Long Time Dead (Gus Dury 4) by Tony Black Read Free Book Online

today.’
    Playing it cool: ‘He is. Grand.’
    She took a box of man-size tissues from a desk drawer. ‘He’s been in the whole time. Pretty much gave up his vacation since the, well, y’know …’
    I watched her mop up the tea. ‘Since the … ?’
    ‘Incident.’ She spoke sharply, I missed all intonation. Thought: Pity – would like to have noted that.
    ‘You mean the Ben Laird … incident.’
    She straightened her back, eyed me full-on. ‘Yes.’ She walkedaway with the pile of wet tissues, dropped them in a bin on the other side of the desk, said, ‘If you’re looking for Joe, he’s in his office.’ A hand went onto her hip. She pointed to the door, continued, ‘Down the corridor, second door on the left … His name’s on the front.’
    I smiled, thanked her. Something about her manner, about the way she dismissed Ben’s death as no more than an incident , like it was all just an inconvenience, troubled me. I wanted to press her but I knew this wasn’t the time. Probably wasn’t the place either, but I’d be fucked if I was giving Joe Calder the same consideration. The man at the helm needed his buttons pressed right away. There was something about this case that reeked of cover-up – of those with the power abusing it.
    Turned for the corridor; took the oak boards all the way down to the white-painted door with the brass nameplate on it. The prick had been pretentious enough to have the string of letters engraved after his name too. Cut no ice with me. Thought about knocking but it’s not my style.
    Strode in, took a look about. Calder was fifty-odd, but could have passed for ten years shy of that mark. He had a lot of hair, swept back over a high forehead and tucked behind his ears, sitting in tight curls above his shoulders. From a certain angle it looked like a very bad mullet, the kind that sat over a Klem top on Hibs casuals of the eighties. Didn’t rate my chances of getting along with him. Maybe it was the ox-blood brogues. He sat upright, seemed to focus on my tweed, calmed some, said, ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
    I strolled to the bookshelves beside his desk, eyeballing the titles. Lit on some Foucault, Sartre, Derrida … maybe he wasn’t a total arsewipe after all. I wasn’t betting on that, though. He got out of his chair, started to stroll over to me. ‘Excuse me, but is there something I can help you with?’
    I turned, gave him the once-over, head to toe, said, ‘Might just be, Joe … might just be.’
    His brows lifted. A loose curl of dark hair unfurled from hisfringe, he swept it back with a very weak wrist movement, went, ‘Do I know you?’
    ‘I don’t know, Joey Boy … do you?’
    The puzzled look turned to panic. ‘Look, what the hell is this? You come into my office and—’
    I raised a hand to my mouth, motioned shush . He stilled, stepped back, it has to be said, nervously.
    I went, ‘I’ve been speaking to … your new rector.’
    ‘What … I mean, what do you mean?’
    ‘Shouldn’t that be a why … or perhaps even a when?’
    He ran fingers through his hair, straining to produce a dim smile. ‘Right … this is some kind of joke, is it? Has Gillian put you up to this?’
    I moved past him, sat on the edge of his desk. Stubbed a finger into the thick layer of dust, blew it away. ‘Joke … do you think Gillian’s in the mood for jokes after her son’s been murdered?’
    Calder’s face drained of all expression. If there was any colour left it was in his lips … and they were blue.
    ‘Don’t forget to breathe, Joey Boy. I hear that can seriously impair your health … Y’know, like a fucking noose round your neck.’
    He raised his hands to his ears, splayed fingers, then shot past me, ran for the other side of the desk and picked up the phone. He bashed a few digits, said, ‘Margaret, Margaret … is that you?’
    I followed his steps slowly, faced him.
    Calder said, ‘Good, can you please get that security guard up here, I