The Bullet That Missed полностью

‘I’m afraid my books are e-books, and so are impossible to sign, unless you want me to make a terrible mess of your Kindle,’ says Andrew Everton. A line he has perfected in the backrooms of several Kent pubs and bookshops over the last few years. Though it has yet to get a laugh, he now realizes. ‘But I will give everyone a QR code after the reading to buy any of my books at a substantial discount.’

A number of hands shoot up at this. Ibrahim turns and faces the rest of the crowd. ‘A QR code is a “Quick Response” code that can be read by a computer and link you to a specific URL. A type of matrix barcode would be the simplest way of putting it.’

Most of the hands go down, but three or four remain. Ibrahim turns back to Andrew Everton. ‘The remaining questions will be about the specific nature of the discount.’

‘Fifty per cent,’ says Andrew Everton, and the remaining hands go down.

‘Do continue,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We’re holding you up.’

‘Not at all,’ says Andrew Everton. He will find a way to speak to Ibrahim Arif after the reading. Just engage him in conversation. Establish a rapport, and ask what needs to be asked. He’s here, that’s the main thing. He looks back at his notes.

‘Should I start again from the beginning?’

‘No, dear,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Mutilated corpse, Catherine Howard keeping her head. I think we’re up to speed.’

Andrew Everton nods.

‘She took in the scene around her. Howard could see experienced officers turn ghostly pale –’

From the side of the stage, Marjory, the woman who had introduced him, chooses to interrupt.

‘Is it confusing that she’s a woman, but her surname is a man’s first name? I’d be thinking, “Who’s Howard?”’

There are nods in the audience at this.

‘Is it too late to change it?’ asks the white-haired woman with friendly concern.

‘Well, yes, the book has been out for several years already,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘She’s the hero of all my books, and no one seems to have minded yet.’

A few raised eyebrows.

‘Carry on,’ says Elizabeth.

Andrew turns back to the text. He will sell a few copies, he thinks. Then he will thank Ibrahim for his questions, and ask a few of his own. He takes a sip of the water provided on the lectern. It turns out to be a vodka and tonic. Probably for the best.

‘No one present had ever witnessed a crime scene this awful, this macabre, this depraved. No one except Catherine Howard. Because Catherine Howard had seen this exact crime scene before. Just three nights ago, in fact. In a dream.’

Hands shoot up again.

Andrew Everton settles into a battered old armchair, underneath a painting of a boat. Looking around, he sees glass-fronted shelves, absolutely stacked with box files.

‘That was most enjoyable,’ says Ibrahim, walking in with the mint tea. ‘Most enjoyable. You have a rare talent.’

‘You just write one word, then another, and you pray that no one finds you out,’ says Andrew Everton. He had once heard Lee Child say something similar, and had liked it. ‘You have a lot of files. Is that a work thing?’

Ibrahim settles onto a sofa. ‘A life’s work, yes. Well, many lives. I’m a psychiatrist, Chief Constable.’

‘Call me Andrew,’ says Andrew Everton, well aware that Ibrahim is a psychiatrist. ‘I’m afraid I need something from you, and so I want to appear as unthreatening as possible.’

Ibrahim chuckles. ‘A fine tactic. Was the reading a ruse? Simply to come and see me?’

‘Partly. I saw you on television,’ says Andrew Everton. Saw him on television, dug into his files. ‘With your friends. I recognized you. So two birds with one stone really,’ he says, blowing on his tea. ‘I wanted an informal chat with you, and I also thought perhaps I might sell a few books.’

‘I’m certain you will,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Chief Constable Catherine Howard is very tough. Haunted, but tough.’

‘I describe her as “teak-tough” in Given in Evidence.’

‘Quite so, Andrew,’ says Ibrahim. ‘“Teak-tough”. Enough of literature though. You say you recognized me? I am intrigued.’

‘A couple of days ago, you made a visit to Darwell Prison, I believe?’ Andrew Everton sees all the details of Connie’s visitors. Lovely close-up from the prison security cameras too.

‘Ah,’ says Ibrahim.

‘Ah,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘You gave your profession as “journalist”, though I could find no trace of you in relation to that. You visited a prisoner named Connie Johnson. A particularly brutal drug baron, currently on remand for a number of very serious crimes. You stayed with her for around half an hour, chatting, and I quote an official report here, “animatedly at times”. Correct?’

‘Well, I would say drug baroness, although I must learn to degender job titles,’ says Ibrahim. ‘But, other than that, correct.’