The Blade Artist by Irvine Welsh Read Free Book Online Page B

she had introduced them, at an opening of her work. Harry had come along, as a guest of a mutual high school friend whom she resolved to have a quiet word with. What had Harry smelt off Jim? The criminality? The danger? Or even the art? Whenever she’d caught sight of him that evening, he wasn’t stealing the usual disconcerting glances at her. He was scrutinising Jim. Perhaps trying to fathom the attraction for women like Melanie, good-looking, intelligent and rich, of men whom he obviously reckoned were programmed to disappoint. Trying to discern their advantage over ones such as him, the loyal foot soldiers who only wanted to look after a woman. To provide for her. To save her. Melanie pondered how scary intheir own way such men could be, without even knowing it. Often more so than many criminal psychopaths. Now Harry’s slow stare, his slightly awkward, goofy demeanour, as he asks her about the confrontation with those two troubling, troubled souls. — And Jim, how did he react?
    — He was very calm , Melanie says, stretching out the word to relax herself. — He got me to take the kids to the car. Then he kinda faced those guys down, and followed us.
    After some more scribbling, and another silence, Harry asks, drumming his pen on his notebook, — What did he say to them?
    Melanie knows that this isn’t about those guys. She draws in a breath and feels the friction slip into her voice. — I don’t think he said a goddamn thing to those assholes. Why would he? Who were they?
    Harry fastens his bottom lip over his top one, makes a smacking sound with his mouth. — A body was fished out of the sea. It got snagged on the rigging of Holly, the offshore oil platform, and was found by a maintenance worker. Otherwise the current would have taken it right out into the ocean. It was this guy, Marcello Santiago, a gang member and career criminal. He passes over one of the photographs again. The darker man, the one with the muscles, who had chillingly wanted to apply her suntan lotion. — He had a bad record, multiple felonies, including violence and rape. His associate, Damien Coover, with whom he was recently seen, and who is currently missing, is a known paedophile. You were lucky Jim was with you and the girls. Those guys are bad news. Well, in Santiago’s case, used to be.
    Melanie gazes at Santiago’s picture. Her blood is gelid in her veins. The air-conditioning thermostat clicks on, blasting cool air into the room. She shudders. — He’s . . . dead, she gasps. It was a silly thing to say, given that Harry has just explained that his body had been washed out to sea, but she is in shock.
    But through that, Melanie is aware that she’s handed over some power to the police officer. To his credit, Harry pretends that he didn’t hear her stupid, inane remark. Instead, he looks down at his notebook. — Jim came back with you and the girls, yes?
    — Yes, Melanie says, flinching. Then she goes into a shivering spasm, just as Harry looks up.
    — Are you okay?
    Melanie takes a deep breath and nods. — It’s scary to think that they were so close to the girls . . . She looks back at the pictures on the table, regaining her composure. — What do you think happened?
    — Well, we don’t have the official pathologist’s report yet, but initial examinations indicate multiple stab wounds.
    — Oh my God, Melanie says, then maybe too quickly asks, — Do you think this guy’s murder was gang-related?
    — Santiago’s dead, Coover’s vanished. Perhaps Coover killed him after some petty dispute and tried to make it look gang-related by taking him out to sea, but he never figured on Holly . . . but you never really know with those guys, though. Harry tapped the pen on his notebook again. — They might have been high, had an argument, hell, whatever . . . that strip of the beach is normally busy, but after IndependenceDay . . . The full forensics report is due soon, he offers, then his tone changes. — But listen,