Crack Down & Clean Break by Val McDermid

Author:Val McDermid [McDermid, Val]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802146175
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2018-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

3

I left Alexis to hassle the police of six counties in search of the story we both knew was lurking somewhere and headed back to Mortensen and Brannigan. Shelley was busy on the phone, so I went straight through to my office. I stopped in my tracks on the threshold. I heard Shelley finish her call and swung round to glare at her. “What exactly is that?” I demanded.

She didn’t look up from the note she was writing. “What does it look like? It’s a weeping fig.”

“It’s fake,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Silk,” she corrected me absently.

“And that makes it OK?”

Shelley finally looked up. “Every six weeks you buy a healthy, thriving, living plant. Five weeks later, it looks like locust heaven. The weeping fig will have paid for itself within six months, and even you can’t kill a silk plant,” she said in matter-of-fact tones that made my fingers itch to get round her throat.

“If I wanted a schneid plant, I’d have bought one,” I said.

“You sound …”

“‘Like one of my kids,’” I finished, mimicking her calm voice. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s the challenge. One day, I’m going to find a plant that runs riot for me.”

“By which time the planet will be a desert,” Shelley said, tossing her head so that the beads she had plaited into her hair jangled like a bag of marbles.

I didn’t dignify that with a reply. I simply marched into my office, picked up the weeping fig and dropped it next to her desk. “You like it so much, you live with it,” I said, stomping back to my office. If she was going to treat me like one of her teenage kids, I might as well enjoy the tantrum. I pulled the brownish remains of the asparagus fern out of the bin and defiantly dumped it on the windowsill.

Before I could do anything more, my phone rang. “What now?” I barked at Shelley.

“Call for you. A gentleman who refuses to give his name.”

“Did you tell him we don’t do matrimonials?”

“Of course I did. I’m not the one who’s premenstrual.”

I bit back a snarl as Shelley put the call through. “Kate Brannigan,” I said. “How can I help you?”

“I need your help, Ms Brannigan. It’s an extremely confidential matter. Brian Chalmers from PharmAce recommended you.”

“We’re noted for our client confidentiality,” I reeled off. “As you doubtless know if you’ve spoken to Brian. But I do need to know who I’m talking to.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, long enough for me to hear sufficient background noise to realize my caller was speaking from a bar. “My name’s Trevor Kerr. I think the company I run is being blackmailed, and I need to talk to you about it.”

“Fine,” I said. “Why don’t I come round to your office this afternoon and have a chat about it?”

“Christ, no,” Kerr said, clearly alarmed. “The last thing I want is for the blackmailers to find out I’m talking to a private detective.”

One of the ones that watches too many movies.

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