The Inscrutable Charlie Muffin by Brian Freemantle Read Free Book Online Page B

announced. ‘They’re both dead.’
    He spoke apologetically, as if he might in some way be blamed for it.
    Superintendent Johnson succeeded in interposing constables between the dock and people trying to stare in, then more officers arrived to clear the court.
    It was not until they were back in the vestibule that Nelson and Charlie were able to extract themselves from the hurrying funnel of people.
    ‘What the hell does that mean?’ demanded Nelson.
    Charlie considered the question.
    ‘It means,’ he said, ‘that there won’t be a trial.’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ protested the broker.
    ‘No,’ admitted Charlie. ‘Neither do I. Not yet.’
    Suddenly it seemed that there was going to be very little difference between what he was attempting to do now and what he had done in the past. Would he still be as good? he wondered.
    The photograph of Charlie Muffin was passed slowly around the inner council, then finally returned to the chairman.
    ‘Such a nondescript man,’ said the chairman.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Chiu.
    ‘Incredible.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Chiu again.
    ‘So the insurers aren’t as satisfied as the police.’
    ‘Apparently not.’
    ‘Such a nondescript man,’ repeated the chairman, going back to the photograph.

7
    Their Formica-topped table had been separated from others in the restaurant by wheel-mounted plastic screens trundled squeakily across the bare-boarded floors and they had sat upon canvas-backed chairs. But the food had been magnificent. It was, decided Charlie, a Chinese restaurant for discerning Chinese.
    ‘It was good?’ enquired Jenny Lin Lee anxiously.
    ‘Superb,’ said Charlie honestly, smiling at her.
    She hesitated, then smiled back. A man trained to see through the veil that people erect at first encounters, he was intrigued by the girl. Her frailty was practically waif-like, yet he felt none of the protectiveness that would have been a natural response. Instead, he was suspicious of it, imagining a barrier created with more guile than most people were capable of. A professionalism, in fact. But at what could she be professional? Her hair, obviously very long, was coiled thickly but demurely in a bun at the back of her head. She wore hardly any make-up, just a touch of colour to her lips, and looked more like Nelson’s daughter than his mistress. Certainly the broker behaved protectively towards her. But there was another attitude, too. A discomfort, decided Charlie. Definitely a discomfort.
    Charlie was aware that he had held back because of his uncertainty, contributing to the awkwardness of the meal.
    ‘Would have tasted better with this,’ insisted Nelson thickly, raising his minute drinking thimble. Charlie had refused the Mao Tai, preferring beer. Jenny had chosen tea, so the insurance broker had consumed nearly all the bottle.
    ‘Nothing like whisky, though,’ said Nelson, as if the qualification were necessary. ‘That’s what they call it, you know. Chinese whisky.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Charlie.
    ‘There’s no better restaurant in the colony for Peking Duck,’ said Jenny quickly.
    She’d realised Nelson’s increasing drunkenness and moved hurriedly to take attention from the man. They seemed equally protective towards one another, thought Charlie. It appeared an odd relationship. But then, who was he to judge? He’d never managed a proper relationship in his life. And now he would never have the chance.
    ‘It really was very good,’ he said.
    ‘It’s cooked over charcoal … and basted in honey,’ she said.
    ‘Australia are 160 for 5, by the way,’ said Nelson, adding to his thimble. He looked over the table, grinning apologetically.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Forgot you’re not a cricket fan.’
    ‘What are you interested in?’ asked Jenny.
    Another rescue attempt, thought Charlie.
    ‘Hardly anything,’ he shrugged.
    ‘There must be something ,’ persisted the girl.
    Should have been, thought Charlie. Edith’s complaint too. The one he thought