The Witches of Chiswick by Robert Rankin Read Free Book Online

antique weapons.”
    “I think we’ve solved the mystery of the murder weapon,” said Officer Denton. “One up to the DOCS I think.”
    “Buffoon,” said Sam. “So, is that it? Is that all your informant had to say?”
    “No, sir, apparently then the half-naked, big, smelly, black-eyed man, now hung all about with antique weaponry, came out of the antique weapons shop, crossed the street, turned around and tossed a hand grenade into the shop, blowing it all to pieces.”
    “There goes the crime-scene evidence,” said Officer Denton.
    “Shut it!” shouted Chief Inspector Sam. “What else did he say, Higgins?”
    “He said that the murderer returned to the alleyway and shook my informant about and demanded information.”
    “Asked the right chap then,” said Officer Denton, giggling foolishly. “Information from an informant.”
    “Shut it!” shouted Sam once more. “What information?”
    “He wanted to know the year,” said Officer Higgins.
    “The year?”
    “That’s what he wanted to know. My informant told him and the big man flung him to the ground. Knocking him unconscious, he’s only just come to.”
    “That’s assault, probably GBH,” said Officer Denton. “That brings the crime tally up to three. This big, near-naked, smelly, black-eyed fellow is a regular one-man crime wave.”
    “Officer Higgins,” said Sam Maggott. “Exchange clothes with Officer Denton. He can be the token woman for the next month. Perhaps that will shut him up.”
    “I’ll bet it won’t,” said Officer Denton.
    “It damn well better,” said Chief Inspector Maggott. “Or I will be forced to—”
    But his words were cut short by the ringing of Officer John Higgins’s telephone.
    The hand of Officer John took to hovering just above the receiver.
    “Well, answer it, man,” cried Maggott.
    “But it might be more bad news. Wouldn’t it be better if we just pretend to be out?”
    “What, with a maniac on the loose?”
    “I’m really not keen,” said Officer John.
    “Denton, you do it,” ordered Sam. “This needs a woman’s touch. Go to it. Hurry up.”
    Officer Denton took up the receiver. “DOCS. Policewoman Denton speaking,” she said.
    Words tumbled into Denton’s large-and-unshell-like.
    And presently she too replaced the receiver.
    “So, what is it, Officer?” Sam demanded to be told.
    “It’s another murder, sir. A body has just been found in a Brentford housing unit. Chap by the name of Will Starling has just been shot to death.”

4
    The headquarters of the DOCS had plenty of high-tech state-of-the-art equipment. There were heaps of holographic how’s-your-fathers and digital directory doodahs. There were even some inter-rositors, which were powered by a complicated process involving the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter. Most of it however had long since ceased to work, and that which still did so, did so at irregular intervals.
    Officer Denton was au-fait with the running of all the equipment that still worked. She possessed the necessary operational skills and had certificates to prove it. Not that any of her comrades had ever expressed a desire to see them. Officer Denton set to the task of tracking down the killer.
    “This should be a challenge,” she told Chief Inspector Sam, “but not much of one. We’ll soon have him.”
    “I fear not for this,” said her superior. “Would you care to take us through the method
you
will be employing?”
    Officer Denton put aside her nail varnish and blew on her fingertips. “As you are well aware,” said she, “at any given time it is possible for us to locate any given person. No one can travel without being iris-scanned. Folk are constantly scanned in their housing units by iris-scanning systems installed within their home screens.”
    “Which is not something known to the general public,” said Sam, tapping his nose in a significant fashion.
    “Naturally not, sir. But if the scanners actually happen to be working,