Deadly Virtues Read Online Free PDF

eight years, I’ve seen the crime rate go down, month on month. And right across the board, except for that. Wouldn’t you think that, by now, the way law-abiding citizens have been reclaiming Norbold would have worked its way through every aspect of life here? Even that one. What makes the drugs scene so different?”
    Johnny Fountain gave a long-suffering sigh. “Who knows, Mr. Jackson? Maybe it’s just going to take a little longer.”
    “I expect so. And after all,” added the reporter, just a little pointedly, “it’s not like Sonny Pruitt’s any great loss to anyone. I mean, no one deserves to get murdered. But some people deserve it even less than others, yes?”
    The chief superintendent knew better than to either agree or argue with that, on the record or off it. He did his police-issue noncommittal smile.
    At which point rescue loomed, in the form—always beloved but never more than now—of Denis, aglow in peach satin and a perm that would have protected her from small projectiles or a modest avalanche. “Johnny? Look at your tie! Oh.” The happiness fell out of her face. “You’re busy.”
    “Not at all,” insisted Fountain, gathering her in the crook of his arm. “We were just discussing the vagaries of crime. You’ll excuse me, Mr. Jackson?” And he swept her off toward the dance floor like a man who has just discovered there are worse ways to spend an evening. A brief but perfectly timed hiatus from the band allowed Denis Fountain’s voice to drift back: “… Perfectly dreadful little ginger hack…” Jackson grinned to himself.

 
    CHAPTER 4
    T HEY SAID THERE was a problem with his insurance. They said his account didn’t tally with that of the complainant. He said he wanted his solicitor present during questioning. They said fine, they’d find him somewhere to wait while they contacted him. No one seemed to have any particular instructions regarding him. Jerome Cardy tried to tell himself that maybe he’d misread the situation, that the worst he was facing was a fine.
    It was a nice modern police station with nice modern cells that were not in a damp basement but up on the first floor, light and airy. The custody sergeant took his details, and his shoes (“Look, no laces! I can’t hang myself with elastic gussets!” “Can’t help that, son, rules is rules.”) and then pulled a face. “Ah.”
    The arresting officer raised his eyebrows. “What?”
    “Got the painters in one to three. Got a woman in five.” He looked at Jerome. “How do you feel about dogs?”
    Was this it? Was this how it was going to happen? His voice was hollow. “What kind of dogs?”
    “Oh, it’s a nice dog—clean, well behaved. Its owner’s in there with it, sleeping off a thumping. You’d be helping me out if you’d wait in there with them.”
    Jerome was past arguing. “Sure. Whatever.”
    Sergeant Murchison gave a relieved nod and conducted him to cell number four. “You won’t have any trouble here. Look, it’s not even locked. But try not to disturb him. He’s had a rough day.”
    “Do my best,” agreed Jerome weakly.
    “Good lad.” He closed the door but still didn’t lock it, leaving Jerome and the white dog weighing each other up.
    But gradually reality caught up with him. The dog and its sleeping owner might be the perfect companions for an hour in the police cells while his solicitor was summoned, but Jerome Cardy was still in the last place on earth that he wanted to be. The fact that nothing had happened to him yet was no proof that nothing was going to happen. He sat down and considered his options.
    The door wasn’t locked. He could make a run for it.
    He wouldn’t get far, and then they’d have an excuse to treat him as a different kind of offender. Right now all he’d done was leave the scene of a minor accident that he hadn’t even caused. Jerome was pretty sure it was in his own best interests to keep it that way.
    He could ask to see someone who wasn’t a police