Court Me Kill Me by David Bradwell

Author:David Bradwell [Bradwell, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Calibre
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Clare made some sort of grated-cheese-and-water-biscuit arrangement, with chilli flakes and sliced cherry tomatoes, topped with a splash of balsamic vinegar. It was the perfect snack. I hardly dared touch it in case I made a mess on the cream sofas, but she encouraged me to tuck in.

“So what’s our plan?” I asked, as she joined me and reached for one of the water biscuits.

“Our plan is to keep you safe and for me to find out who is really behind this,” she said.

“Not just run?”

“I can’t just run, Anna. I’d be running forever. I want this to be over so I can lead some semblance of a normal life.”

As she said this, she looked so much younger and more vulnerable than she had at the height of her criminal misdemeanours. The hard edge had gone.

“You see, that’s interesting,” I said.

“Is it?”

“Yes.” I took a bite, then had to wait to finish it before continuing because it’s impolite to talk with your mouth full. “What for you constitutes a normal life? I can’t see you sitting at home on a Saturday night, watching Gladiators, getting stressed out by a pile of ironing that you can’t be arsed to tackle, and going to the shop, worried that if you buy something nice for your tea tonight you may run out of cash to buy any kind of food before the next payday.”

She reached for another water biscuit.

“I just mean: put this all behind me. Live without fear.”

“But you do remember, and I hate to bring up a delicate issue - but you did actually kill people. So the only way you’re going to live a normal life is if you go to the police station, turn yourself in, do probably a twenty-stretch in Holloway and come out an old lady, but at least free to pick up your bus pass without needing to watch over your shoulder.”

That made her smile, although it wasn’t one of her warmest.

“I’m not even thirty-four till next week, so I’d still have to wait for the bus pass,” she said. “Anyway, that’s not happening because I don’t want to go to prison, and even if I did, it’d never get that far. You saw what March was like and how he was willing to apply his own form of justice. That’s my experience of a certain faction within the police force. I’d never live long enough to see a trial.”

“You really believe that? Have you spent too long talking to former members of the Stasi while you’ve been in Germany? This is England.”

“Trust me,” she said. “I’d be made to disappear.”

It was such an alien world.

“So how do we find out who’s really behind this?” I asked.

“We don’t. You stay here; I’ll have to go out and talk to some people.”

I put the plate on a coffee table, then turned to face her, crossing my legs.

“Ignoring your assumption that I’d be willing to stay here, rather than helping you, isn’t that peculiarly high risk? Actually going

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