Read Online Killing With Confidence by Matt Bendoris - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matt Bendoris
Ads: Link
wasn’t the
reason Osiris was annoyed. The prostitute he’d killed had made all
the front pages in Scotland and was linked with the death of that
rich bitch, Selina Seth, but the detective in charge of the
investigation had been at pains on the lunchtime news to keep both
murder investigations separate.
DCI Crosbie’s stern
face filled the plasma screen in Edinburgh’s Burke and Hare pub
where Osiris was having a lunchtime pint with yet another transport
manager. He found this branch head particularly tedious as he was a
clubhouse bore, full of golf jokes – all of which Osiris had
heard before.
‘At this moment in
time we are not connecting the deaths of Mrs Seth and Jacqueline
McIvor. We’ll obviously keep an open mind, but I’d like to assure
the public that we do not believe this is the work of a serial
killer and I’d like to ask the country’s media to show
responsibility and restraint in their reporting of these separate
cases.’
Crosbie hated
appearing on television. He wasn’t like Detective Superintendent
Cruickshank who loved the sound of his own voice and his looks even
more. He’d taken a calculated risk making such a bold statement.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the murderers he was most wary of, it was
the press. By having a dig at them in public, basically rubbishing
all of today’s front pages, he could expect a huge backlash –
especially if one of the killers struck again. He was gambling on
having flushed them out by then.
Osiris watched
intently as Crosbie made his announcement on the TV news. He began
to hatch a plan that would take him way out of his comfort zone.
But it was a risk he believed was worth taking.
April
Lavender was eating again. ‘Relentless grazing’, as Connor called
it, but she simply couldn’t help herself. She felt hungry every
couple of hours. And not just hungry – ‘positively starving’
as she was fond of saying.
She’d long given up
on the bathroom scales, which were now covered in dust after being
kicked, unloved, under the U-bend, but she did fancy enrolling in
swimming classes at her local pool. Although she’d once been a Wren
she’d never learned to swim. The last time she’d been to the
‘baths’, as they were called in Glasgow, to thrash around was when
she was ten.
Her dad had bought
her the biggest bag of chips afterwards, smothered in salt and
vinegar. Lovely. She could still taste them. ‘Oh bugger, now I’m
desperate for a bag of chips.’ After getting the daily dose of
self-loathing out the way, April felt a lot better after polishing
off a full Scottish breakfast, which is much like an English
breakfast, except with a uniquely Scottish potato scone – a
triangle of baked flour and potato, lightly fried and possessing
the ability to soak up other food’s saturated fats like a
sponge.
April had decided on
a different diet strategy, opting for a hearty breakfast –
instead of her two rolls and bacon – followed by a moderate
lunch, then a hearty dinner. She hoped this would diminish her
desire for snacks. She smiled at the waitress Martel and said,
‘There’s method in my madness, you see.’
As usual, the
waitress in the Peccadillo didn’t have the foggiest idea what April
was wittering on about but decided to humour her, ‘Well, I hope it
works out for you.’
April gave her a
knowing wink. ‘And if it fails, well, it’ll just be our little
secret.’
The waitress turned
on her heels and brushed by Connor who had just come in.
He took one look at
the girl’s bemused face and said to April, ‘That poor girl looks
completely baffled – what pish have you been spouting this
morning?’
April rarely took
offence, which was just as well as she had to put up with plenty of
insults. Instead she gave her trademark dirty laugh, left the
correct change and headed for the door.
On the way out Connor
tugged the waitress’s sleeve and whispered, ‘You’re lucky, you just
have to listen to her
reason Osiris was annoyed. The prostitute he’d killed had made all
the front pages in Scotland and was linked with the death of that
rich bitch, Selina Seth, but the detective in charge of the
investigation had been at pains on the lunchtime news to keep both
murder investigations separate.
DCI Crosbie’s stern
face filled the plasma screen in Edinburgh’s Burke and Hare pub
where Osiris was having a lunchtime pint with yet another transport
manager. He found this branch head particularly tedious as he was a
clubhouse bore, full of golf jokes – all of which Osiris had
heard before.
‘At this moment in
time we are not connecting the deaths of Mrs Seth and Jacqueline
McIvor. We’ll obviously keep an open mind, but I’d like to assure
the public that we do not believe this is the work of a serial
killer and I’d like to ask the country’s media to show
responsibility and restraint in their reporting of these separate
cases.’
Crosbie hated
appearing on television. He wasn’t like Detective Superintendent
Cruickshank who loved the sound of his own voice and his looks even
more. He’d taken a calculated risk making such a bold statement.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the murderers he was most wary of, it was
the press. By having a dig at them in public, basically rubbishing
all of today’s front pages, he could expect a huge backlash –
especially if one of the killers struck again. He was gambling on
having flushed them out by then.
Osiris watched
intently as Crosbie made his announcement on the TV news. He began
to hatch a plan that would take him way out of his comfort zone.
But it was a risk he believed was worth taking.
April
Lavender was eating again. ‘Relentless grazing’, as Connor called
it, but she simply couldn’t help herself. She felt hungry every
couple of hours. And not just hungry – ‘positively starving’
as she was fond of saying.
She’d long given up
on the bathroom scales, which were now covered in dust after being
kicked, unloved, under the U-bend, but she did fancy enrolling in
swimming classes at her local pool. Although she’d once been a Wren
she’d never learned to swim. The last time she’d been to the
‘baths’, as they were called in Glasgow, to thrash around was when
she was ten.
Her dad had bought
her the biggest bag of chips afterwards, smothered in salt and
vinegar. Lovely. She could still taste them. ‘Oh bugger, now I’m
desperate for a bag of chips.’ After getting the daily dose of
self-loathing out the way, April felt a lot better after polishing
off a full Scottish breakfast, which is much like an English
breakfast, except with a uniquely Scottish potato scone – a
triangle of baked flour and potato, lightly fried and possessing
the ability to soak up other food’s saturated fats like a
sponge.
April had decided on
a different diet strategy, opting for a hearty breakfast –
instead of her two rolls and bacon – followed by a moderate
lunch, then a hearty dinner. She hoped this would diminish her
desire for snacks. She smiled at the waitress Martel and said,
‘There’s method in my madness, you see.’
As usual, the
waitress in the Peccadillo didn’t have the foggiest idea what April
was wittering on about but decided to humour her, ‘Well, I hope it
works out for you.’
April gave her a
knowing wink. ‘And if it fails, well, it’ll just be our little
secret.’
The waitress turned
on her heels and brushed by Connor who had just come in.
He took one look at
the girl’s bemused face and said to April, ‘That poor girl looks
completely baffled – what pish have you been spouting this
morning?’
April rarely took
offence, which was just as well as she had to put up with plenty of
insults. Instead she gave her trademark dirty laugh, left the
correct change and headed for the door.
On the way out Connor
tugged the waitress’s sleeve and whispered, ‘You’re lucky, you just
have to listen to her
Similar Books
