Free A Fate Worse Than Death by Jonathan Gould Page B

moment, the phone rang. Peter picked it up, and as he listened his face dropped like an elephant on a paper glider. He put the phone down and looked at me.
    “Bad news. A plane’s just crashed with a couple of American rock stars on board.”
    “Difficult customers?”
    “The worst. It’s going to need my personal attention. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
    I stood up. “That’s okay. I don’t want to get in the way of your work.”
    Peter and I shook hands. “I feel so bad,” he said. “I spent the whole time talking about myself. You didn’t get a chance to tell me anything.”
    “There’ll be other times,” I said.
    “I hope so.”
    Peter led me back down the stairs and out of the Gates. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you,” he said. “You really are a breath of fresh air to me.”
    “It’s nice to hear it,” I said. “Most people just say that I stink.”
    As I walked away from the Gates, Peter called after me. “If you are on a case, I’d be happy to help. Just call on me if you need anything. I’d love to work with a real detective.”
    * * *
    Back in the streets of Heaven, I made my way to The Loaf and the Fishes. I went in and sat at the bar. Alby wasn’t there.
    “Is there anything I can get you?” asked the barman, in a voice that was clearly hoping the answer would be no.
    “I’m looking for Alby Stark. Do you know where he might be?”
    The mention of Alby’s name caused an invisible hand to grab the barman’s face and squeeze it, ever so gently. “I doubt that you’ll find Mr Stark up and about at such an unearthly hour. But I’m sure that if you wait, he will eventually drag himself from his bed and stagger in here.”
    “I’ll wait,” I said.
    I sat at the bar and waited. And waited and waited and waited. Hours ticked by, yet still there was no sign of the wayward journalist. Even the barman, as he passed me my fifth lemonade, expressed surprise at his tardiness. Finally, when I was about to down my last glass and abandon all hope, Alby strolled in looking extremely pleased with himself.
    “Not one for an early start,” I said.
    “On the contrary, this morning I was up with the dawn. Can I get you a drink?”
    “I’d better not. If I have another lemonade, I think my teeth will sue me.”
    “As you wish. My usual please,” he called to the barman, before turning back to me. “As I was saying, this morning I rose with the dawn, repulsive though I find that concept.”
    “I’m sure the dawn wasn’t so keen on rising with you either.”
    “Don’t act smart with me. I have the information you were after.”
    “Then don’t keep it to yourself. Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s nice to share?”
    “Keep that up and the only thing I’ll be sharing will be this drink over your head,” said Alby as the barman handed him a glass. He took a sip, screwed up his face, and then began.
    “I’ve spent my morning at the library. The historical records section, to be exact. And I’ve discovered a number of things that are highly interesting.”
    “Such as?”
    “Such as, did you know that the police force in Heaven is extremely new?”
    “Of course I did. The history of Heaven was my major in high school.”
    “In that case, you must know whose idea it was to set it up.”
    “I must have skipped that class. Can you just cut to the chase? Tell me when the police force was set up, who wanted it set up, and why they wanted it set up.”
    Alby took another sip of soda water, swirled it around in his mouth, and swallowed loudly. “The Heavenly Police Department, or HPD, was set up almost exactly a year ago. Just after I arrived in Heaven, coincidentally enough. Previously, there had been no police force of any kind, and as far as I can tell, absolutely no need for one.”
    “So if there was no need for a police force, why set one up?”
    “The records don’t say. Perhaps you should go and ask Sally.”
    I choked on my drink, and