Val McDermid - Dead Beat

'That's not true,' he cried, desperation in his voice. His eyes flicked from side to side, as if checking the escape routes. 'Who told you that? They're lying! They're all lying. They're trying to discredit me.' For the first time, his smart-alec composure had cracked wide open. He clearly hadn't been expecting this at all.

'You're the one who's lying, Kevin. You had means, motive and opportunity. You killed Moira, didn't you?'

'No,' he shouted, jumping to his feet. 'I didn't. You bitch, you're trying to set me up! Somebody's trying to push me out. First Moira, now someone else. Tell me who told you those lies!'

He lunged at me. I pushed myself sideways on the sofa. He crashed into the arm of the sofa, letting out an 'oogh' of pain. But he kept coming at me, yelling, 'Tell me, tell me.'

I couldn't find enough space to use any of my boxing moves on him. He threw himself on me, gripping me by the throat. His paranoia seemed to lend him extra strength. I'd miscalculated. This was something I couldn't handle myself. Red spots danced in front of my eyes, and I could feel myself retching and fainting.

I opened my eyes to a huge, out-of-focus face inches from my own, like a sinister Hallowe'en mask. I blinked and shook my head, and realised it was Richard, his face a mixture of fear and concern. 'You all right, Brannigan?' he demanded.

'Mmm,' I groaned, carefully probing my tender, bruised neck. Richard sat down heavily beside me and hugged me. Looking over his shoulder, I could see Kevin's legs. The rest of him was hidden under Bill's bulk. My boss was sitting astride Kevin, looking triumphant.

'Would someone pass me the phone?' he said calmly. 'I need to call the garbage disposal people.' A muffled grunt escaped from the body under him. He obligingly shifted his position slightly.

'On the table, Richard,' I told him, and he went to fetch it. Bill punched in a number and asked for Cliff Jackson.

'Inspector? This is Bill Mortensen of Mortensen and Brannigan. I'd like to report an attempted murder,' he began when he was finally connected. 'Yes, that's right, an attempted murder. Kevin Kleinman has just tried to strangle my partner, Miss Brannigan.'

I wished I could have been a fly on the wall in Jackson's office. The news that someone had actually done what he'd been longing to do since the beginning of the case must have provoked a serious conflict of interest. 'Well, of course it's connected,' I heard Bill protest. 'They were discussing the murder at the time of the attack… How do I know? Because I was listening at the door, man! Look, why don't you just get over here and we can sort it all out then?'

Richard, ignoring Bill's conversation, was fussing over me. 'Thank God we were there,' he kept repeating.

Losing patience, I said, 'It had nothing to do with God and everything to do with the fact that I told you to be there.' They had been my insurance policy; Richard crouching in the conservatory, Bill lurking in the hall. Arrogant I may be, stupid I'm not.

Richard grinned. “I thought that came to the same thing? You and God?'

'They're on their way,' Bill interrupted, saving me the bother of having to think up a witty reply. 'Inspector Jackson doesn't sound like a happy man.' A muffled shout from under him indicated that Jackson wasn't the only one.

It took a couple of hours to sort everything out. They'd made Bill stop sitting on Kevin, and he'd immediately burst into a loud tirade of complaint. Jackson had shut him up briskly and removed him in a police car to Bootle Street nick. By the time he'd taken statements from all three of us, he grudgingly admitted that the assault on me gave him enough to hold Kevin while he made further inquiries into his financial background. I could see the whole episode hadn't improved his attitude to the private sector.

After he left, Richard found a couple of carefully hoarded bottles of Rolling Rock, his all-time favourite American beer. He and Bill toasted each other, boasting cheerfully about their rescue as small boys the world over will do. I poured myself a stiff vodka and said sweetly, 'Don't you think we should save the celebrations for when we've nailed the murderer?'

They stopped in mid-swig and stared blankly at me. 'I thought that was what we'd just done?' Richard said, 'You said Kevin had done it.'

'That's what I said. But now I'm not so sure.'

Richard gave one of those sighs that seem to come from his socks. 'I don't get it,' he complained. 'Two hours ago, you were accusing the guy of murder. Now you're not so sure?'

Bill shook his head, a wry smile lurking in his beard. 'OK, Kate, let's have it.'

I explained my theory, and he got to his feet, muttering about no rest for the wicked. 'Let's go, then, Kate,' he said resignedly. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'Can I come too?' Richard asked plaintively.

'You'll be bored out of your tree,' Bill told him. 'But you're welcome to come along if you want.'

'You can always make the coffee,' I added wickedly. I knew how to turn him off. And much as I love Richard, I didn't want him kicking his heels in boredom while we worked. I mean, would you take a four-year-old to the office with you?

My strategy worked. Richard shrugged and said, 'I think I'll just stay home. I suppose I could earn myself a few bob putting out the story of Kevin's arrest. I mean, even if you think he didn't do it, he's still down the nick, isn't he?'

'Good thinking. Why should Neil Webster be the only one making a shilling out of Moira's murder?' I teased.

He poked his tongue out at me and gave me a farewell hug before he disappeared into the gloom of the conservatory.

'You think you can do it?' I asked Bill.

He shrugged. 'Don't know till I try, do I? It won't be easy, but it shouldn't be impossible.'

'Well, what are we hanging round here for?'

Bill's attempts at hacking still hadn't borne fruit by midnight, when the phone rang. From force of habit, I picked it up. 'Mortensen and Brannigan,' I announced automatically.

'Is that Kate Brannigan?' an unfamiliar voice asked.

That's right. And you are?'

'My name is David Berman. I'm Kevin Kleinman's solicitor. I'm sorry to disturb you so late in the day, but my client was most insistent that I speak with you. Would it be possible for me to come round to your office? I'm only a couple of minutes away.' His voice was soft and persuasive.

'Can you hold a second?' I asked him. I pressed the mute button and said, 'Kevin's solicitor wants to come round. I don't think he's just after a decent cup of coffee.'

Bill's eyebrows rose like a pair of blond caterpillars. 'Let's see what the man has to say,' he said. Sometimes I think I'd kill to be that laid back.

I reopened the channels of communication and said, 'That would be fine, Mr Berman, I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes.' I hung up and said, 'Curiouser and curiouser.'

The time has come, the walrus said,' Bill muttered in cryptic response as he tried out another password. I left him to it and put on a fresh pot of coffee before I went downstairs to meet David Berman.

When I got downstairs, a prosperous-looking yuppie was waiting on our doorstep. Dark grey self-stripe suit, pale-blue shirt and a subdued paisley pattern silk tie. Not a crease anywhere, except in his trousers, and that could have sliced salami. His dark hair was fashionably slicked back and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He smiled confidently at me as I struggled with the four locks on the plate glass doors.

As soon as I opened them, his hand was thrust towards me. The handshake was cool, with the carefully measured amount of pressure that gives the message, 'I could crush your hand if I wanted to, but who needs to be macho among friends?'