Something Sinister (a D.S.Billings Victorian Mystery Book 2) by Olivier Bosman

Author:Olivier Bosman [Bosman, Olivier]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rocket Man Press
Published: 2017-06-11T04:00:00+00:00

9. Flynt's Report

The following morning Billings and Clarkson sent Flynt a telegram confirming receipt of his parcel and boarded the train to Paris. As the train left the station, both men sat opposite each other, silently staring out of the window. Clarkson had been unusually quiet all morning, much to Billings’ displeasure. This was one time when he could have done with Clarkson’s irritating chatter. Anything to take his mind off the previous night’s dreadful events.

Although Billings had had a good night’s sleep – due mainly to the generous dose of morphine he’d injected – as soon as he got up, the disgusting episodes of the previous night kept recurring in his mind. Visions of that cold, bleak alleyway and the dirty renter with his trousers down, leaning against the wall, kept popping into his mind.

He had also woken up with an irritating itching head. Billings kept worrying that the renter might have infected him with lice, even though he hadn’t been able to find anything crawling on his scalp when he inspected himself in the mirror. He was trying desperately not to scratch his head too often in order not to raise the suspicion of Clarkson or any of the other passengers. How could he have allowed himself to sink to this? He shuddered at the thought and tried to shake the disgusting episode from his mind. It was all the fault of Dexter Thornbull and Clarence McAllister, he concluded. They had led him astray by allowing him a glimpse into their sleazy lifestyles. He knew now that he wanted nothing to do with such decadence. What he wanted was sitting right in front of him. Clarkson, the charming family man. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint before exactly what it was about Clarkson that had attracted him, but he saw it now. Clarkson had everything he didn’t have. A loving family; a light-hearted presence and an optimistic view of life. Clarkson oozed wholesomeness and goodness. He was a salt-of-the-earth Cockney. A dependable and amiable fellow with a childlike glint in his beautiful blue eyes and the body of a Greek statue.

“How are you doing, old chap!” Billings said, attempting a smile and gently patting Clarkson’s knee. “Looking forward to seeing the rib again?”

Clarkson looked up at Billings and frowned. “What’s the matter with you?” he said, shaking Billings’ hand off his knee. “You never call me ‘old chap’.”

Billings pulled his hand away and sighed. Damn it! he thought. I just don’t know how to act around him anymore!

“I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you in Antwerp,” Billings said. “I was angry at Flynt and I took it out on you. I apologise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarkson replied, although it was clear to Billings that he was still sore about that day. He kept looking out of the window and refused to make eye contact.

Billings grabbed his satchel from the seat beside him and opened it up. If Clarkson was refusing to distract him, then he had

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