Read Online Dark Suits and Sad Songs by Denzil Meyrick - Free Book Online Page A

a long and winding one, the scenery glorious and, since he hadn’t driven much in the last few months, he had decided to stop at regular intervals, get out of the car and have a smoke, as much to enjoy the view as to calm his trembling limbs.
    ‘There you go.’ Annie placed the small glass containing the large whisky in front of the policeman. ‘Noo, whoot are you wantin’ tae eat?’
    ‘Och, I’ll have a couple o’ drams first. An aperitif, Annie, eh?’ he laughed.
    ‘Whootever you say, Brian, whootever you say.’ She smiled broadly at her customer as he drained the glass and held it out to her.
    ‘I’ll have another one o’ them, my dear.’
    Despite the heat of the day, Malky was shivering when a sharp knock on the door momentarily banished his yearning for heroin. His visitor had arrived.
    His line of work meant Malky was security conscious; he had to unlock two heavy bolts, a mortice and a Yale latch, leaving the heavy chain in place, just in case. Through the crack of the door he saw two men, the taller of whom smiled.
    ‘Malky? I have the correct address, yes? Darren sent me.’ This was the pre-agreed code name, so Malky undid the chain and let them into his flat.
    ‘Right, guys, can I get you a beer or something? Or would you prefer something mair interesting?’ He smiled knowingly at the new arrivals.
    ‘Yes, I think the last option,’ said the tall man. Malky couldn’t place his accent, but reckoned he might be a Pole; some of the new Polish community in Kinloch were his customers. The other man, shorter and with muscles almost showing through his black leather jacket, was silent, though he had a grin plastered across his face.
    ‘Aye, nae bother, man.’ Malky hesitated for a heartbeat, then, deciding that these men were more likely to reward him than steal from him, reached behind the fire for the black cloth bag. ‘This is good stuff, man.’ His fingertips had just touched the bag when he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He tried to stand up straight, but already his balance had gone. He collapsed backwards, conscious but unable to move. Hetried to scream, to shout out, but nothing but a breathy hiss issued from his mouth.
    ‘You have been injected with a muscle relaxant. There is no point trying to move.’
    In the background Malky heard a chuckle, deep and menacing. He felt his bowels empty.
    ‘You should have played our game, not yours. Too many of you scum think you can take us for fools and use our money as your own. Lessons have to be learned. Pavel.’
    The squat man bent over and something flashed before Malky’s eyes – the gleam of a serrated hunting knife. He tried to scream again, but nothing came; he struggled to move, but the only part of his body obeying his commands were his eyes, as he looked up in horror at the man with the knife.
    He felt the searing pain as the knife cut into his throat just above his Adam’s apple. Despite the powerful drug, his limbs began to twitch, the rest of his body weighed down by his attacker. The last sounds he heard were the desperate gurgle of air as his windpipe was cut and the laughter of his murderer, who, once he had slit the teenager’s throat, inserted his thick fingers into the livid wound.

10
    Daley became aware of a commotion somewhere down the corridor from his office. As he walked towards the reception desk, the sounds of agitated voices, lots of them, grew louder.
    The small reception area that greeted visitors to Kinloch Police Office was packed with people. Behind his high counter, Sergeant Shaw was doing his best to be heard, to no avail. When Daley walked into the room behind him, the racket grew louder.
    ‘Aye, wae my ain eyes, I tell you. As plain as the nose on your face!’ one man shouted.
    ‘I couldna believe it neither, Norrie,’ a woman agreed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it, an’ I don’t want tae again . . .’
    The rest was lost in the clamour of voices; Daley could see more people trying to get