Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [54]
The front door swung open and a customer walked into Susko Books. Jack pulled himself up and smiled hello. He remembered where he was. It occurred to him that he was talking too much. Thinking out aloud. Not a very good idea.
The customer headed to a display of art books across from the counter.
‘Anything else, Maigret?’ Glendenning asked.
‘You going to put me on the payroll?’
‘Maybe we just won’t put you in jail.’
‘For helping you solve a crime?’ Jack smiled.
Peterson stood up and turned around. ‘For talking shit,’ he said.
‘That’s your speciality, Geoff.’
‘You got a smart mouth.’ Detective Geoff Peterson squared up. He had a couple of inches on Jack and used them for emphasis. ‘How about I teach it some manners?’
‘How about an official complaint?’
‘Let me help you with the paperwork. I’ll make sure it goes to the front of the queue.’
Detective Sergeant Glendenning walked over and touched Peterson lightly on the arm. His partner’s shoulders dropped about two millimetres but his face still looked hard and mean. Obergruppenführer Peterson.
‘You are aware that this is a murder investigation, Mr Susko?’ said Glendenning. ‘I’d hate there to be any confusion.’
‘Perfectly clear.’
Jack wondered if he had gone too far. He was not sure what he was doing, but pissing the cops off was not what he wanted. It seemed he possessed a raw talent for it. Maybe from now on he would start not wanting things that he actually did want. Maybe he would start with not wanting an Aston Martin DB9 with a full tank and a long open road leading the hell out of there.
Glendenning’s mobile phone began to ring. He put it to his ear. ‘Fine. We’re five minutes away.’ The detective turned to go. ‘We’ll continue our conversation later, Mr Susko.’ His voice was low but firm. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be in and out for most of the day.’
‘That’s all right. We’re a twenty-four-hour service.’ Glendenning paused at the front door and turned back to Jack. ‘Edward Kass was dead only minutes before Durst got there,’ he said.
‘What time was that?’
Glendenning narrowed his eyes. ‘We’re not exactly sure. Why, did you hear something?’
Jack hesitated. ‘No.’
‘You’re still thinking, Mr Susko,’ said the Detective Sergeant. Then he smiled. ‘Tell me.’
‘Nothing to tell,’
‘But plenty to think about, eh? We’ll have a nice chat tomorrow.’
Peterson and Glendenning left. The customer over by the art books looked up. Jack did not mean to frown at him, but did, and the man returned his attention to the book in his hands. Jack rubbed his forehead. It was only 10.20 a.m.
16
AN HOUR LATER, Brendan MacAllister phoned. ‘Jackie! How’s my favourite lazy bastard?’
‘Busy.’
‘You poor man. Feel like a short break in the country?’
‘Do I have to travel with you?’
‘You can ride in the boot!’ MacAllister laughed. ‘I’m going down to Bowral tomorrow morning to see Clifford Harris.’
‘The telecommunications guy?’
‘Home loans.’
Jack remembered. ‘Mister one hundred million in the bank. Loves coffee-table books with lots of female nudes.’
‘He’s off to Tuscany, bought a vineyard or village or something, the prick. He rang yesterday and offered me first pickings of his book collection.’
‘Nice.’
‘I sold him most of it, but there’s only a couple of things I’m interested in. Thought of you for the rest.’
‘Sounds great. I’ll just leave a sign here saying: Help yourself, leave money on the counter.’
‘It’s okay, I’ve spoken to Denise. She’ll come in for you until we get back.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, it’s fine. She misses our old shop.’
‘This isn’t quite the same thing.’
‘Don’t worry about it. What do you say? He’s a gourmet snob so there’ll be brunch.’
Jack thought of his new detective friends. ‘What time?’
‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’
‘Say thanks to Denise for me.’
MacAllister scoffed. ‘She’s started some new diet. There’s nothing to eat in the house except rice biscuits and low-fat yoghurt.’
‘I can’t believe you’re not in hospital.’
‘I told her I’m moving back in with my mother if she doesn’t quit by Monday.’
‘Make sure you give me the new number.’