Shadow of the Serpent by David Ashton Read Free Book Online Page B

pity.
    ‘That’s only the beginning, Frank.’
    The inspector puffed out his cheeks. He had not enjoyed the pursuit, anything above a brisk walking pace was, in his opinion, indecorous.
    As Mulholland put the restrainers on and hauled the man off, McLevy added more salt to the wound.
    ‘Wait till we get you to the station. Wait till the door closes. Wait till we send out for the bucket and the mop.’
    The three men disappeared through the opening of the close and then it was empty. Only the red patch remained, a last little patch of urine steaming faintly beside it in the wan sunlight.
    The mist spiralled up then disappeared like a departing spirit.

10
     
     
    When the sun sets, shadows, that showed at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible.
    NATHANIEL LEE, Oedipus
     
     
    McLevy’s method of interrogation was simple. He tailored it to type. With Frank Brennan it was fear. The looser his bowels, the greater chance of truth.
    Although the man seemed an abject coward and easy mark, he possessed, nevertheless, bovine strength and an animal cunning which had to be taken into consideration.
    Fear was a science. McLevy was a great student of scientific invention. See what it had given humanity in recent years, barbed wire and dynamite for a start.
    They brought Brennan into the interrogation room, a bare functional space with mysterious stains of varying colours on the walls. In one corner might be seen a large gouge in the bare plaster as if a bear had swiped its claws along the surface.
    There was a small table with two rickety chairs, one on each side, in the centre of the room. They sat him down and then both the inspector and Mulholland fell into what seemed like a trance.
    The silence stretched. Brennan licked his dry lips. He looked down at the table surface. It, too, had stains, some faded yellow, some pale red which had soaked into the naked grain. There was also a deep scratch which had been scored the length of the wood in a diagonal slash. That appeared more recent. Perhaps yesterday. Ten minutes ago, even.
    Sweat poured down his face. Still the policemen said nothing.
    A young constable came in with a bucket and a mop. Brennan’s eyes bulged as the items were left in a prominent position. The constable departed. McLevy turned a large key in order to lock the door, put the key in his trouser pocket, then leaned back against the panels of the wood.
    Mulholland was standing quietly behind the man so that Brennan’s head was near jerked off his shoulders trying to keep an eye on both these evil bastards at the same time.
    Finally, McLevy moved to sit opposite the big man at the table. The inspector laid his hands upon it like a minister about to deliver a sermon. Brennan flinched slightly as if too near the hot flame.
    A big flashy-dressed fellow, certain women might find him attractive; he possessed a false gallantry which fooled them time and time again.
    McLevy adjudged it the moment to begin. There was a rancid odour from the man’s mouth, either he had some gum disease or he lived on carrion flesh.
    ‘So ye killed her, Frank,’ he said. ‘Was there any particular reason?’
    Delivered in such tones as would suggest a pleasant choice between two fine whiskies set upon the bar, it inveigled Brennan into a nodding agreement before self-preservation set in and he howled denial.
    ‘I did no such thing! Why would I do that, now?’
    ‘She wasnae bringing in the coin. Ye like your drink. Ye saw her on the corner, not a penny had she earned.’
    Mulholland chimed in. ‘Justifiable anger, Frank. Ye’ve a terrible temper, everyone knows that. It just swept over you. A righteous wrath, then the sword was lifted.’
    ‘I don’t possess such weapon as a sword.’
    ‘But you have the anger, no denyin’ that,’ said the constable, closing one of his blue eyes in a wink of complicity. ‘The wrath.’
    ‘Righteous,’ agreed McLevy. ‘A man needs his money.’
    ‘I’d plenty of money for drink that