Hard Place by Douglas Stewart Page B

Ireland that had made him valuable.”
    “To the underworld.” Her tone was bitter. “That’s what some journalist said. He phoned just before you arrived.” Charlene shifted uncomfortably and then tucked her feet under her on the chair across from him. Ratso was amazed at how the word he had put out through the snout had travelled so fast. Had it reached Bardici … wherever he was?
    “Don’t always believe the press.” Ratso saw she was unconvinced. “Look, Neil was not known to us. No previous convictions.”
    “So who would…kill him?” For the first time Ratso noticed anger in her voice.
    “Depends on what he was doing and who was paying him.” Ratso liked the answer. It was matter-of-fact but he hesitated before continuing. “Taking one extreme … you know—knew Neil well enough. It might have been an angry husband.”
    Charlene took it in her stride. “He was a randy sod, all right.” She shook her head ruefully but without any sign of irritation. “Morals of a tomcat. But,” she hesitated, “we had … an understanding.” She paused. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” She sank the whisky. “He always came back. Treated me like a princess. Kind. Good with money.”
    “You tamed him and all,” Ratso agreed. “Neil and I—we go back over twelve years and he’s never stuck with one person as long as you. You got the nearest to muzzling him.” He rose from his chair and strolled round the small sitting room, studying a photo of Neil and Charlene laughing on the London Eye. It would have been a good night for a fire but the grate was empty, as was the coal scuttle. “Look, Charlene, if I’d ever thought he was part of some underworld mob, I’d have let our friendship cool. I’d have had no choice.” The lie was essential and it came out easily.
    “You said one extreme just now. What’s the other, then?” Her stare was businesslike and disbelieving.
    “Not so extreme—corporate espionage. Ferreting for big companies involved in litigation or takeover bids. It pays well.”
    Charlene did not look convinced. She too stood up and in a sudden move clung to him. “I’d bet he was murdered by a hardened criminal. Are you on the case?”
    Ratso wondered if anyone had hinted at what agonies Neil had suffered. He hoped not. “Not me. DCI Caldwell is in charge. You haven’t seen him yet?” He saw her shake her head. “You will. Who took you to the morgue?”
    “A couple of youngsters. I don’t remember the man’s name, wasn’t really concentrating on that. She was WPC Stella Tuson.”
    Ratso went to the kitchen to refill the glasses. On his return they sat down, this time next to each other on the sofa. “I’m not too good at the emotional stuff. I never have been. Even when my folks died. Tears and drama aren’t my way. It’s the Capricorn in me. Feet on the ground. Face facts. So let me ask. Financially—will you be okay? Neil had no index-linked pension or death-in-service benefits.”
    “It’ll be hard.” She twirled the tumbler between her slim fingers. “We got a bit put by in the bank.”
    “Mortgage?”
    “No. Rented. My earnings cover that and a bit on top. Neil’s money was the bunce. The fun money, he called it.”
    “Good, that’s good.” Ratso was captivated by her eyes as she watched him, their pale green drawing him in. “Never be too proud to ask for … y’know, a bit of help. Neil was a real mate. If he’d ever got to understand cricket, he’d have been the best. I took him to Lord’s once.” Ratso laughed. “He spent the entire day drinking Pimms in the bookmakers. Never saw a ball bowled.”
    “He loved hanging out with you guys.”
    “But watching cricket is about being together—debating tactics, arguing, complaining about the umpires, sinking a few while watching! I never saw him all day. And he got lucky! Won eighty quid on racing from Kempton. He said he’d had a great day, so I jokingly asked for his winnings to pay for his ticket. I