Read Online The Fish Kisser by James Hawkins - Free Book Online

screen for signs of the missing life raft or the missing man.
    â€œInspector Bliss, do you need Mr. King for anything?” the captain sang out and Bliss emerged from the cubicle with a puzzled expression.
    â€œUm,” he hummed, “I’m not sure,” and turned to King, “G’morning Nosmo. Ahh … Could you just hang on for a minute. There’s one or two things I just want to check with the captain. Do you mind?”
    The unspoken words hung in the air for a few seconds as King struggled for an answer. Did he mind? Yes, he minded, minded very much; minded being left out of the loop, minded being ostracized. There was a time … he was thinking when he realized that the epithet, “ex-police,” carried with it a connotation of exclusion incomprehensible to someone who had never been in the force. His mind was in turmoil; desperately wanting to know what was going on; what they were saying about him; what they thought about him; how they had taken his story. But Bliss and the captain were watching and waiting.
    â€œI’ll just have another look at the radar.” King acquiesced eventually, breaking the stalemate, and he wandered toward the cubicle, his head pounding with the knowledge that somewhere on the ship, Billy Motsom, his client, his tormentor, would be searching for him, desperate for news about LeClarc.
    â€œSomething’s going on,” Bliss whispered, nudging the captain to the far side of the bridge. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
    â€œHow do you work that out?”
    â€œWell… Did you tell him we’d called off the search?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œExactly. So how come he didn’t ask? All he asked was, did we need him ’cos he wanted to get some sleep. So why’s he suddenly lost interest in what happened to our man?”
    The captain grasped the point. “I agree, but I don’t see what we can do. He’s stuck to the same story right from the beginning.”
    â€œDo me a favour, Captain. Just keep him here for about ten minutes, will you, then make sure he leaves by that door over there.” The captain nodded as Bliss continued, almost to himself, “I’ve got to make some arrangements.” Then, as an afterthought added, “I’ve also got to find LeClarc before we dock.”
    Precisely ten minutes later, Nosmo King left the bridge, following a compulsory guided tour. “He was as jumpy as a jib in a hurricane,” the captain told Bliss later. “I’ve never known anyone turn down a chance to have a few minutes at the helm before.”
    â€œYou were right, Sir. He’s gone to a cabin,” D.C. Wilson’s voice crackled over the radio a few minutes later, as Bliss was back at the purser’s office, still trying to find LeClarc on a list—any list.
    â€œWhat number?” he called back. “I’m at the purser’s office, I’ll look it up.”
    â€œ2042.”
    Running his finger down the list he found the cabin number. “The name on this list says “Motsom” but I wouldn’t guarantee it,” he said, then caught a nasty look from the purser as he added, “These guys don’t seem too sure what they’re doing.”
    â€œWhat do you want us to do, Sir?” asked the other detective, sobered by time and the sergeant’s accident.
    â€œI don’t know. Just find out what’s going on. Use your loaf if you’ve got one.”
    Bliss snapped off the radio and turned back to the purser who had decided he may as well take command of his office early. Roused out of his bunk in the middle of the night, like everyone else, he wanted to make sure his records were straight, just in case there was an inquiry.
    â€œO.K., Sir,” said Bliss. “So how soon will we know for sure if someone’s missing?”
    The purser scratched his stubbly chin, realised he’d forgotten to shave in the