Val McDermid - Dead Beat

'It may have nothing to do with her murder at all, but I believe she had some information connecting the fake merchandise to someone who works for you,' I said cautiously.

There was a long silence from the other end of the phone. I almost thought we'd been cut off when Jett finally said, 'She should have come straight to me. She knows I wouldn't stand on for that. Do you know who it was?'

'Not yet,' I stalled.

'Well, find out, and when you do, you let me know. You hear?'

'Will do, Jett. Good night.'

He put the phone down. Before I untucked the receiver from my chin, I heard the sound of another phone clicking into place. Interesting. Someone had been listening in.

It all fitted. Moira had told Maggie that she'd seen someone from the manor talking to Fat Freddy. Fat Freddy was doing schneids of Jett's gear. Kevin had handed Fat Freddy an envelope on the steps of the bank. And the only person at the manor in a position to exploit that relationship was Kevin.

Then I remembered something that hadn't registered at the time. When Kevin had appeared on the landing after the police arrived, he'd been suited up. Not even his tie had been loosened. Now, I know people who fall into bed with their clothes on, but Kevin didn't strike me as one of them.

'Penny for them, Brannigan,' Richard said. The sound of his voice startled me. I'd almost forgotten he was there.

I lay down beside him and thought about sharing my ideas with him. By the time I'd decided it wouldn't be a bad idea, his soft, regular breathing told me that the only information I'd be getting into his head would be subliminal. Richard was out for the count.

I couldn't believe it when the phone woke me up yet again. Blearily, I disentangled myself from Richard and grabbed the phone, checking the clock. Five past seven. This was getting silly.

'Kate Brannigan,' I barked.

'AH right, kid? Sorry to wake you. It's Alexis here.'

She didn't need to announce herself. I'd recognise Alexis Lee's voice anywhere. The combination of Scotch, cigarettes and Liverpool have produced a unique Scouse growl. Alexis is the crime reporter on the Manchester Evening Chronicle, and we've done each other a few favours in the past. I didn't count waking me up as one of them.

'What the hell is so urgent you need to call me at this time in the morning?' I moaned as I dragged myself into a sitting position. Richard mumbled in his sleep and turned over. Lucky bastard.

'Jack, known as Billy, and Gary Smart,' Alexis said. 'A little bird told me you could give me the SP on their little operation.'

'You woke me up for that? Listen, Alexis, I can't tell you a damn thing about the Smarts. If it's not already subjudice it soon will be.'

'I thought you were half a lawyer, Kate. You should know you can't charge dead men.'

'You what?'

'The cops raided their warehouse in the early hours. Billy and Gary did a runner in a hired Porsche. They got as far as Mancunian Way, then Gary lost it and they went off the elevated section. Car ended up the thickness of a club sandwich on Upper Brook Street. I'm surprised you didn't hear the bang round your place. Anyway…'

'Hang on a minute,” I protested. “I need to take this in. So they're both dead? You're sure?'

'Believe me, Kate, I saw the wreckage. A gerbil would have struggled to make it out alive. So that's why I'm picking your brains. I thought it would make a nice little plug for Mortensen and Brannigan. Efficiency in contrast to the boys in blue.'

'Look, Alexis, I'd love to help, but I've not even had a cup of coffee yet.'

'No problem. Get some clothes on and meet me in the office canteen in quarter of an hour. Breakfast on me.'

People think private eyes are hardnosed. They sure as hell don't know any journalists. I sighed and bowed to the inevitable. Better than having Alexis round here discussing my latest case with Richard. 'Make it half an hour.'

Now I knew I was never going to have to visit another disgusting greasy spoon on the tail of Billy and Gary Smart, bacon, eggs and fried bread held a strange appeal, even in the subterranean gloom of the Chronicle canteen. I tucked into breakfast while Alexis filled in the gaps in our telephone conversation. I couldn't believe how bright and bouncy she was at that time in the morning. And she'd been up a couple of hours before me, after a tip-off from a contact in the police control room.

I first met Alexis a week after I started working for Bill. One of her contacts had told her there was a new woman PI in town, and she'd come along to try to persuade me into a profile in the paper. I'd refused, not wanting to run the risk of being recognised on the job. But we'd hit it off, and over the years she'd become the kind of friend I could go shopping with and count on to tell me when an outfit made me look like a candidate for Crafts. And her girlfriend Chris is the best architect in town. I know – I've got the conservatory to prove it.

But this morning, she wasn't interested in my latest discoveries in skin care. She was being professional. Her untamable mop of thick black hair was growing more unruly by the minute as she ran one hand through it while taking notes with the other. After half an hour, she knew almost as much about the Smarts as I did.

The surprise of her news had worn off, and I'd begun to feel sorry for Billy and Gary. OK, they'd been villains, but they hadn't been the kind of villains who cause individuals pain. They hadn't been burglars, or armed robbers or killers. They hadn't deserved to die like that just for ripping off a few big companies who would barely notice the hole in their balance sheets. I said as much to Alexis, albeit off the record.

'Yeah, I know. We're going to run a reaction piece about the number of people who die as a result of police chases. It's well out of order. Mind you, I think I'm going to have to give Richard a warning,' Alexis added, her blue eyes giving a twinkle as she smiled. I swear she practises that twinkle in front of the mirror to charm cops and victims of crime alike.

'A warning? What about?'

'Well, there seems to be a lot of death and destruction hanging around you these days.' Alexis lit a Silk Cut and blew a plume of smoke over her shoulder. She's always had interesting manners.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' I lied. I drained my polystyrene cup of coffee-flavoured dishwater and tried to look innocent.

'Come on, supersleuth. It's me you're talking to. Everybody knows you're working on Moira Pollock's murder. I'll admit, I was surprised to find you off your usual white-collar beat, but then I heard on the grapevine that it was you that found the body. Care to go on the record about it?' Alexis's voice was offhand, but her eyes were hard.

I shook my head. 'No way. Sorry. I can't even confirm what you've just suggested, on or off the record.'

Alexis shrugged. 'Oh well, it was worth a try. We'll just have to make do with Neil Webster's copy. Not that I've any complaints on that score. It's been remarkably detailed for supposedly official stuff. Would you believe, he's even pitched us into paying him for it? He actually managed to persuade the newsdesk that he wasn't just issuing press releases, but operating as a freelance inside Jett's camp.'

'Really?' I was interested, in spite of my desire to keep Alexis's nose out of my business for once.

'You can come upstairs and have a read through it if you want. That'll keep you quiet while I write my copy, because I know you'll want to check it. After all this time, I'd have thought you'd trust me to spell Brannigan,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

I jumped at the chance. Neil was more accustomed to interrogating people than I was. Maybe there was something in his reports that I'd missed. Either way, as Alexis said, it would pass the time.