The International Assassin A Sexy Times Crime Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

explain that. There’s no en-suite,” I replied. He took out his pen and notepad. “Don’t you have a Macbook?” I asked. He looked at me. “Isn’t that where you get the expression throw the book at him .”
    “You are in a lot of trouble Miss.I would save the jokes.”
    “Suit yourself,” I replied and looked around the grim interview room.
    “Why so serious ?” I said quietly in my best Joker accent.
    “I take it you have been drinking?” he asked.
    “Well obviously. I wouldn’t have visited Hackney sober.”
    “You’re not from round these parts?”
    “Whatever gave you that impression? Was it my good manners or the fact I’m not dressed entirely from a high street sportswear retailer?”
    “So what were you doing here?”
    “Well there’s a question,” I replied.
    “Yes it is a question. Would you like to answer it?”
    “It depends what the question is.”
    “What were you doing here? I already asked you that.”
    “But what do you mean by that?”
    “Are you trying to be clever?” he asked losing patience.
    “No I am clever. You’re trying to be clever. That’s probably why you are still a Sergeant,” I said and smiled. 
    “Right, your two mates…”
    “Well they aren’t actually my mates – rather friends. One doesn’t actually have mates . Not the sort to hang around down the pub watching football and farting. If you are referring to the blonde witch and her chinless cohort, they are persons of my acquaintance but I would not consider either of them friends in light of the outcome of tonight’s social engagement.”
    “So you had a falling out?”
    “No, the young man had a falling out. Falling out of his balcony. I was merely an observer.”
    “So you didn’t help him then?”
    “Why would I do that?”
    “Maybe you were jealous?”
    I snorted in derision.
    “My dear police officer, have you been drug tested lately? The notion I would wish to engage in any form of physical or social activity with such a classless individual who lacks the basic personal hygiene of a farmyard animal is simply contemptible.”
    “You didn’t like him then?”
    “Of course I didn’t like him. Have you listened to his music? Awful.”
    “Would it be fair to say you hated him?”
    “I wouldn’t go that far. One cannot feel hate for something that should be pitied.”
    “They said you pushed him.”
    “They would say that.”
    “Why would they say that?”
    “Because that’s what you say when you are colluding to frame the person who isn’t a colluder.”
    “And what are they colluding to do?”
    “You’re the detective. You figure it out. I am merely suggesting they can hardly be considered independent witnesses and besides they were in the other room.”
    “So why did he jump then? His lady-friend claims he was quite happy.”
    “Mood swings.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “A lot of artists have them. And recreational drug users. Sudden bouts of depression brought about by a lifestyle made pointless by the relentless failure of the social and education system to bring the underclass up to par. Quite tragic really. I blame Labour.”
    “So you think he was depressed?”
    “People don’t generally leap off balconies out of joy. Unless they are high on coke.”
    “Did he say anything to you before he jumped?”
    “Goodbye cruel world!” I shrugged. “It’s really hard for me to say, he had a interesting dialect that can’t be learnt from any Berlitz language guide I have found.”
    “So you didn’t assist him in any way?”
    “No. He was quite capable of jumping by himself.”
    “And you didn’t think to try and stop him?”
    “I suggested counselling but he declined.”
    “Right then. What about these other two? Charlotte?”
    “Yes. They were to put it colloquially, at it .”
    “How long has this been going on?”
    “No idea. Ask her.”
    “And what about this other gentleman?”
    “He’s clearly not a gentleman or I wouldn’t be sat here.”
    “What would