In for the Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

houseboat. I almost hurried home then, but soon realised there was little point. If Andover was after them, they’d be long gone by the time I returned home.
    Whichever way I looked at it someone had known I was coming here, and that someone had made sure that Joe wasn’t going to be alive when I arrived. Then a thought struck me, if Andover had listened in to Joe’s telephone calls, perhaps the police had too. Perhaps they had bargained on my coming to see Joe on my release, which meant they could already be looking for me.
    I sipped my coffee racking my brains trying to recall how that conversation had run:
    ‘Joe, it’s Alex Albury. Do you remember me?’
    ‘Of course I do, Mr Albury. How are you doing?’
    ‘I’m out on parole. I’d like to come and see you.’
    ‘I’ve got nothing for you, Mr Albury. The trail was as cold as a freezer in Iceland.’
    ‘Maybe, but I’d still like to talk to you. I’d like to go over what you did, who you spoke to, what you found.’
    ‘I found nothing.’
    ‘Would Monday suit you, about eleven? I’ll pay for your time.’
    ‘OK, if it’ll make you happy. But don’t build your hopes up.’
    If the police had bugged Joe’s calls, then I’d know soon enough.
    I finished my coffee, paid my bill and headed out. I was early for Clipton’s funeral but I didn’t mind. It would take me a while to walk across the city to the cemetery where Miles had told me Clipton was being buried. I checked to see if I was being followed but the fair-haired man had gone.
    By the time I reached the vast cemetery on the eastern side of Portsmouth the dark clouds were gathering overhead and the wind was snatching at the trees scattering the blossom from them like confetti at a wedding. I sat amongst the flaking and lichen-covered tombstones listening to the birds chirping and watching the squirrels’
    antics. My mother had been cremated. I was glad.
    I didn’t like to think of her flesh and bones rotting away inside the earth.
    I shuddered and lifted my collar as the first spots of rain fell. With Joe dead my hopes rested on Clipton’s daughter giving me some answers to my questions. As if on cue cars began to pull into the cemetery. I glimpsed her black-clothed figure in the limousine behind the hearse. I followed the cars to Clipton’s grave and then ducked behind a large memorial angel, weathered in white marble, and made out like I was a mourner.
    Either Clipton had a big family or he had been well liked, and this made me wonder if Joe had any family, perhaps a wife he had confided in. I knew he didn’t have a partner but what about his secretary? She must have typed up his reports.
    Perhaps she could tell me something. Or was she in danger herself? I sincerely hoped not, but I wasn’t betting on it.
    I scanned the crowd. The police officers weren’t hard to spot as experience and my cellmates had taught me how. There was no one I recognised. Not even Clipton’s softly spoken sergeant who had played nice guy to Clipton’s mean and angry one. I wondered what had happened to him. Even if he’d been transferred surely he would have been here. Perhaps they hadn’t got on.
    The cemetery seemed deserted save for us. It was raining now quite heavily and the curate was having a job holding the umbrella over the vicar in the tempestuous wind.
    My only chance of speaking to the daughter would be after the committal when the other mourners made their way back to their cars.
    Then, on the pretence of giving my condolences, I could ask her what her father had said about Andover. Either that or I would have to follow them back to the house, but that would be risky given the police presence, as someone might recognise me. I hadn’t really thought of how I was going to broach the subject but knew that something would come to me. I hadn’t been a PR man for over thirteen years for nothing.
    The committal seemed to go on forever. The wind strengthened and with it came heavier rain; it was mean,