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

ain’t finished,” and he continued firmly. “We was hired, both of us. It’s just that I only told you what you needed to know.”
    â€œBollocks! You knew I wouldn’t do it if you told me the truth.”
    â€œMaybe yeah. Maybe no. Who knows. Anyhow it’s too late, you’ve lied to the captain.”
    â€œAnd the police,” added King, absentmindedly.
    â€œThe police?” Motsom exploded, shooting upright, nudging over a beer, which flipped onto the floor and rolled back and forth, spilling drops on the mottled blue carpet.
    King quickly bent to pick up the bottle, but Motsom grasped his shoulder and hauled him upright.
    â€œLeave it,” he ordered. “What did you say about the filth?”
    King winced at the derogatory term, then shrugged, matter-of-factly, “There’s a bunch of cops on board and one of ’em, a snotty inspector, was making noises about the missing bloke, that’s all. Just routine. Couldn’t resist poking his nose in.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me you idiot?” he shouted, “What are they doing here anyway?”
    â€œThey’re going on some sort of visit,” he shrugged, his imagination running away with him. “Stop worrying, I didn’t tell ’em anything. They’ve no idea who’s missing and even if they did, they couldn’t connect him to us.”
    It was true that D.I. Bliss didn’t know who was missing, if anyone, though he shivered at the idea of any manstruggling for survival in the ship’s wake. From his perch in the first class restaurant, high in the ship’s stern, he stared pensively at the evil sea, then slit open another croissant (baked on board every day according to the waiter) and poured coffee for the two contrite constables.
    â€œDrink,” he ordered, and they drank.
    Sergeant Jones had not joined them, his purple swollen wrist making movement of any kind painful. He was, in any case, pre-occupied—working up a story to cover his backside.
    â€œRight, you two,” said Bliss, noticing how well the green of the sea reflected in their faces. “We’re docking in half an hour. I’ve looked everywhere on this damn ship and I can’t find LeClarc, so he’s either hiding ’cos he spotted us, or it was him who went over the side and that private dick is lying about the time.”
    â€œSo what’s the big plan, Inspector?” asked Wilson, with caustic undertone.
    Bliss picked up the sarcasm and twisted it around, “I could always follow your example … get legless, break my wrist…”
    â€œYou lost him …” Wilson started, accusingly, but Smythe touched his arm. “Leave it Willy, let’s wait and see. Anyway, what are we going to do about the sergeant?”
    Bliss picked up his coffee. “An ambulance will be on the quayside and he’ll be going back on tonight’s ship once he’s been plastered.”
    â€œGood old Serg,” sniggered D.C. Smythe. “Plastered two nights running.”
    All three laughed—like a team.
    A hollow “boom” from the tannoy system echoed throughout the ship and a singsong voice rang out, “Will all car drivers and passengers please re-join your vehicles for embarkation.”
    â€œThat’s us,” said Bliss, downing his coffee as he rose. “Grab our bags and chuck them in the car, then wait for me. I’m going to see if I can spot him getting into the Renault.”
    The narrow companionway to the car deck was swamped by a tide of sweaty, struggling, fed-up passengers, with fractious kids screaming, “Are we there yet?” and fractious parents screaming, “Are we there yet?” Bliss squeezed his way as far as a stairwell but his descent was blocked by a vertical wall of miserable humanity. “Police. Let me through,” he called hopefully, but a truck driver inflated himself into a road block,