Read Online Worse than Death (Anna Southwood Mysteries) by Jean Bedford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean Bedford
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him, talking karate. As soon as they’d gone I poured another glass of champagne and picked up the phone book.
“Detective-Sergeant Birkett, please,” I said into the phone and gave my name. I sipped at my glass while I waited.
“Birkett here.” I was almost certain I recognised the voice from the threatening call.
“Why did your friend push me off the wharf?” I’d drunk more than I thought, I realised, hearing my question come out friendly and interested.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s a dangerous allegation, lady.” I didn’t know if I was imagining the emphasis on ‘dangerous’, but I did know it was the same person who’d threatened me before.
“Just you and Mr Robinson be careful,” I said and put down the phone. I finished the champagne, giggling a little at the weakness of my threat, with a vague premonition that I wouldn’t find it nearly so funny when I sobered up.
Chapter 6
I was right. I woke up the next morning with a hangover and a persistent feeling of unease. I toyed for a moment with the idea of putting Evan back on the payroll, then told myself I was being silly. I had a long hot bath, the glass of Berocca mixed with champagne (Rita’s infallible hangover cure) sizzling beside me, then forced myself to eat a whole bowl of muesli. Several black coffees and Panadols later I felt able to think of going downstairs to the office. Toby had to make do with dry food — nausea rose in me strongly at the thought of opening a tin of heavy-smelling cat fish.
The office was hot and foetid and I’d forgotten to switch the phone over to the machine. I rinsed out champagne glasses and opened all the windows. Toby stalked to his usual spot, sulking because of his breakfast, settled with his back to me and began an elaborate toilette . I found it hard to think of sitting at my desk and realised that I was truly craving a cigarette for the first time in months. I began a manic search of all the drawers and cupboards and found a half-full packet of Ultra-Mild in the stationary shelves. I lit one up on the hotplate and nearly fainted at the first in-drawn breath. Great, I thought, I’ll simply persevere until it feels better. I was just getting into the swing of it when the phone rang.
“Yes?” I said, somewhat dizzily.
“I told you to stay out of it.” It was the same muffled voice as before. “This time it won’t be just a ducking.”
“Hey,” I said. “Listen, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to stay out of. And anyway,” I went on wildly, “I thought Rex had fixed things…”
“Rex thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t.” The phone went dead under my hand. I was shaking by now, and I didn’t think it was still the hangover. I dialled Evan’s number and left a message on his machine to ring me urgently. I lit another cigarette from the butt of the last one and wondered what else I could do, then decided I’d wait until Graham came in. I’d see what he thought.
I was starting to feel really frightened. I tried to visualise the man at the ferry and on the bridge with Birkett — somehow it seemed less scary if you could put a face to the voice. But what I couldn’t work out was why. I racked my brains for anything I’d done that was a danger to anyone. If it was something to do with Clyde, why had they waited so long to threaten me?
By eleven o’clock I’d smoked all the cigarettes in the packet and Graham still hadn’t come in. I let myself out of the house and found myself looking furtively along both sides of the street as I walked to the corner shop and bought more cigarettes and a lighter. I was making a real commitment to smoking again.
On the way back there was a car parked outside my gate that hadn’t been there before, with two men in the front seat. As I went to pass it I was just starting to laugh at myself for my cheap-thriller paranoia when the back door opened and the third man I hadn’t seen, a man with a
“Detective-Sergeant Birkett, please,” I said into the phone and gave my name. I sipped at my glass while I waited.
“Birkett here.” I was almost certain I recognised the voice from the threatening call.
“Why did your friend push me off the wharf?” I’d drunk more than I thought, I realised, hearing my question come out friendly and interested.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s a dangerous allegation, lady.” I didn’t know if I was imagining the emphasis on ‘dangerous’, but I did know it was the same person who’d threatened me before.
“Just you and Mr Robinson be careful,” I said and put down the phone. I finished the champagne, giggling a little at the weakness of my threat, with a vague premonition that I wouldn’t find it nearly so funny when I sobered up.
Chapter 6
I was right. I woke up the next morning with a hangover and a persistent feeling of unease. I toyed for a moment with the idea of putting Evan back on the payroll, then told myself I was being silly. I had a long hot bath, the glass of Berocca mixed with champagne (Rita’s infallible hangover cure) sizzling beside me, then forced myself to eat a whole bowl of muesli. Several black coffees and Panadols later I felt able to think of going downstairs to the office. Toby had to make do with dry food — nausea rose in me strongly at the thought of opening a tin of heavy-smelling cat fish.
The office was hot and foetid and I’d forgotten to switch the phone over to the machine. I rinsed out champagne glasses and opened all the windows. Toby stalked to his usual spot, sulking because of his breakfast, settled with his back to me and began an elaborate toilette . I found it hard to think of sitting at my desk and realised that I was truly craving a cigarette for the first time in months. I began a manic search of all the drawers and cupboards and found a half-full packet of Ultra-Mild in the stationary shelves. I lit one up on the hotplate and nearly fainted at the first in-drawn breath. Great, I thought, I’ll simply persevere until it feels better. I was just getting into the swing of it when the phone rang.
“Yes?” I said, somewhat dizzily.
“I told you to stay out of it.” It was the same muffled voice as before. “This time it won’t be just a ducking.”
“Hey,” I said. “Listen, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to stay out of. And anyway,” I went on wildly, “I thought Rex had fixed things…”
“Rex thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t.” The phone went dead under my hand. I was shaking by now, and I didn’t think it was still the hangover. I dialled Evan’s number and left a message on his machine to ring me urgently. I lit another cigarette from the butt of the last one and wondered what else I could do, then decided I’d wait until Graham came in. I’d see what he thought.
I was starting to feel really frightened. I tried to visualise the man at the ferry and on the bridge with Birkett — somehow it seemed less scary if you could put a face to the voice. But what I couldn’t work out was why. I racked my brains for anything I’d done that was a danger to anyone. If it was something to do with Clyde, why had they waited so long to threaten me?
By eleven o’clock I’d smoked all the cigarettes in the packet and Graham still hadn’t come in. I let myself out of the house and found myself looking furtively along both sides of the street as I walked to the corner shop and bought more cigarettes and a lighter. I was making a real commitment to smoking again.
On the way back there was a car parked outside my gate that hadn’t been there before, with two men in the front seat. As I went to pass it I was just starting to laugh at myself for my cheap-thriller paranoia when the back door opened and the third man I hadn’t seen, a man with a
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