Murder by the Book by Eric Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

left the room, Langham said, ‘Which brings us to the second letter …’
    Charles made a pained face. ‘Arrived this morning, Donald, first post.’
    He passed a manila envelope identical to the first, and Langham withdrew a single typed sheet of notepaper.
    Dear Charles,
    Having given you ample opportunity to dwell upon the content of the first letter and withdraw the monies, the time has arrived for you to make the delivery – Thursday the 10th at two p.m.
    Place a hundred pounds in used five-pound notes in an envelope and bring it to the following address: 22 Earle Street, Streatham. You will find it off Streatham High Road. Number 22 is a derelict cotton mill. Enter through the main delivery door and continue until you come to an interior wall. Place the envelope on the floor and walk back out into the street without turning around.
    Needless to say, if the above instructions are not carried out to the letter, the police will be in receipt of the incriminating photographs.
    Langham looked up. ‘The tenth. That’s today.’
    He read the note again, then replaced it in the envelope. He examined the postmark, which this time was clear and unsmudged: the letter was posted in Streatham, not that this told him much.
    He passed the note back to Charles.
    â€˜Well, my boy?’
    â€˜I don’t see how we have any option other than to go through with the delivery.’
    â€˜But Streatham, my boy? I’ve never been south of the river since before the war!’
    Langham shook his head, smiling. ‘And most people would be more concerned about the hundred pounds.’
    â€˜Well, there is that, too. But I don’t really see how I can go through with this.’
    â€˜You don’t have to go through with it. I’ll make the delivery.’
    â€˜You? But my dear boy … think of the danger! What if this person is violent?’
    â€˜Charles, I can look after myself. I’ll be delivering a hundred pounds, after all. There would be no reason to attack the messenger, as it were.’
    â€˜Only if you’re absolutely sure …’
    â€˜I want to sort this mess out. If I make the delivery, I might even come across something that might help to catch the bastard.’
    â€˜You’re a steadfast friend, Donald. Steadfast! Ah, I do believe this is the lapsang.’
    Langham parked the Austin on Streatham High Road, crossed the busy street and turned down Earle Street towards the bombed-out mill. It was one thirty, half an hour before he was due to make the delivery. He had plenty of time to look around, check the place out, and perhaps even witness the arrival of the blackmailer. Though he doubted this latter possibility. If the blackmailer were experienced – or even if he had an ounce of sense in his head – he would have chosen the site so that he could approach without being seen.
    He had to admit to the first flutterings of apprehension, maybe even fear. He might have left Charles with a cavalier claim that there was nothing to worry about, but that had been more to reassure his anxious agent. The fact was that he had no idea who he was dealing with – other than someone who treated male prostitutes with brutality – and who was to say that, contrary to what he’d told Charles earlier, the blackmailer might not decide to attack the messenger?
    As he made his way down Earle Street he passed a row of red-brick terraced houses, abbreviated courtesy of the Luftwaffe. Exposed interior walls bore poignant reminders that the empty spaces had once housed families, with peeling wallpaper still in place, the zigzag palimpsests of vanished stairs and the outlines of fireplaces.
    Five minutes later he came to the bombed-out mill. Its façade still stood, with daylight showing surreally through the rows of upper windows. To the right, a towering chimney rose defiantly. A flimsy wooden fence fronted the building, a feeble sop to public safety,