DEAD(ish) Read Online Free PDF Page B

me?" she
demands.
    They nod slowly.
    "Go to the police. Tell them everything." she
says.
    "But -" starts Geordie.
    "No, she's right," says Lazarus, smiling
sadly, "If we go to jail for this, we deserve it – but we owe Linda
closure, darling."
    "Too fucking right!" says Linda.
    "My last, grand gesture!" Geordie says in a
small voice, and stands up. He wobbles a bit as he searches his
pockets for another hankie. "We'll go, Linda – we'll tell them
everything!"
    "Everything?" I query him and Linda,
wondering if she really wants the whole story to get out –
wondering if he would ever stick to it.
    She nods, decisively.
    "Everything!" she says, and disappears.
    I call yet another cab, and shepherd the boys
into it.
    "Police station, thanks."
    ****
    "You ate her?" the police officer
looks shocked, appalled. The murder part of the story she listened
to without losing a smidgeon of the 'nothing you say can shock me'
look. Her look met its match, I guess.
    "Yes! We ate her!" says Geordie loudly, and
bursts into tears. Again.
    The police officer sighs and motions her
junior to go get more tissues. This has been a damp interview.
    "Do you need a break?" she asks.
    Geordie shakes his head and looks brave.
    "I just want to get this over with," he
whispers, and sobs.
    The junior gets back and thrusts a tissue box
at Geordie. He grabs a handful and honks loudly.
    "I'm so sorry," he says, "it's just..."
    The police officer nods understandingly, her
professional persona back on. The junior is looking as though he
may just run back out of the room to vomit, given an opening.
    "Mr Smith – you were at the same barbecue?
You... umm... ingested the victim's body too?"
    "Yes, I was – I did," Lazarus answers calmly.
His mouth is quivering, but he's refusing to cry.
    "Right. And Mr French – this man, Michael
Reynolds, told you that he killed Ms Stevens?"
    "Yes, he did," I say, "although he claimed it
was an accident."
    She writes a bit more, then tells the
recorder that the interview is finished.
    "Would you mind staying around, gentlemen?
We'll need to get individual statements, now that we have the bare
bones." she says.
    We all nod, and the junior goes out to get us
each a crappy instant coffee in a foam cup.

Court
    Mike appears in court wearing a bright pink,
very tight tshirt with 'WANNABE LESBIAN' spelled out with
rhinestones. It's appalling. The addition of tight black jeans –
too tight, I suspect, as I see Mike wince and try to
surreptitiously pull them away from his groin – makes him look like
a slightly psychotic 80s reject. His hair is even puffy.
    When he sees me approaching the witness
stand, his eyes widen.
    "FUCKER!" I see him mouth, clear as day. Oh
well, he was going to work out the truth sooner or later.
    I manage to get through my testimony without
distorting too many facts, but without mentioning paranormal
activity, either. Linda would be a bit much for these folk to
handle.
    As I walk toward the door, Mike turns and
scowls at me – so I see his face when they call the next witness,
Lazarus. He pales, and for the first time he looks scared . I
think he's just realised that he's going down.
    Linda fades in beside me and sniggers.
    "Clothes your doing?" I ask quietly.
    "Who else cares enough to help him get
ready?" she asks, and sniggers again. "You shoulda seen his face
when he realised that was all he had to wear!"
    I smirk.
    "You should've seen his face when they called
Lazarus!"
    ****
    The jury come back, and declare a
decision.
    Not guilty of murder.
    Guilty of manslaughter.
    Linda, sitting next to me, sighs.
    "He murdered me in cold blood," she says
quietly.
    I nod.
    "He's getting punished for part of it, at
least," I offer.
    She smiles a little.
    "I paid off his debt to the mafia-wannabe,"
she says.
    "Why?" I ask, shocked.
    "Her hitman might not've missed next time...
and I want Mike to be thoroughly miserable," she says, looking
sideways at me and smirking, "the bastard'd probably repent on his
deathbed and