The Rock Read Online Free PDF Page B

in the direction of the lift’s control panel. As he spoke, the hydraulic lift sprang to life, the boat dropping a couple of feet in nanoseconds, causing Calbot and Sullivan to spring back in surprise.
    Walking briskly around to where they had been directed, Sullivan could see a grey haired and somewhat deshevilled looking man standing at the controls. He seemed unsure of how to work them. Eventually he gave up, switched off the controls and glanced over towards Calbot and Sullivan. Sullivan had assumed, even before spotting the heavy swelling on the side of the man’s face, that this was Chief Inspector Broderick.
    ‘Bruddy thing!’ the man cursed, dismounting the machine.
    ‘It’s a skill, you know,’ the mechanic barked. ‘You can’t just turn up and expect to be able to work a machine like that.’
    Ignoring his every word, Broderick walked over towards the pair and nodded at Sullivan.
    ‘Who’s vis?’
    ‘I’m DS Sullivan, Chief Inspector. Pleased to meet you.’
    ‘Yoo noo?’
    ‘Officer on secondment, sir, yes. From London.’
    Broderick shook his head. ‘Norody bruddy tells me anyfring!’
    ‘What did he say?’ Calbot asked Sullivan quietly, as Broderick moved off towards the front of the boat house.
    ‘He said, nobody tells him anything. I think the anaesthetic is impeding his speech.
    Calbot smirked, ‘Oh dear. What a shame.’
    ‘For me, yeah.’ Sullivan looked resigned. ‘Great start, eh? Just brilliant.’
    *
    Outside, Broderick sat in his Mercedes, scribbling furiously in a brown leather-bound notebook. The mechanic stood beside him. He looked up as Sullivan and Calbot exited from the shadows of the building into the fierce heat of the sun.
    ‘What is this all about?’ the man asked, raising his arms in the air.
    ‘I sloddin ‘ell giv ‘ub’.’ the Chief Inspector growled, tearing a page from his notebook and handing it to the mechanic. The man looked at it in confusion.
    ‘Do you sell fish?’ he read out loud and turned to Sullivan. ‘What the hell does this mean?’
    ‘The, uh... Chief Inspector asked,’ Sullivan replied, attempting translation, ‘Whether or not you sell fish, Mr...?.’
    ‘Bessano. It was my wife who died here.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Mr Bessano.’
    Sullivan was interrupted by her boss.
    ‘Yust onsor the gestion, pwees.’
    ‘Sell fish? No, I mend boats. If you want fish you’ll need to go to the market.’
    Broderick furiously scribbled another note and this time simply thrust the pad at Sullivan.
    ‘The Inspector asks if you can recommend anyone. For fish, I imagine.’
    ‘Oh. Well, Medina Bros at the market is probably your best bet. Second counter on the left. What does this have to do with the death of my wife, exactly?’
    More scribbling, followed by another thrust of the notepad towards Sullivan.
    ‘He says: “Nothing. I just like good fish.’ A few moments’ confused silence followed. Sullivan decided to change the conversation. ‘Is there anyone else staying here, Mr Bassano?’
    ‘No, not really,’ Bassano replied, clearly taken aback.
    ‘Is that right?’ Sullivan queried. ‘Only I thought I saw somebody upstairs when we arrived, sir.’
    ‘Oh. Yes. Of course. That is my grandson. He’s been here for a few days while his parents are in Portugal. They’re hurrying back now, of course, after the news.’
    ‘Was he here yesterday?’ Calbot asked. ‘During all that?’
    ‘Yes, he was. I got him next door to our neighbours straight away. He’s very upset, I’m sure you understand.’
    Broderick scribbled another note. It read: ‘Call him’.
    ‘ Please ,’ Sullivan added under her breath. ‘Would you mind calling him down, sir? We’d just like to have a little chat. Nothing scary, I promise.’
    Bassano hesitated for a moment, then began to call. ‘Julio! Julio, come down here, please!’
    The clearly nervous boy appeared at the upstairs window, his eyes stained red.
    *
    Broderick had led the way back into the building. The