by John Harvey
He launched himself at me, the white streak of hair jutting hard into my face. I fell back on to the stairs and sensed his fingers going for my throat. I pulled them away and his head came up in front of mine. I butted it. Hard. There was a sharp splintering sound and he staggered backwards both hands now to his own face trying to stop the flow of blood. I lay back and swung both feet upwards, levering myself against the stair edge.
His body went several inches off the floor as my feet struck home between his legs. He smashed back against the still open toilet door, flattening it against the wall. I pushed myself up and dived at him head first. The impact sent him along the landing and down on to the flight of stairs that led to the street.
Hands reached out for the bannister rail that ran down at one side. Hands found it. His hand. My hands. His face looking up at me again. His nose a mass of split skin and gristle, pumping blood. His eye looked at me unbelievingly. Charlie’s face. I didn’t like it. Didn’t want to see it again. Ever.
I kicked out with my right foot and the toecap snapped his head back hard. Arms flailed wildly, even as he fell. There was nothing for him to hold on to. Not any more. And he wasn’t about to fly. Not Charlie.
I stood there for several minutes leaning against the wall, recovering my breath. Voices behind me made me turn around. Four Italian waiters were gazing down in disbelief. I pushed my way back through them and picked up the packet I had been entrusted with. Then I walked down to where Charlie’s body was jammed across the bottom of the stairs. He could have been trying to stand on his head … and had not quite made it.
Something glittered up at me from the pavement. Charlie’s glass eye stared back up at me blindly; the neon lights from the strip club reflected in it, flashing off and on, off and on incessantly. I stepped over Charlie’s body and brought my foot down on the eye, enjoying the crunching feeling beneath my foot.
Good night, Charlie!
Back at the Murdoch place everything seemed pretty much back to normal. I rang the doorbell and the little Chinese answered the door. He was in as talkative a mood as usual. He nodded towards the stairs this time, then made his normal graceless exit.
So what could I do? I climbed up the stairs and what do you know? She was in the bedroom. The white satin cover was in use again only this time she didn’t look as though anything in the whole wide world would ever shock her again.
‘Scott,’ she said with a sort of husky eagerness, ‘did you give James the …’
I pulled the packet from behind my back and tossed it on to the bed. I thought it would be a shame not to let her go through her piece. I watched it with more than a little admiration. She was good. She was very good. On another night she could have convinced me that she was as surprised as she was making out. But this wasn’t another night.
I stood there unmoved and unmoving and eventually even Caroline Murdoch realised that it wasn’t working. She stopped talking and let the cover fall a few more inches down her body. This time she certainly wasn’t dressed underneath it.
‘Scott,’ she said, in a way that meant everything and nothing.
I looked at that perfect face and then I talked to it as though it wasn’t there. ‘All right, Caroline, I don’t pretend to understand everything. But one thing I do know. Your husband was never going to be at that place tonight. It was part of a pretence that was probably going to end with a statement about his disappearance and the supposition that he’d been killed. He wasn’t going to be there because he hasn’t been in this country since Thursday, after he said his goodbyes to Marcia Pollard. He’s abroad somewhere under an assumed name and with a fake passport. I reckon he’s also got enough with him to put all the Mancor people down for a long time if necessary.
‘I haven’t any good ideas why he did it, but if Everyman Insurance goes bust in a month or so I won’t be surprised in the least. I do know that both you and Marcia knew where he was yet you allowed your lives to be put at risk rather than tell a lunatic with a knife. I don’t know why you did that and I don’t want to so don’t waste your breath telling me.’
She looked up at me as though I’d been reading her the weather report.
Then she smiled and said, ‘Scott, you won’t tell your suspicions to anyone else, will you?’ She paused and gave a half smile. ‘You know how much money there is in there.’ Her eyes flicked to the packet at the bottom of the bed. ‘You can keep it.’ She looked at me and her eyes dilated. ‘You can …’
The voice disappeared and the white satin cover slipped down further until all of her breasts were exposed. She was very beautiful. I walked over to her and reached down with my hand. I pulled the cover right back and gazed at her totally naked body.
I gazed at it for a long time. I didn’t want to forget it. Then I turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind me.
Outside, I sat in the car and looked back at the house. What was it that made a woman die for a man, a man for a woman? Whatever it was there was one thing I was sure of: I didn’t want it.
I put the car into gear and pressed the button on the car radio. A friendly guy with a nice friendly voice told me it was going to be hotter than ever tomorrow. I thanked him and drove on home.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1977 by John Harvey
Cover design by Julianna Lee
978-1-5040-3886-7
This edition published in 2016 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.mysteriouspress.com
www.openroadmedia.com
EARLY BIRD BOOKS
FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY
BE THE FIRST TO KNOW—
NEW DEALS HATCH EVERY DAY!
The Web’s Creepiest Newsletter
Delivered to Your Inbox
Get chilling stories of
true crime, mystery, horror,
and the paranormal,
twice a week.
THE SCOTT MITCHELL MYSTERIES
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
Otto Penzler, owner of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan, founded the Mysterious Press in 1975. Penzler quickly became known for his outstanding selection of mystery, crime, and suspense books, both from his imprint and in his store. The imprint was devoted to printing the best books in these genres, using fine paper and top dust-jacket artists, as well as offering many limited, signed editions.
Now the Mysterious Press has gone digital, publishing ebooks through MysteriousPress.com.
MysteriousPress.com offers readers essential noir and suspense fiction, hard-boiled crime novels, and the latest thrillers from both debut authors and mystery masters. Discover classics and new voices, all from one legendary source.
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FOLLOW US:
@emysteries and Facebook.com/MysteriousPressCom
MysteriousPress.com is one of a select group of
publishing partners of Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
The Mysterious Bookshop, founded in 1979, is located in Manhattan’s Tribeca neighborhood. It is the oldest and largest mystery-specialty bookstore in America.
The shop stocks the finest selection of new mystery hardcovers, paperbacks, and periodicals. It also features a superb collection of signed m
odern first editions, rare and collectable works, and Sherlock Holmes titles. The bookshop issues a free monthly newsletter highlighting its book clubs, new releases, events, and recently acquired books.
58 Warren Street
[email protected]
(212) 587-1011
Monday through Saturday
11:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.
FIND OUT MORE AT
www.mysteriousbookshop.com
FOLLOW US:
@TheMysterious and Facebook.com/MysteriousBookshop
Find a full list of our authors and
titles at www.openroadmedia.com
FOLLOW US:
