Read Online The Blood Detective by Dan Waddell - Free Book Online Page A

here,’
    Heather explained. ‘I’ll do them all together, so we’ll hang on till we’re all done.’
    ‘Hello, Nigel.’
    The voice was behind his right shoulder, out of his sight, but he recognized it instantly.
    ‘Hi, Dave,’ he said, before even looking around.
    Sure enough, it was Dave Duckworth. Overweight, perennially sweaty, monobrowed Dave Duckworth.
    He had worked with Nigel at the agency before the old man died.
    ‘So, Nigel, I hear Branches Agency, like Lazarus, has risen from the dead.’
    Their paths had not crossed in the three weeks since Nigel had returned.
    ‘You hear right, Dave.’
    Dave wore a look of fake surprise. ‘So am I to infer that the wisdom of a certain N. Barnes failed to take the world of academia by storm?’
    ‘Something like that.’
     
    Dave smiled broadly, then nodded at Khan and
    Heather. ‘But, it appears that you have been sufficiently remunerated as to actually hire some staff.’
    Nigel could see Heather’s eyes narrow. Hers was the type of face that was quick to display emotion.
    She both daunted and fascinated him.
    Before Nigel could introduce them both, Dave
    leapt in. ‘I jest, of course.’
    Heather’s smile dripped insincerity. Nigel could tell she thought him a creep. He couldn’t fault her judgement of character.
    ‘I know you’re police officers,’ Dave added.
    No one said anything.
    ‘It’s the talk of the FRC, how you rolled up with half of CID. What’s the undertaking?’
    ‘I think you’ll find that’s confidential, Mr … ?’
    Heather said.
    ‘Duckworth. Dave Duckworth,’ he said, thrusting out his right hand. ‘If you require any further expert help, then don’t hesitate to give me a bell.’ He pulled a couple of his cards from a brown leather wallet.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Duckworth,’ Heather responded
    icily. ‘Mr Barnes is doing a good job but we’ll bear your offer in mind.’
    ‘Please do,’ he said, beaming a smile, before turning to Nigel once more. ‘Could we have a brief tete-a tete?’
    ‘I’m busy, Dave.’
    ‘Ten seconds. No more.’
    ‘Excuse me,’ Nigel said to the detectives.
    He followed Duckworth to the wall by the locker rooms, wondering what it was he wanted. Something to do with money, he guessed. It was Dave Duckworth’s god. His whole career, his whole life, was dedicated to making it. Jobs were not judged by the quality of the research, but by the quantity of the payment. Nigel never sensed any love of the past in Dave, the thrill of the search, an interest in the stories of the dead, only a need to obtain as much work, and therefore as much cash, as possible. No one knew what Dave spent it on. He dressed cheaply, had no social life to speak of, and was notoriously thrifty.
    Nigel pictured him sitting at home in his fetid flat counting piles of coins with a thimble.
    ‘I really am in the middle of something, Dave,’
    Nigel said, wearily.
    ‘I know. You’re in the middle of a murder investigation.’
    For
    a second, Nigel was speechless. ‘How do you
    know that?’
    Dave, infuriatingly, tapped his nose. ‘That’s for me to know, Nigel, and you and your friends to find out. More pressing is, what do we do next?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Dave leaned in closer, breaching personal space.
    Nigel didn’t like it: there was a strong smell of rancid coffee on his breath.
    ‘I mean, how about we inform one of my contacts among the fourth estate, brief them as to what’s going on here and receive an emolument for our trouble?’
    he whispered.
    ‘How much do you know, Dave?’
    ‘That it’s something to do with the murder a
    couple of nights ago in Notting Hill’
    ‘I still don’t know how you know.’
    ‘That doesn’t matter. As I said, the question is what happens next.’
    Nigel straightened himself up. He looked across; Heather was staring at them both.
    ‘What happens next is this: I tell you to fuck off, Dave. I’ve got a job to do.’ He left Duckworth and went back to the table.
    Heather