from Planet Zarg.
‘I’m inclined to believe you,’ she said. ‘I’m hearing all sorts. Weighton’s overnight star-attraction, dontcha know?’
‘Told you I’d be big time.’
‘And you weren’t wrong. So this a social call? Or are you looking for representation.’ Her tone changed on the last word.
‘I love it when you talk legal.’
‘I’m billed at ninety pounds an hour, in case you’re wondering.’
‘Ohhhh yeah, right there baby, don’t stop …’
‘If it isn’t social, I have to turn on the meter.’
I gave a low whistle. ‘Who’s big time now?’
A noise from behind made me glance over my shoulder, but it was only Clegg’s PA coming through the Town Hall doors. I wondered if she’d been sent to find me, but she sauntered by without looking.
‘It would be a coup to get you as a client,’ Kate was saying. ‘You are quite the zeitgeist . Weighton’s first big murder trial and all that.’
‘We not making a plea, then?’
‘We could run an insanity defence. Lots of scope there.’
I let a deliberate pause play out. ‘Are you playing with your hair?’
‘Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Yes, seeing as you ask. Big fees are always a turn-on.’
I’d been in one place too long. It was time to wrap. I stood and took in another panoramic view.
‘What time you finish work, Kate?’
‘Six. Is this to discuss your case?’
‘No. I thought we could look at shooting stars in the park.’
‘Wonderful. And then we talk about the case, yes?’
I started down the steps; thirty eight to go.
‘Do you remember , Kate?’
‘I remember. Is it too late to say I’m sorry?’
I felt a terrible, stinging pain. ‘Not for me.’
‘I’ll be in the Punchbowl.’
‘Likewise.’
I put my phone away and was about to head for Bolton Street, off the Old Bridge, when all my Cherokee sensors went off at once. I had barely enough time to assume the crash position before a huge hammer fist struck my ribcage. Two lungs worth of air said a hasty goodbye, and I dropped to one knee, severely winded. Mini shooting stars flickered in front of my eyes, and the stark outline of the Town Hall seemed to waver over me, yo-yoing on the horizon. I tried to keep my balance. What I wouldn’t have forsaken, right then, for a whiff of fresh air. I gasped desperately through the pain, blackness soiling my eyes.
When I looked up, the light began to win through, but I wish I hadn’t bothered. Only Tommy’s snarling gnashers were there to greet me. I preferred the darkness.
CHAPTER NINE
Friday – 14:55
Huddled in the front seat of the rep’s silver Mondeo, myriad pains began aggregating to a warm throb. I still had the shakes from my Forley Forest excursion.
To drag my mind off its beaten track, I thought about the case. Jimmy had gone ballistic about my communion with Mayor Clegg, but he’d shown no trace of surprise that I’d gone to see him. More like pique in case I’d found something out. Going through a mock-shock execution in the forest was one hell of a “warning off”. Then again, judging by the side-splitting laughs, maybe that bit had just been for kicks.
Jimmy’s lack of surprise about my visit to the Mayor did prove one thing: he knew about the dalliance between Clegg and Porson. All the same, I couldn’t see Cartwright behind the extortion gig. That was minor league stuff, and Jimmy Kingpin was strictly big time. So where did Jimmy fit in?
The only angle I could figure was that Jimmy needed to play Clegg. He was using the blackmail scam as a cover story. So come the great day he’d have Clegg right where he wanted him: on the payroll along with the rest of Weighton plc.
If the original case was now marked “solved”, thanks to the mercurial insights of the amazing Eddie G, it left a bigger intrigue wide open. Who did kill Mrs P? If my analysis was correct, it kinda took Jimmy C out of frame. She was far more useful alive and adulterating than unbecoming and dead.
‘I’m inclined to believe you,’ she said. ‘I’m hearing all sorts. Weighton’s overnight star-attraction, dontcha know?’
‘Told you I’d be big time.’
‘And you weren’t wrong. So this a social call? Or are you looking for representation.’ Her tone changed on the last word.
‘I love it when you talk legal.’
‘I’m billed at ninety pounds an hour, in case you’re wondering.’
‘Ohhhh yeah, right there baby, don’t stop …’
‘If it isn’t social, I have to turn on the meter.’
I gave a low whistle. ‘Who’s big time now?’
A noise from behind made me glance over my shoulder, but it was only Clegg’s PA coming through the Town Hall doors. I wondered if she’d been sent to find me, but she sauntered by without looking.
‘It would be a coup to get you as a client,’ Kate was saying. ‘You are quite the zeitgeist . Weighton’s first big murder trial and all that.’
‘We not making a plea, then?’
‘We could run an insanity defence. Lots of scope there.’
I let a deliberate pause play out. ‘Are you playing with your hair?’
‘Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Yes, seeing as you ask. Big fees are always a turn-on.’
I’d been in one place too long. It was time to wrap. I stood and took in another panoramic view.
‘What time you finish work, Kate?’
‘Six. Is this to discuss your case?’
‘No. I thought we could look at shooting stars in the park.’
‘Wonderful. And then we talk about the case, yes?’
I started down the steps; thirty eight to go.
‘Do you remember , Kate?’
‘I remember. Is it too late to say I’m sorry?’
I felt a terrible, stinging pain. ‘Not for me.’
‘I’ll be in the Punchbowl.’
‘Likewise.’
I put my phone away and was about to head for Bolton Street, off the Old Bridge, when all my Cherokee sensors went off at once. I had barely enough time to assume the crash position before a huge hammer fist struck my ribcage. Two lungs worth of air said a hasty goodbye, and I dropped to one knee, severely winded. Mini shooting stars flickered in front of my eyes, and the stark outline of the Town Hall seemed to waver over me, yo-yoing on the horizon. I tried to keep my balance. What I wouldn’t have forsaken, right then, for a whiff of fresh air. I gasped desperately through the pain, blackness soiling my eyes.
When I looked up, the light began to win through, but I wish I hadn’t bothered. Only Tommy’s snarling gnashers were there to greet me. I preferred the darkness.
CHAPTER NINE
Friday – 14:55
Huddled in the front seat of the rep’s silver Mondeo, myriad pains began aggregating to a warm throb. I still had the shakes from my Forley Forest excursion.
To drag my mind off its beaten track, I thought about the case. Jimmy had gone ballistic about my communion with Mayor Clegg, but he’d shown no trace of surprise that I’d gone to see him. More like pique in case I’d found something out. Going through a mock-shock execution in the forest was one hell of a “warning off”. Then again, judging by the side-splitting laughs, maybe that bit had just been for kicks.
Jimmy’s lack of surprise about my visit to the Mayor did prove one thing: he knew about the dalliance between Clegg and Porson. All the same, I couldn’t see Cartwright behind the extortion gig. That was minor league stuff, and Jimmy Kingpin was strictly big time. So where did Jimmy fit in?
The only angle I could figure was that Jimmy needed to play Clegg. He was using the blackmail scam as a cover story. So come the great day he’d have Clegg right where he wanted him: on the payroll along with the rest of Weighton plc.
If the original case was now marked “solved”, thanks to the mercurial insights of the amazing Eddie G, it left a bigger intrigue wide open. Who did kill Mrs P? If my analysis was correct, it kinda took Jimmy C out of frame. She was far more useful alive and adulterating than unbecoming and dead.
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