The Insult by Rupert Thomson Read Free Book Online Page A

TIME IT’S FOR EVER.’ He paused again, looked up. ‘I don’t suppose that rings any bells?’
    I searched my memory, but there were no running youths in it, no T-shirts. ‘No,’ I said.
    ‘Just the tomatoes?’ he said.
    I smiled.
    ‘We checked with the manufacturers. They do a whole range. THIS TIME IT’S FOR EVER, YOU KILL ME, I LOVE YOU TO DEATH. They sell hundreds every month, apparently.’ He sighed. ‘And, anyway, the woman didn’t think she could make a positive identification.’
    I wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how.
    ‘Sometimes you’re looking for connections and they’re just not there,’ he said after a while. ‘It’s small things that you’re looking for. Habits, for instance.’
    ‘Habits?’
    ‘Yes.’ His voice had quickened. ‘Take you, Mr Blom. You have an interesting habit.’
    ‘I do?’
    ‘Yes. You have this way of passing your hand across your head. Slowly, almost warily, from front to back. It’s what some men do, men who are worried they might be going bald –’
    ‘It must be the operation,’ I said, ‘the plate I had put in.’ I was slightly disconcerted; he’d told me something about myself that I didn’t know.
    ‘There you are, you see? A connection.’ The triumph in his voice didn’t last. ‘But this youth with the T-shirt –’
    He sighed again and this time I sighed with him.
    ‘As the victim of an unsolved felony you’re in the majority, of course. I only wish it was otherwise. I’m afraid most crimes in this country go unpunished.’
    I had the impression that he felt personally responsible for what had happened.
    ‘You know,’ he went on, ‘I always wanted to be a policeman. Ever since I was a boy. I used to dream I’d solve some famous case and then I’d have a street named after me. Or a square –’
    ‘Maybe you should’ve gone into politics,’ I said.
    He didn’t answer for a moment. Then, dreamily, he said, ‘Avenue Paul Munck.’
    I smiled. ‘Sounds good.’
    ‘It’ll never happen.’
    ‘It might.’ I was trying to encourage him, this seemingly doom-laden man.
    ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s like I told you. Most criminals are never brought to justice. Not by me – not by anyone.’
    ‘That’s interesting, though,’ I said, ‘about the habits.’
    ‘Yes.’ He rose wearily to his feet. ‘Well, it’s time I was going.’
    ‘It’s been a pleasure, Detective. Do call in again. If you’re ever in the area, that is.’
    ‘Yes, I will.’
    ‘And thanks again for the fruit.’
    ‘Don’t mention it.’ Munck lifted a hand as he turned away, then lowered it as he remembered I was blind. ‘Goodbye, Mr Blom.’
    ‘Goodbye.’
    I watched him move off down the ward, arms paddling in the air, feet slapping on the floor. So it was Munck who walked like somebody in flippers. This knowledge endeared him to me, and I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before I saw him again.
    Towards the end of September I made one final attempt to solve the mystery about the X-rays. As usual, the clinic fooled me and I was soon adrift in a maze of corridors and hallways. In some places, the ceilings were low and curved; I could touch bare brick if I reached up with one hand. There didn’t seem to be any windows. It was damp too, a chill that I felt on the back of my neck but, curiously, nowhere else.
    So far as I could tell, I was still at ground-level. I needed to be higher: three floors up, maybe four. As I walked, I was sure I could hear people behind me – the whisper of crepe soles on the lino, murmured words – but when I turned round, there was never anybody there. I wondered if this wing of the building could be haunted.Certainly it was antiquated enough. Almost derelict. It was a disgrace, really, now I thought about it. Just because we, the patients, were blind, they felt they could keep us in conditions that were scarcely even fit for animals.
    I found a stairwell and began to climb. Up and up it took me, opening at last on to a