Rook & Tooth and Claw Read Online Free PDF

That’s because you
are
different.”
    “Don’t start giving me that mystical stuff, Mrs Vaizey. I respect your gifts, and I respect what you believe in, but one of my favourite students died today, and this isn’t the time.”
    “Nonsense,” she said. The skin on the back of her hand was like crumpled tissue-paper. “This is exactly the time. You tell me
why
you think different.”
    Jim glanced over at Myrlin Buffield, from Apartment no. 201, who was pretending to read
Primary Colors
but who was listening to their conversation intently. Myrlin was ninety pounds overweight, with black slashed-back hair, and bosoms, and a gold earring in the shape of a dagger; and skin as white and luminous as a freshly-caught pollock. Nobody knew what Myrlin did for a living. Nobody liked to guess.
    “Why don’t you come up for a drink, Mrs Vaizey?” asked Jim. “Then we can talk in private.”
    “Beer?” asked Mrs Vaizey, suspiciously.
    “What do you think I am? Bourbon.”
    “In that case, Jim, I’d be happy to join you.”
    He picked up her newspaper and her glasses and her sewing-bag and helped her up the steps to his apartment. He didn’t speak to her very often; mainly because she was always trying to persuade him to have his palms read; or his Tarot cards interpreted; or his tea-leaves scrutinised. He believed in a whole lot of odd things, but he didn’t believe in fortune-telling, or Ouija boards, or ghosts. He believed that the future was unpredictable, and that when you died, you died.
Click.
The light was switched off, and that was it.
    Jim unlocked the door of his apartment and ushered Mrs Vaizey inside. The calico blinds were drawn down, and it was dim and warm. It wasn’t untidy, but there were several tell-tale signs that a single man lived here, and that nobody had cleaned up during the day. The cushions on the couch were still crumpled. There were dead sweet peas in the vase on the windowsill. Yesterday’s paper still lay where Jim had dropped it, as well a single slipper.
    Mrs Vaizey cautiously sniffed. She could smell it, too. Nothing unpleasant – just stuffy, motionless air that nobody had breathed all day.
    “Where’s your cat?” she wanted to know.
    “The feline formerly known as Tibbles? He’ll be back, once he knows that I’m here. I never let him in during the day. I’m allergic to the smell of litter-trays.”
    Mrs Vaizey sat down on the couch and Jim went through to the kitchen to find his bottle of Jim Beam. He sploshed out two generous glasses for both of them, and knocked his glass against hers, in salute, and to frighten away the devil. “Here’s to Elvin, who died today. And here’s to justice, and sense, and respect.”
    “I’ll drink to that,” said Mrs Vaizey. “Whatever the hell you’re talking about.”
    Jim said, “I’m talking about young people who die too young, Mrs Vaizey. Elvin, you know – he didn’t have much of a chance to begin with. He was so damned slow he couldn’t catch a cold. His father was an invalid and his mother could never cope. But he was always so cheerful. He always made the best of what he had.”
    “So who killed him?”
    “One of his classmates. A boy called Tee Jay. That’s what the police think, anyway.”
    “But you think elsewise?”
    “I’m not sure. Tee Jay and Elvin were having a fight, earlier on; and when the fight was over I saw a man walking down the corridor. Tall, with a black suit and a wide black hat. He disappeared before I could find out who he was. But I saw him again, coming out of the school boiler-room; and that’s where Elvin was stabbed to death. I saw him, as clear as I can see you; but the trouble was that nobody else saw him. Nobody.”
    Mrs Vaizey knocked back her bourbon and wiped hermouth with the back of her hand. “I think I should look at the palm of your hand, Jim.”
    “Mrs Vaizey, with all due respect, that’s not going to answer anything.”
    “Jim … there’s something different about you.