A Long Time Dead by Sally Spencer

Author:Sally Spencer [Spencer, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781448301126
Google: GilxNwAACAAJ
Amazon: B00FXO8NUW
Barnesnoble: B00FXO8NUW
Goodreads: 1094582
Publisher: Severn House Digital
Published: 2006-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Bob Rutter had learned during his years in the Met that there were only two sorts of pubs which were regularly patronized by officers from Scotland Yard, and he had privately christened them ‘The Slimes’ and ‘The Steams’.

‘The Slimes’ were rough. They invariably had sawdust sprinkled on the floor – so useful for soaking up the blood that would undoubtedly be spilled by closing time! – and brass spittoons within expectorating distance of each table. They drew their clientele from the furthest, darkest fringes of society – burglars and fences, prostitutes and their pimps, bank robbers and would-be bank robbers, bookies and con men. When an officer immersed himself in one of these pubs, it was because he had to – because, if he wanted to talk to his snitches and listen to the current criminal gossip, this was the only place to be.

‘The Steams’ were a different matter altogether. There was no uniformity of fixtures and fittings about them. They could be smart or shabby – or on the way up or down, from one state to the other. They could be located on one of the broad city streets, or hidden away down a back alley. What gave them their special character – as with ‘The Slimes’ – was their clientele. They were policemen’s boozers – a home from home.

In these pubs, a bobby was sure to come across someone else he knew on the Force, and be able to talk in a language the other man would understand. And if, due to pressure at work, a particular bobby became over-boisterous – or even fairly destructive – the landlord of the boozer had learned to look the other way. After all, they were only letting off steam, he would tell himself, and the police were normally good business. Besides, even if he did decided to report the infraction, who the hell was he going to report it to?

The pub outside which Rutter was standing at that moment – The Thames Waterman – was neither a ‘Slime’ nor a ‘Steam’. Charlie Woodend would instantly have labelled it ‘poncy’ – by which he would have meant that it was the embodiment of a brewery designer’s distorted idea of what traditional pubs had once looked like. It was popular with clerks from the City’s merchant banks and brokerage houses, and both policemen and criminals steered well clear of it – which was why, of course, Rutter’s old friend, Inspector Tom Wright, had chosen it as the venue for their meeting.

Rutter entered the pub. From the doorway, he looked around the lounge – past the fishermen’s nets and the lobster pots – and saw Wright at a table under an artificially aged advertisement for Ogden’s Midnight Flake. Wright saw him, too, though he gave no indication that he had. Which meant, Rutter decided as he bought himself a pint, that this was going to be even more difficult than he’d thought it might be.

Rutter took his drink over to the table, and sat down opposite his old colleague.

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