Fatal Music by Peter Morfoot

Author:Peter Morfoot [Morfoot, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

28

Darac took the stairs down into the dreary Rue Belgique and disappeared into the garrulous gloom of Hannigan’s Irish bar. Stepping through decorative scatterings of sawdust, he found a familiar figure sitting alone in a corner banquette. ‘Hello, Brigitte.’

She smiled, perhaps out of habit, perhaps remembering her first impressions of him. But then her face fell.

‘May I sit down?’

She shrugged, giving herself a foam moustache as she took down a mouthful of stout. A finger flicked it away like a red-tipped wiper blade. ‘I am still pissed off at you, flic.’

‘How’s Thierry?’

‘He’s fine.’ She eyeballed him. ‘And he’s where you can’t get him!’

‘No need to worry.’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘He’s off our list of suspects.’

A crack appeared in the ice. ‘I want that on a piece of paper. Signed.’

He nodded. ‘As soon as I get back to the office.’

A cloud of alcohol enveloped Darac.

‘He bothering you, sweetheart?’

Darac turned. The speaker was a ruddy-faced hulk of a man.

‘Piss off back to your seat.’ Brigitte smiled as an afterthought. ‘But thanks, darling.’

The hulk drifted away.

‘Protecting me.’ She pulled up a bra strap. ‘Then I was mean to him. Bad Brigitte.’

‘We’re releasing Marcel tomorrow afternoon.’

She pulled up the other strap. ‘But he’s guilty of murder.’

‘We both know he isn’t.’

She put her hand on Darac’s thigh. ‘Does that matter?’

‘I need to find out who really did it.’ He put her hand back in her lap. She held on to it. ‘And I think he knows who that person is.’

‘What’s that to do with me?’

‘Maybe you could find out.’

She threw his hand away. ‘Snitch? Me?’

‘Brigitte, you were trying to get the man sent down for good.’

‘Only to save Thierry.’

‘Marcel’s dying to see you, you know. Dying to, if you catch me?’

‘Of course he is. But he might not be when he realises I’ve moved out again.’

‘Still got your key?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Move back in before he finds out.’

More stout. Another sweep of the wiper blade. ‘We-ell…’

‘Brigitte, I want you to answer a question. Truthfully. Promise?’

‘You can be really sweet, you know? And masterful.’

Darac pressed on. ‘I think Marcel’s shelved any plans to play it rough with you but if I’m wrong, could you handle it?’

Brigitte looked affronted. ‘Of course! But if I do help you, what’d be in it for me?’

‘Got anything outstanding?’

‘Only my bust, darling,’ she said, delighted at her wit.

‘Fines? Minor offences?’

‘No. I’ve always been a good girl.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He thought about it. ‘Alright. I’ll tell you what you’ll get out of it. The knowledge that you did the right thing when it was a lot easier to do nothing.’

For a moment, the concept evaded her. ‘Well, that’s all lovely. But—’

‘Brigitte, someone raped Madame Mesnel and that’s basically what killed her.’

There was an eruption of laughter at the bar. Brigitte said nothing until the aftershocks had ceased. ‘That’s terrible,’ she said, staring into space.

‘We’re almost certain the man you know as Dagger was responsible.’

She began to cry. An even thicker cloud of alcohol enveloped them. Brigitte’s knight errant had brought reinforcements. ‘You’re sure you’re alright, sweetheart?’

‘Yes! Bugger off the three of you!’

They stood their ground.

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