Read Online Crooked by Camilla Nelson - Free Book Online

a pink cupid shooting neon arrows through a sign, put a penny in the slot for the radio, and washed down a bottle of sleeping pills with a half-pint of gin. Dolly had been packed off to hospital to have her stomach pumped. Harry resigned from the force and disappeared. Allan ordered a high-profile comb put through Darlinghurst Station, and Tanner was assigned to carry out the inquiry.
    Gus wiped his face on a grubby yellow handtowel, throwing it down on the floor. Five minutes later found him hunched over the basin, the bright eddy of his memory swirling around him.

    Gus made his way back into CIB, checked his messages, and shoved his notebook and holster into the bottom drawer of his desk. He changed into the fresh blue cotton shirt that he kept in his locker, then worked his way down the linoleum-covered corridor, barging in through the swing doors marked Scientific Investigations. Inside, the walls were lined with pea-green glazed tiles, six stainless steel benches marched in two rows down the room, and a stack of repackaged cartons labelled ‘Arnotts’ sat by the door, bulging with sinister exhibits on their way to the courtroom. Balancing on top, a battered tin wireless was tuned to the ABC World Service.
    â€˜Wally,’ said Gus, as the doors swung shut behind him. Then, shouting a little louder, ‘Oi, Wally!’
    Driscoll was standing with his back to the far wall, gun cocked in hand. He was wearing pink-tinted goggles. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said, and the gun-arm flopped. ‘I’ve been taking another look at this O’Connor thing.’
    â€˜I’ve heard rumours Ducky shot himself by accident,’ said Gus, a little too brightly.
    â€˜Have you?’
    â€˜Yeah, on account of it being close range.’
    Driscoll pointed at the paper target strung on a wire in front of him, with black powder burns fanning across it in every direction. ‘That close?’
    â€˜Just about,’ said Gus, fidgeting nervously. ‘I’ve heard it’s likely that somebody got up and grabbed at him, and Ducky got himself shot in the struggle.’
    Driscoll took off his goggles and replaced his bifocals before making his way to the end of the lab. Here, strip lights shone down on a stainless steel bench covered in shrapnel and shell casings, tagged and bagged and laid out on trays.
    â€˜Let me show you something,’ he said, picking up a small automatic weapon from the edge of the bench. ‘This is the Colt that was found at the scene of the shooting, cocked but not fired.’ He put the Colt back and picked up a much larger pistol. ‘This is the Dreyse that was also found at the scene. It was a shot from this weapon that actually killed him. Now the Dreyse is a German gun,’ he went on, ‘maybe souvenired from the war. Old, but in pretty good nick and the mechanism is, well … beautiful. Only, when this gun was found under the table, the slide was jammed open with two bullets stuck in the chamber and ejector way. So I’m asking myself, how do I account for these facts?’
    Gus offered, ‘It jammed when it hit the floor, right?’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s the first thing I say to myself. I say that the Dreyse must have jammed when it dropped to the floor. Only I’ve dropped this gun a hundred times on hardboard and concrete and it hasn’t malfunctioned, not even once.’
    â€˜So you checked the ammunition, right?’
    Driscoll scowled, ‘Why are you asking me if you know all the answers?’
    â€˜Sorry,’ said Gus, and grinned.
    â€˜So the next thing I do is I check the ammunition. And I can tell you I’ve shot all kinds of ammunition out of this gun, old and new, in good nick and bad, including ammunition that went through the washing machine and is greening from soapsuds. But not once was I able to replicate the jam in the gun as it was found at the scene of the shooting.’
    Driscoll opened a drawer