Dead Silent by Neil White Read Free Book Online

constable,how it was often harder for the women, the men attempting to shield her from the fights, expecting her to spend the day patting old ladies’ hands. But Laura liked the rucks, the excitement, the chases. It was why she joined, for the dirt, a different life to the one she’d had as a child in Pinner.
    ‘Thomas?’ said Laura, and when he looked up, Laura beckoned him over.
    He tried to make himself seem big, his thumbs hooked into his belt, but Laura detected a slight quiver to his voice as he said hello.
    ‘I’ve got a trip into town, and I need some help. I thought you could come with me.’
    Thomas smiled and nodded. ‘Good. Thanks.’
    As they made their way out of the station, threading their way through the atrium that was busy with detectives, all serious and intense, Laura wondered whether making sergeant would be worth missing out on all the fun of CID. What would she do if she never got back in there, if she had to carry on wearing the uniform?
    That was something she didn’t want to think about.

Chapter Eight
    ‘So, what do you want to know about Claude Gilbert?’ Bill Hunter asked.
    I took a sip of the whisky and coughed as it went down. Beer was more my thing, wine when I was with Laura, but I didn’t want to be rude.
    ‘The answers to the two big questions,’ I said. ‘Did he do it, and where did he go?’
    Hunter scowled. ‘Of course he did it.’
    ‘How can you be sure? If I remember it right, not everyone is convinced.’
    ‘Usually just people looking for attention,’ Hunter said. He took a sip from his cup. I could smell the whisky on his breath as he started to talk. ‘I’ll tell you something about Claude Gilbert: he was nothing but a Daddy’s boy made good.’
    ‘He was a barrister,’ I replied. ‘Not many of them are working-class heroes.’
    ‘Yeah, but a lot are decent people too,’ he snapped back. ‘They just had a better start in life than I did. But I’ve no chip on my shoulder. If people treat me well, I have no complaints, but Gilbert wasn’t like that. He was arrogant, even though he didn’t deserve to be. It wasn’t talent that put him in that big old house. It was Daddy, His Honour Judge Gilbert. He gave him what he wanted, and maybe a bit more, but I don’tthink Claude saw it like that. I’ve been cross-examined by Claude, and he spoke to me like I ought to be cleaning his shoes or something. But let me tell you something: he was a loser, right up until the day he disappeared. He gambled, he played around, and most times he either lost or got caught.’
    ‘But why does that make him a murderer?’
    ‘Because it makes him desperate,’ Hunter said. ‘He should have been a better person, with his background. Educated at Stonyhurst, and part of some head-boy clique, a group of toffs who played at gangs, just an excuse to bully the new boys. They had all this blood brother nonsense, secret codes, and when they grew up, they carried it on. Gambling parties, and some sex parties, so it was whispered to me, probably drugs too—though the sort of people who were invited aren’t the sort who talk to people like me. But Gilbert was lazy, and not that gifted. He was the one who failed in the clique, ended up at one of the universities that he thought was beneath him, but his father bailed him out eventually, got him a place in chambers. Then Claude learnt how to work the system: plead guilty at the last moment, bill the state for preparing the trial, and he made a lot of money out of being average.’
    ‘He wasn’t alone in that,’ I said. ‘My father used to talk about how much the lawyers got paid compared to him, and he was the one made to look guilty when he got in the witness box.’
    Hunter leant over to pour me some more whisky, but I put my hand over the cup. I had to drive away from there.
    ‘Your father was right to be cynical,’ Hunter said. ‘I was one of the good guys and I didn’t get too much.’
    ‘If it helps,’ I said, ‘those