Free Trick of the Mind by Cassandra Chan

of Carmichael’s office slam shut.
    The appearance of his superior in a foul mood had given O’Leary a shot of adrenaline; he dropped the cold remains of his coffee into the bin and turned with a sigh back to the computer, whose screen was beginning to blur before his eyes. But it was only a moment before he heard Carmichael’s heavy tread returning and he looked up, startled to find the chief inspector frowning down at him.
    “What the devil are you doing here?” Carmichael demanded.
    O’Leary swallowed. “Inspector Hollings told me to look into Gibbons’s past cases,” he replied, trying to keep his tone perfectly even and innocent. “To find out,” he added when Carmichael continued to glower at him, “who might have been released from prison lately and be holding a grudge.”
    “And are there any?”
    “I’ve only found one so far, sir,” answered O’Leary. He did not mention that he had made slow going at his assigned task because he kept falling asleep and had to stop and walk around the office to wake himself up.
    But Carmichael’s frown disappeared. “Who is that?” he asked. “One of my cases?”
    “Yes, sir,” said O’Leary, turning to his notebook. “I have it here—Frank Mulligan was released a fortnight ago. He was convicted—”

    He broke off as Carmichael waved an impatient hand. “Scratch that,” he said. “Frank Mulligan couldn’t successfully shoot anybody on the best day he ever had. Anyone else?”
    O’Leary shook his head. “Not yet,” he answered. “Most of the people Jack has helped to put away are still in prison.”
    “Well, that makes sense,” said Carmichael. “Gibbons has mostly worked murder cases, and he’s only been a detective for the last four years or so—murderers usually get a much longer sentence than that.”
    There did not seem to be much to say in reply to this obvious fact, so O’Leary contented himself with nodding agreement while Carmichael rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful.
    “What’s really wanted,” he said, “is to nail down Gibbons’s movements yesterday. Davies left me a message saying the poor lad doesn’t remember Tuesday at all.”
    “He doesn’t seem to,” agreed O’Leary. “I stopped by the hospital on my way in today, and found Jack fretting over the memory loss.”
    Carmichael sighed. “I haven’t been by the hospital yet,” he said guiltily.
    O’Leary wasn’t sure what to say to this, either, and there was a brief silence.
    “Well,” said Carmichael briskly, “if Gibbons can’t tell us himself, we shall just have to ferret out his movements on our own. Davies seems to have made some progress—he said in his message Gibbons had lunched with that insurance investigator. He mentioned a report, but I didn’t see it anywhere on my desk.”
    “I think he sent it by e-mail, sir,” said O’Leary. “At least, that was what he said he was going to do when he stopped by earlier. He waited a bit for you, but then went off to see if he could come up with anything on the robbery Gibbons was investigating.”
    Carmichael was looking cross at the thought of having to delve into his e-mail file; the chief inspector had never really taken to the new medium. In his opinion, e-mail merely gave people a chance to bother him with things they would never have thought of troubling him with back when they would have had to actually pick up the phone and speak to him. An idea occurred to him and he looked about, frowning as he failed to find the person he was looking for.

    “Where’s Constable Lemmy?” he demanded.
    “He’s here somewhere, sir,” answered O’Leary. “He’s been here ever since I came in.”
    “Probably at the bloody vending machine,” muttered Carmichael. “Tell him I want him when he comes back.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    O’Leary stifled a yawn as Carmichael turned away. Blinking industriously, he tried to focus on the screen before him, then sighed and gave it up. He thought Carmichael was very