Dead Men's s Boots

‘Where’s the elegance in a random murder spree spanning half a century? Getting your own back on the men who abused you is one thing: carving your way through the whole male gender is another.’

I could see from Juliet’s expression that this little speech hadn’t made the slightest dent in her. With an unpleasant going-down-in-a-lift feeling in my stomach, I saw where this was going. If Juliet enlisted in Myriam Kale’s cause, things could get m³ngsth essy: so messy I didn’t want to think about it.

‘What about your rep?’ I asked her, changing tack.

‘You said it was a big thing to you to deliver as promised. Doug Hunter didn’t kill Barnard. We know that now. He was possessed.’

‘It was his hand that held the hammer.’

‘But not his mind that decided to. Like you said, you were paid to uncover the truth about what happened in that hotel room. Are you going to stop halfway because suddenly you’re a cheerleader for the real murderer? And what about the others – Mister X and his friends? All the other fun-loving criminals who’ve been buried in coffins fitted with sliding doors? They’re all men, apart from Myriam.

They may have been using her in some game of their own. They’ve certainly left her to carry the can for this latest killing.’

Juliet had gone back to eating. She was listening to me, but I wasn’t having any impact. I was unnerved by the mask-like impassivity in her face. Normally Juliet doesn’t bother to disguise her feelings because her feelings come out like water from a high-pressure hose.

Right there and then I couldn’t read her at all. And I had just the one shot left in my locker.

‘You think she’s happy?’ I asked.

Juliet set down the nub-end of bone that was all that was left of her chicken leg. Her eyes impaled mine.

‘What?’

‘Kale. Do you think she’s happy? Because she didn’t look happy to me, staring out from behind Doug Hunter’s face. One prison inside another prison, that’s how I saw it. She looked like someone stuck in a bad dream that she couldn’t wake up from.

And Jan said she used to hear Doug crying at night, for hours—’

‘All right.’ Juliet’s tone was cold, clipped. ‘So?’

‘So carry on working with me. Let’s at least find out what the fuck is really going on, and where she comes into it. Maybe find out what she really wants. What’s keeping her walking, and killing, and raping, forty years after she fried. Then you can decide what you want to do.’

I looked up to find the waitress standing at my shoulder with the menus.