Public Ghost Number One (Ghosts of London Book 2) by Nic Saint

Author:Nic Saint [Saint, Nic]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Puss in Print Publications
Published: 2016-11-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Darian didn’t like the particular assignment Harry had saddled him up with. Having a chat with Master Edwards wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime. But he could see she had a point. If anyone knew what happened in the London underworld in the eighties it most definitely was Bill Edwards, once the undisputed leader of that underworld himself, and perhaps to this day.

The man lived in a sizable mansion in the East End, at the end of a short cul-de-sac in a gated community. The house that a lot of crime money had built. And even though these days Edwards claimed he was a reformed crook, Darian had his doubts. A man like him had crime in his blood.

When he called to set up the meeting, Edwards had been most courteous and actually seemed to look forward to this social call, as he called it.

Once seated in front of the man in his ornate office, where probably numerous elements of the criminal classes had once stood before him, he let a curious eye slide across the hallmarks of a long and prosperous career.

Edwards was seated behind a mahogany desk, the centerpiece of the room, heavy drapes half closed and preventing what little light there was in the London skies to creep into the room. He stared at the former crook, a majestic figure, looking resplendent now in a burgundy housecoat. For some reason he reminded him of Hugh Hefner, the owner of the sprawling Playboy mansion. The two men shared the same facial features, and the same ageless quality, even though Edwards was probably the same age as Hefner.

“Darian Watley as I live and breathe,” he now said as a pleasant grin spread across his wrinkly features. “To what do I owe the honor, Inspector?”

“Well…” He hesitated, wondering how to launch into this. “The thing is… I’ve been assigned a cold case, and was hoping you might be able to shed some light on it,” he said, deciding not to mention the entire ghost angle.

“A cold case, huh? I love those!” cried the reformed criminal.

Both men looked up when the door opened and a large man with no neck to speak of strode in carrying a silver salver with a cup of tea and biscuits.

Darian frowned darkly when he recognized the man as Philo Bovine-Marks, one of Edwards’s goons. He’d once arrested him himself, for trying to murder Harry, and he wasn’t happy that he’d made parole.

“Hello, Inspector Watley. Looking good, sir,” he said pleasantly.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” he said acerbically.

“How’s Harry McCabre, by the way? Still perky?” asked Philo with a wide grin, and anger flared in Darian’s eyes before he could control himself.

“Easy now, Inspector,” chuckled Edwards, who’d recognized the signs. “No need to get all worked up. We’re civilized people here, aren’t we, Philo?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Philo, still with that same stupid grin on his smug mug. “We’re totally legit now, Inspector Watley. Completely on the up and up.”

“You bet. I’ve been given a new lease on life, Darian, and I intend to use it to create some good.

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