Deadline for Murder by Val McDermid Read Free Book Online Page A

collection were housed in tailor-made glass-fronted pine units. It could have come straight from the pages of the kind of glossy magazine Lindsay couldn't imagine wanting to write for. Cordelia would feel right at home here, she thought bitterly, taking in the Cartier briefcase standing beside the sofa. The room's designer consumerism epitomised everything that had disturbed Lindsay about their life together. But Cordelia had never shared her discomfort.
    "Can I get you a drink?" Claire asked.
    "No thanks," Lindsay replied. She might have to take Claire's money, but she was damned if she would accept anything that fell outside the ambit of a purely professional relationship. At least Cordelia wasn't here to churn up her emotions again, she thought with a mixture of relief and regret. "So, you said that Jackie wants my help," she added, perching on the edge of a pine-framed armchair.
    Claire pushed her glasses up her nose in a nervous gesture. "That's right," she said. "Look, before we start, I just wanted to apologise for last night. I realise it must have been something of a shock for you, and I'm sorry if I was less than helpful."
    Lindsay shrugged. "What exactly did Jackie want me to do?"
    Claire was clearly unsettled by Lindsay's ungracious response to her apology and walked over to the window to stare out at the mist-shrouded water. "She thought you could establish her innocence."
    "But why? What made her think I could succeed where the police and her own lawyers had failed? Surely if there had been anything to go on you would have hired a private detective before the trial."
    Having recovered her poise, Claire turned back and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Lindsay couldn't help picturing Cordelia curled up there beside her, watching television or just talking. She pushed the bitter thought aside and forced herself to listen to Claire. "We didn't go to a conventional private detective because Jackie didn't believe that we'd find one who would genuinely be on our side. I have to say that in my experience professionally with the breed, I wouldn't expect to find one who was sympathetic to a gay woman. Jackie thought you'd believe her. And she thought you'd have a vested interest in finding out the truth. She knew about your own affair with Alison, knew you'd understand what she'd been put through."
    Lindsay lit a cigarette without her usual courtesy of asking permission first. Claire leapt to her feet, saying, "I'll get you an ashtray." She disappeared through another door and returned moments later with an ostentatiously large crystal ashtray. Lindsay felt that using it would be like shouting in a museum. Claire placed it on the occasional table next to Lindsay's chair and said, "Well, will you help? She didn't do it, you know." There was a note of desperation in her voice that touched Lindsay in spite of herself.
    Wearily, Lindsay nodded. "I'll do what I can," she said. "My daily rate is PS100 plus expenses. I'd expect a week's payment in advance, as a retainer," she added quickly, amazed at how easily it came out.
    Claire's eyebrows rose. "Cordelia didn't seem to think you'd expect to be paid," she said coolly. "But I'm used to paying for professional services. In return, I expect full reports on what you are doing." Claire opened her briefcase and swiftly wrote a cheque for PS700. She handed it to Lindsay with a look of contempt.
    "That goes without saying," Lindsay replied. She glanced at the cheque and noted it was drawn on the JM Defence Account. Claire might be happy to splash out on maintaining her own high-flying image, but clearly a private detective wasn't considered a designer accessory, Lindsay thought with a spurt of anger. She took a deep breath before she spoke. "Now, before we go any further, I want you to tell me everything you know about the events leading up to the murder." Lindsay took a notebook out of her shoulder bag to take down Claire's words in her rusty shorthand.
    Claire took a deep breath