her age and size, "and was told he would collect it again today. If he did not, I had instructions to open it. Inside wuh. . . " She cleared her throat, brushed some straggly hair from one eye. "Excuse me. Inside was a letter from my client stating that he had been in receipt of information from someone he believed to be connected to the security staff at Craigurquhart House. But most importantly, he states that this information was being used to plan a burglary , as he had been informed that, and I quote, 'someone very rich would be staying there from September the twenty-first to the twenty-fifth'.
"I have presented this letter to the police because I believe it proves not only that my client's motive for breaking into the house was robbery, but also that neither he nor his accomplices knew the identity of this 'very rich' guest. Nonetheless, the police have persisted in refusing me access to my client under Prevention of Terrorism powers, even though what I am in possession of casts a great deal of doubt upon the notion of a plot to assassinate Mr Voss."
"So you believe Thomas McInnes and his gang simply intended to murder and rob whoever they found in the house?" the reporter interjected, suddenly having some sort of Jeremy Paxman delusion.
"No," she said, fixing the off-camera interviewer with a scolding, don'tbe-so-fucking-stupid look, "and as a matter of fact I don't believe my client murdered anyone. Right now we're seeing an awful lot in the way of handwringing and hysteria and very little in the way of evidence, and until those proportions change I will be persisting in that belief."
"Ha-ha!" Parlabane clapped his hands in appreciation. "Get that up ye, ya poe-faced bastard," he muttered, momentarily distracted from the nagging thought that something she said earlier was bothering him.
"However," continued the poe-faced bastard, now straight-to-camera once more in his editorialising, This Is The News voice, "the police take a different view of what Miss Carrow's letter implies. Detective Superintendent David Garloch, who has been coordinating an investigation involving police from two different Scottish regional forces, believes it could be a deliberate red herring."
Cut to a tired, middle-aged man in a crumpled suit, looking like he could use a sleep, a coffee and a shower. He was sitting at a desk in an open office area, uniformed officers buzzing around looking serious and busy. The next shot was closer up, without such ambitary distraction. He spoke in tones 40
intended to suggest he was a reasonable man trying to remain mannered and calm in the face of unnecessary frustration, like it wasn't enough he had all this to sort out without some daft tart insisting on rocking the boat.
"I appreciate that in light of how dramatic and distressing
The image cut to a petite figure in a light blue skirt and jacket, walking down the steps of the police building, being swarmed upon by an insect-like infestation of multi-limbed creatures - arms, hands, booms, mics and cameras. The purpose of the chaotic footage was, of course, to underline just how bloody important this news programme was when she appeared talking exclusively to them in the next shot.
The autumn breeze blew her straight black hair erratically around her pale, girlish face as she spoke, nervous but determined. Parlabane realised then how flustered Jenny must have been; even if Carrow wasn't one hundred per cent exactly the policewoman's type, she was certainly cute enough to 39
have normally elicited comment. Such declarations of desire were a running joke between them; Jenny indulged in the occasional ostentatious pastiche of dykiness when in Parlabane's company, and he steadfastly made no reaction to it. Neither was ever quite sure who was taking the piss out of who.
"I received an envelope from my client at the beginning of last week," she began, English accent, surprisingly husky voice for her age and size, "and was told he would collect it again today. If he did not, I had instructions to open it. Inside wuh. . . " She cleared her throat, brushed some straggly hair from one eye. "Excuse me. Inside was a letter from my client stating that he had been in receipt of information from someone he believed to be connected to the security staff at Craigurquhart House. But most importantly, he states that this information was being used to plan a burglary , as he had been informed that, and I quote, 'someone very rich would be staying there from September the twenty-first to the twenty-fifth'.
"I have presented this letter to the police because I believe it proves not only that my client's motive for breaking into the house was robbery, but also that neither he nor his accomplices knew the identity of this 'very rich' guest. Nonetheless, the police have persisted in refusing me access to my client under Prevention of Terrorism powers, even though what I am in possession of casts a great deal of doubt upon the notion of a plot to assassinate Mr Voss."
"So you believe Thomas McInnes and his gang simply intended to murder and rob whoever they found in the house?" the reporter interjected, suddenly having some sort of Jeremy Paxman delusion.
"No," she said, fixing the off-camera interviewer with a scolding, don'tbe-so-fucking-stupid look, "and as a matter of fact I don't believe my client murdered anyone. Right now we're seeing an awful lot in the way of handwringing and hysteria and very little in the way of evidence, and until those proportions change I will be persisting in that belief."
"Ha-ha!" Parlabane clapped his hands in appreciation. "Get that up ye, ya poe-faced bastard," he muttered, momentarily distracted from the nagging thought that something she said earlier was bothering him.
"However," continued the poe-faced bastard, now straight-to-camera once more in his editorialising, This Is The News voice, "the police take a different view of what Miss Carrow's letter implies. Detective Superintendent David Garloch, who has been coordinating an investigation involving police from two different Scottish regional forces, believes it could be a deliberate red herring."
Cut to a tired, middle-aged man in a crumpled suit, looking like he could use a sleep, a coffee and a shower. He was sitting at a desk in an open office area, uniformed officers buzzing around looking serious and busy. The next shot was closer up, without such ambitary distraction. He spoke in tones 40
intended to suggest he was a reasonable man trying to remain mannered and calm in the face of unnecessary frustration, like it wasn't enough he had all this to sort out without some daft tart insisting on rocking the boat.
"I appreciate that in light of how dramatic and distressing
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