Murder of a Dead Man by Katherine John Read Free Book Online Page A

exhalation was slow, every moment of nicotine-stained sensation being savoured to the full.
    ‘A man who makes the most of every little pleasure.’ Nigel Valance, a freelance producer who worked occasionally for the local TV company, sat back in his chair.
    ‘A man who made the most of every little pleasure,’ Peter contradicted.
    ‘Quiet!’ Bill paused the remote until silence reigned in the room.
    ‘And tonight, Tony?’ The same female voice.
    ‘Tonight?’ No matter what angle the camera took, Tony’s eyes refused to meet the scrutinising gaze of the lens.
    ‘You went to the DSS this morning, for your payment,’ she said. ‘Do you have enough left for a bed in the shelter tonight?’
    ‘Bastards wouldn’t give me nothing. Said I had to wait.’ He gripped the glowing end of the cigarette tensely between the tips of his thumb and forefinger and swayed on his feet.
    Trevor had spent enough working time in Jubilee Street to profile the man and a hundred like him. If it had been Tony’s day to go to the DSS the money would have been off-loaded on to the first off-licence prepared to serve him. That’s if he was on drink. The pupil dilation said otherwise, and there were enough cheap varieties of dope on offer down in the dock area to buy all the hostel “guests” a few hours of oblivion.
    Judging by the state of him on film, he wouldn’t have even been awake if someone hadn’t shaken him for the benefit of the rolling camera. Whoever had planned the documentary had needed a dosser to give an Oscar-winning performance of a man at the end of his rope and they’d settled on Tony because someone knew addicts. Catch a man sleeping after a trip and you’ve compliance. Wake him and he’ll jump through hoops if he thinks it will finance his next fix. What had they offered? Money or dope? It wouldn’t have taken much of either. Pity they hadn’t filmed him when whatever he was on was wearing off. Another couple of hours and it would have been a different story. Watch the raving lunatic who’d kill his grandmother for a ticket to temporary oblivion.
    Trevor looked along the table. Bill, Dan, Anna, Andrew, Sam Mayberry and the documentary maker, Nigel Valance, were watching the screen intently. But Peter caught his eye. The quick glance they exchanged was enough. Peter’s thoughts were running along similar lines to his own. But Peter’s patience was shorter.
    ‘Do you really expect people to fall for this
    “poor lost soul” crap?’
    ‘Pardon?’ Nigel turned his pony-tailed head and looked at Peter through weak blue eyes rimmed by gold wire spectacles.
    ‘You want the world to feel sorry for a junkie who’s an hour off a downer when he’d be prepared to do anything or anyone to fund the next trip?’
    ‘He told us it was drink.’
    ‘And I’m Santa Claus.’
    ‘That might explain…’
    ‘What?’ Bill paused the disc again.
    ‘What comes next? Father Mayberry and Constable Murphy described the man you were interested in and I put all the footage I could find of him on this disc.’
    ‘If there’s more to come let’s watch it,’ Bill hit the play button.
    ‘We were in Jubilee Street for two weeks…’
    ‘Quiet!’ Bill ordered, and all eyes focused on the screen again.
    Another interview, this time with Captain Arkwright who eloquently pleaded for more understanding and financial support from the community. A longer one with Tom Morris who reiterated the message of the Salvation Army worker directly to the camera, but more forcibly. Even Peter was tempted to put his hand in his pocket.
    ‘He’s very attractive,’ Anna commented.
    ‘He’s married,’ Trevor warned.
    ‘With looks like that, who cares?’ Anna glanced slyly at Peter.
    ‘Doesn’t he simply exude sincerity? He was a treasure. An absolute gift to a documentary maker,’
    Nigel enthused. ‘Blond hair and blue eyes are often photogenic, like yours, Anna…’
    ‘You two know one another?’ Peter interrupted.
    ‘We